The Thing that met my eyes stilled my heart with a chill. The
headless body of Billy lay at my feet. It was his life's blood that
covered my face and clothes. A mist shrouded my brain for a moment, as I
leaned against the side of the trench, utterly unable to speak or think.
Then as the truth of the Thing worked its way into my brain, I glanced
around for the cause. A large, jagged hole had been torn through in our
front trench wall by a 300-pound shell, had snuffed out my pal's life in
its course, and buried itself in the parados of the trench. There it
was, the rear end of it just inside the outside edge of the hind trench
wall, and when it exploded it meant death for any living thing within a
radius of several yards.
Nature's primal law asserted itself and I dragged the remains of my
best-loved friend several yards away and took from his pockets all his
belongings and trinkets, and when I came to the photograph, partly
stained with his heart's blood, hot, scalding tears blinded my eyes, and
in deference to my dead friend's desire, I retained the photo, intending
to get the news and picture back to her--in person, if possible.
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