At several places there are tremendous craters. “Great guns, something’s hit that,” I say to Kat.

“Trench mortars,” he replies, and then points up at one of the trees.

In the branches dead men are hanging. A naked soldier is squatting in the fork of a tree, he still has his helmet on, otherwise he is entirely unclad. There is only half of him sitting up there, the top half, the legs are missing.

“What can that mean?” I ask.

“He’s been blown out of his clothes,” mutters Tjaden.

“It’s funny,” says Kat, “we have seen that several times now. If a mortar gets you it blows you clean out of your clothes. It’s the concussion that does it.”