There is certainly nothing to compare with it on any of the other Fronts; for here nature appears to have connived at the efforts of man, and every hollow and every hummock form as it were potential bastions. The incessant thunder of the guns in the distance seemed, as it were, to be in keeping with the utter desolation of the scene.
The road gradually ascended for about a couple of miles, till we at last arrived on the plateau of Doberdo, and close to all that remains of the village.
Fighting was going on only a short distance away in the direction of Nova Vas, so we were under fire here, as shrapnel was bursting all round the village, and at times in amongst the ruins as well.
Doberdo was then reputed to be the hottest corner of the Carso, and one literally took one’s life into one’s hands when going there.
But it was, nevertheless, so absorbingly interesting that it compensated for the risk one was taking, and there was a weird sort of fascination in listening to the booming of the guns and watching the shells bursting.
There were no troops here, only some officers and a few soldiers, for the village was far too much exposed for actual occupation; but it was on the road to the trenches, so it was to a certain extent “occupied” for the moment. There was also a Field Dressing Station, where a few devoted Red Cross men were working under conditions of ever-present peril.
Every yard almost of the ground had been shelled, and it was pock-marked with craters of all sizes. In fact, the wonder was that even a particle of the village was left standing.
We left the car under the shelter of the remnant of a wall, and strolled along what had evidently been the main street; but it was not altogether what one would term a pleasant stroll, for the stench of unburied dead was in the air, and horrible sights faced you on all sides.
We proceeded very gingerly and ready to make a bolt for cover whenever we heard the warning screech of an approaching shell. There was really not more to see at one end of the street than the other, but one feels just a little bit restless standing still under fire, so we started off on a look round.
At the end of the village there was a fine view looking towards Oppachiasella on the left, and Monte Cosich and the road by which we had come up on the right. One was, therefore, able to judge for oneself what fighting in this arid wilderness means.