"They're good for protection against small
shell fragments," our guide offered.
He grinned.
“They wouldn't stop a forty-two, you know. You've been to the French front? What do you think of their helmets. Both types are good, I guess."
It served. Under fire any trivial topic, once started, is worn threadbare.
It seemed strange that this town, which the Germans must have known as a feeding place for the trenches, sn't under constant bombardment. As we drove off the brigade oficer shifted from steel hats.
"They've a town like this just beyond their lines. If they throw a shell in here we retaliate, and vice versa. So for the most part it's hands off. Since they knocked the church tower about they've been pretty good, but, of course, it's likely to come at any moment."
That contingency ceased to interest, for already we were among the fields again, not immune like the town, and on this side, nearer the enemy, ruined farm houses and ragged trees scarred the landscape.
Suddenly the officer bent towards the driver and whispered. With a startled locking of wheels the car stopped, then turned around, while the driver
