Only Maud Stanton was visible through the smoky haze.

Uncle John approached her just as a shell dropped into the sand not fifty feet away.

It did not explode but plowed a deep furrow and sent a shower of sand in every direction.
Maud had just finished dressing a bullet wound in the arm of a young soldier who smiled as he watched her.

Then, as she finished the work, he bowed low, muttered his thanks, and catching up his gun rushed back into the fray.

It was a flesh wound and until it grew more painful he could still fight.
"Where are the Germans ?" asked Uncle John.