The story narrated here is nearly true. The names, location and the timeframe have deliberately been masked to make the narrative timeless and universal. The story may equally relate to the winter marches in the Second World War, the winter maneuvers during Korean War, or our own backyard in the northern areas of Pakistan. The story is heroic for human endurance and courage, and a tribute to all defenders of their motherlands, wherever they serve. The narrative, beginning with the next paragraph, is in first person to make it a personal experience and the reminiscing of an old soldier about his younger days.
The story relates to the time when I was freshly promoted Lt Col and out in the field following a long academic hiatus. Having graduated from the military academy and completed my basic courses, I had gone to an engineering college for a four-year civil-engineering degree. After serving in two different engineering battalions, I was selected for a five-year MS cum PhD degree in hydrology and fluid mechanics from a prestigious foreign university. On return, I was posted for three years as a major to my old engineering college as an Assistant Professor. With my promotion to my current rank, the army HQ realised that I had not seen any real action in my life and decided to give me the command of a unit on the front line where exchange of fire with enemy occurred nearly every day.
I packed my bags and boarded a bus for a major town on the confluence of two rivers and midway to my destination. Contrary to public perception, army officers, even as senior as the battalion commanders, travelled on postings by public transport where available or by their own vehicles. My bus took four hours to cover the 140 km. My final destination lay about 100 km further ahead upstream of the smaller river during which it rose in elevation from 700 meters to 2,100 meters. The military maps indicated that the surrounding ridge lines on both sides of the river varied from 3,000 to 4,500 meters. I debussed past noon and sighted a jeep in the bus stand with its driver and a helper stepping up to me. They saluted smartly as I approached them. Other passengers paid no attention to the spectacle. Being residents of a frontier town, they were used to such formalities. The helper collected my two bags and put them in the rear hold of the jeep. The driver deferentially opened the front left door for me to take my seat. I felt elevated and humbled.
These men were to be my companion for at least two years. I had left my family behind as they had theirs. I was going to entrust my life in their hands as they were to depend on my leadership for theirs. Together, we were expected to uphold the defense of the area entrusted to our battalion. We drove on the smooth road for about one hour along the river when the driver left the road and got on to a trackless track on the left. We drove round a bend of the hill over a small cascading stream. We were now behind the ridge on whose other side flowed the river and lay the road that we had abandoned. The border between the two nations made no sense to the uninitiated, and was the result of a hasty division, several militia actions and a low intensity warfare over fifty years. On this front, the line lay away from the river on the enemy side except at a couple of places, where it was located in its middle for 15 and 20 km respectively.
Our side of the border was inhabited whereas their side was not. A road ran along the entire length of the river on our side to connect the villages with the rest of the country. The road, unfortunately, was exposed to the enemy fire. Some of their posts were behind large rocks on the slopes two km away. A single well-camouflaged marksman could disrupt our traffic on the road, or shoot anyone trying to pass through. Having suffered a few casualties, our side decided to use the rear of the ridge as bypass at the first problematic location, transforming a drive of thirty minutes into a bone jarring and perilous ride of over four hours. Alternately, one could take a chance with driving on the regular road at night without using lights, or lighters or cigarettes. The enemy also had issues of their own as their supply road lay a score of km away in the rear but they occupied a higher ridge and their difficulties were not life threatening as ours were. My second in command had instructed to driver to use the bypass at the first location and drive at night at the second, where a bypass could not be constructed. This placed me at the risk of losing my life even before reporting on duty at my Battalion HQ. However, we made the distance safely.
I took over the command of the engineering unit in this mountainous region in October when the first snows had started. Our basic role was to support the operations of an infantry division deployed in the region. For the first few days, I was dazed by the natural beauty of the area. We were deployed on both sides of the river as the border at this location lay at least five km away to the east on the 3,500-meter-high ridge line. We were out of their small-arms firing range but could be hit by artillery shells. However, an artillery shell would call for our artillery response and that kind of heavy exchange happened only rarely. From my bunker high above the road, the river was a couple of hundred meters away. I heard the melodious roar of its torrents incessantly. Numerous streams, fed by glacial and spring waters, merged into the fast-flowing river. Tall pine trees with thick undergrowth reached up to the sky all around. Ten men hiding in this thick foliage couldn't be spotted even from a hundred meters away. Tall peaks over the river were perpetually snow covered. Water flowed down through every crevice. On our side, the villagers carried out terraced farming and raised cattle. The view was mesmerising.
