Then away across a bend of the valley are more of our trenches, with the
German parapets 200 yards away beyond. And over these our shells are
bursting, fired by guns on the slope of the hill beneath me; they
whistle softly as they skim through the air over my head, and I hear the
burst as they land. Further away to the west is one of the enemy's
strongholds, and there bigger shells are bursting, throwing up clouds of
black smoke and dust. These pass by with a louder purring whistle like
the sound of surplus air escaping from the pipes of an organ in church.
They come from our big guns up in the woods across the river, hidden
from view. And always up in the sky the German aeroplanes circle round
and round, seeking for the guns, their engines buzzing and the sun
shining on their wings. Now and then they dash away, perhaps to carry
news, perhaps because a British or French machine has come upon the
scene. When they spot our positions they drop little silvery packets,
which unfold and show their gunners where to shoot. Sometimes they drop
bombs, but these do little harm. At times the weather is foggy, so
that the aeroplanes can do nothing at all, and warfare becomes suddenly
ten years out of date.
[Illustration: ARCHDUKE FREDERICK,
Commander in Chief of Austrian Armies Operating Against the Russians.
(_Photo from Paul Thompson._)]
[Illustration: DR.
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