"We are going now to a battery of the twenty-one-centimeter guns and
from there to the ten-centimeters," called out Lieutenant Geibel as we
climbed aboard our cars; "and when we pass that first group of houses
yonder we shall be under fire. So if you have wills to make, you
American gentlemen, you should be making them now before we start." A
gay young officer was Lieutenant Geibel, and he just naturally would
have his little joke whether or no.
Immediately then and twice again that day we were technically presumed
to be under fire--I use the word technically advisedly--and again the
next day and once again two days thereafter before Antwerp, but I was
never able to convince myself that it was so. Certainly there was no
sense of actual danger as we sped through the empty single street of a
despoiled and tenantless village. All about us were the marks of what
the shellfire had done, some fresh and still smoking, some old and dry-
charred, but no shells dropped near us as we circled in a long swing up
to within half a mile of the first line of German trenches and perhaps a
mile to the left of them.
Pages:
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340