THE MEN IN THE HOLE

It is the little episodes of this every day struggle for life, small episodes, that give us joy to be "Men in the hole".

What time is it? Who can see? There isn't even a moon. Oh, finally a rocket!

It's 10:15. This night will never end!

Speak more quietly... Who's there? ... a whisper...avanti!

It is the nth night of vigil around the belt of Tobruk; the men are still those of quota 146. Again, tonight we left for the ambush at twilight, a quick advance into no man's land, compass in hand, direction 230 west. - But what? a ship? No! It is a patrol of commandos going to ambush armored cars.

How many nights? Many, and never a little luck, never an armoured car within range. We need to hang tight, a good time will come. Each one has dug his hole and the vigil has begun, this vigil is nerve-wracking, with aching eyes, often now that there is no moon and we look around we keep our ears tense for any noise. I lie down and enjoy rediscovering the constellations. The bear? The little deer? silly things, every commando knows them at first glance.

Now turning over on one side I see a track of light, a falling star. We were like this the other night also, watching falling stars, how many! And there is the hissing