“Four hundred twenty or minnenwerfer ,” Gavuzzi said.

“There aren’t any four hundred twenties in the mountains,” I said.

“They have big Skoda guns. I’ve seen the holes.”

“Three hundred fives.”

We went on eating. There was a cough, a noise like a railway engine starting and then an explosion that shook the earth again.

“This isn’t a deep dugout,” Passini said.

“That was a big trench-mortar.”

“Yes, sir.”