The area received heavy snowfall during winters and one of the tasks assigned to my unit was to clear a 40-km-long portion of the road. That part included the 20 km where the line of the border was drawn in the river and where we could only commute at night. I was told that it took a month to clear the track as the enemy didn't allow the work on the 20 km where they sat on the other bank of the river. As the first snows started falling, I asked for the SOPs for the road clearance operation. The plan was based on linear operation. The machinery started work from the upper part of the valley, where unit HQ was located, and proceeded to the lower end. The worked slowed down on the dangerous twenty km length as it could be undertaken only at night.
I sensed the gravity of the operation. This was the sole road linking the areas further up with the rest of the country. Every day was crucial as people depended on us to open the road for provisions and for visiting their families. I sensed that this time could be cut in half if two parties worked simultaneously, one from each end. I wondered why it had not been done so earlier and found that there was no particular reason and everyone took the schedule for granted. Therefore, before the road was closed due to snow, I positioned one tracked dozer and one front end (FE) wheeled dozer on the other end to be stowed away for the winter. The machinery was camouflaged to evade detection. The crew was billeted with a unit whose area of responsibility lay on the next stretch of road. The prime concern, for both adversaries during the six cold months was to stay healthy and free of frostbite. Firing, that took place on a daily basis during warmer days, died down with the arrival of snows.
Before the heavy snows started, anticipating the snow clearing operation later after the winter, and keeping the military tradition of practicing every move, I took a chain-dozer and an FE dozer on a night excursion. At mid-night, I placed the dozers ahead and followed in my jeep with my 2i/c major and a driver. A dozer can move as fast as 10 km/hr but in earth or snow moving operations, it moves at a walking pace. My grand Mughal-caravan snailed forward at five km per hour. Afterall, it was a practice and it called for a bit of reality. At one point, the road narrowed down, reducing our speed further. The river on our right shone like a silvery snake. We looked apprehensively at the enemy positions across the river. After a few km, we turned around and sped to the safety of our bunkers. We spent the winter hunkered down in our winter quarters.
When the snowfalls ceased in late February, a soldier brought me a wired letter from the Brigade HQ. I looked at the young man. He had been married a month ago. I felt sad. As I looked around at the tall mountains, snow covered peaks, the fast torrents of the river dividing us from the enemy, I thought that our young sons should be coming here on honeymoon with sensual desires to procreate their future generations. Instead, here we were, forcing them to these places with guns in their hands, and readiness to kill. I felt depressed and earnestly prayed that he went back to his waiting wife on his feet.
I read the letter. It was routine correspondence from the Brigade HQ warning us to clear the road by end March. I sent a return signal informing that it would be open in one week. Within an hour, I received a phone call from the commander indicating my wrong estimates. He attributed it to my inexperience. The road had never been cleared before the first week of April. I had proposed clearing it in the first week of March, gaining one month of movement. I replied that my timeframe was calculated, fully aware that my future career could be cut short if I didn’t deliver.
The night before I had planned to start my operation, I had our parked heavy vehicles on both ends uncovered, checked their tires, and started their engines for half an hour, moving them up and down a bit; as much as the piled-up snow allowed. They were then shut off and re-covered. Next night, as the moon set down, letting darkness engulf the valley, I walked with my crew to the machinery. The dozers were started and put to work. The chain-dozer was in the front, lifting the snow and piling it on the left. This pile was intentional as it would keep us hidden from the enemy. The FE dozer followed with finer sweeping. The road was about a dozer and a half in width, and we had planned to clear only one dozer-width. The piled-up snow on the river side would hide the vehicular movement from the enemy in their perch high across the river. With the chain-dozer a hundred meters ahead, the wheeled dozer followed with finer sweeping. I received similar reports of operation from the other side.
