A Story of War

Continuous snow on and off, for the whole week practically now. The mountain tops look rather grim when you see them outlined in a gap in the smokey grey mist which swirls about their base. They seem to sort of loom out of the mist, especially with the sun behind them. I met a sikh, clad in a pair of pants, outside his barrack room, giving himself a bath with the aid of soap and cold water in an oil tin, the whole thing swept by an icy snow-laden wind.

The PA said the sniper was caught at HMS Nelson, was a small boy, with a rifle about the length of your arm, who said he was potting pigeons. The Masudha brought him in, and he is to be tried by a Jirgah.