As we ploughed along, the road turned right around a cliff in a wide loop making a 120° turn before turning back to the left and straightening along the hillside. In the loop and behind the cliff, sheltered from the enemy line of fire, I saw a wooden door. I had passed by this place in my Jeep many times but always at night and had not noticed its existence. Now, trudging along on my feet, I stopped before it and grudgingly pushed it open. It was pitch dark inside. I switched on my torch, something that I wouldn't have done on the other side of the rock. I sprayed the opening with light and sighted a cot, two chairs and a table; all made of metal and canvas, and very dusty. Some previous unit had dug into the rock to make a small clearing as a safe resting spot. I walked into it as the major followed me. I scanned the walls and the floor for lizards and snakes; more as a habit than a precaution because these cold-blooded creatures do not survive at this height and temperature.
I patted the cot as a way of dusting it and half lay on it on my left side and motioned the major to take the chair. I took out my pack of cigarettes, pulled out two and offered the major, though I had never seen him smoke. I thought that holding the lighted cigarette might warm him up. He declined with a ‘thank you.’ I lighted up mine and took a deep drag. The cold, the breeze, piles of snow, rickety furniture and roadside consultation reminded me of a scene from my favorite novel War and Peace. In the book, Tolstoy depicts Field Marshal Kutuzov after the battle of Borodino and a few kilometres short of Moscow, sitting with his commanders on roadside benches and deciding, in the face severe opposition, to march through the ancient Capital, leaving it open for the Napoleonic Grande Armee. As a strategy, Kutuzov kept retreating before Napoleon, preserved his forces and waited for the French onslaught to whittle away before launching a counter offensive.
Rummaging through the book in my mind and aiming to preserve my little force, I muttered half consciously, "It will be dawn soon. Let's return and come back tomorrow night."
"Can't do that sir," the major replied. Not aware of the great Russian novel or the grand strategic retreat, he added, "The dozers cannot turn back on this narrow road, we must go on for another three km before we can take a U-turn."
In recalling the majesty of the novel, I had overlooked that Kutuzov had infantry, cavalry and horse-driven artillery; all of which could wheel around on the spot. Heavy earth-moving machinery have a minimum turning radius of 20 feet and the road was barely 12 feet wide.
I shook my wandering mind. We didn't have the time to clear much distance before the first light broke, exposing us to the enemy fire. I got up, threw away the butt and walked back to the working party. I told them to park the vehicles behind protected turn, cover them with white tarpaulin. Courage also means not putting your men in unnecessary danger. We had cleared 2 km of road on each side and that was good progress. We all walked back to our billets.
Next night, we again made good progress. I could now travel in my jeep on the cleared portion of the road. By 2 AM, we had cleared another two km of road on each end. I was thinking of going back to my bunker when the far party informed that the engine of their FE dozer had quit and that they were trying to ascertain the issue. Though I retained my apparent calm, my heart sank. We would be losing precious time. An hour later, I was informed that its fuel pump was faulty and that the mechanics had removed it for repairs. In the meantime, the chain dozer being in the front, continued its work unhindered. The fuel pump was taken away during the night to the city. Luckily, it got repaired the same day and fitted in at night. As I waited with muted anticipation the following night, I got the information that the vehicle had been started and was operating normal.
With over 4 km of road on each end now clear in two days and a pile of snow on the river side to hide the movement, the local population started traveling to neighbouring villages on their motorcycles. We were apprehensive that the enemy would get alerted. We were, however, at ease that the pile of snow on the riverside would camouflage these minor movements.
The next three days, too, passed peacefully with our routine of working from about midnight to five in the morning, and then drawing back to our bunkers. The routine was tiring me out. The crew could sleep till late the next morning, but I and my accompanying officer had to tend to the routine business of the unit, which was substantial. However, on the fifth morning of our operation, I could declare to the HQ that the road was open for traffic and if the jeeps drove hugging the snow mound, even day travel was possible. The news must have been received with a lot of satisfaction as I received a personal message of appreciation from the Brigade Commander.
The enemy may or may not have observed the progress that we made in those five days. In the absence of takka-tak, the tell-tale sound emanating from the muzzle of a machine gun in rapid fire mode, we assumed that they had not ventured out of their snow-covered hideouts. They wintered in larger protected bunkers; 1,500 to 2000 metres higher over the river. We had anticipated them by four long weeks.
The 5-8 feet of snow piled along the river side provided adequate protection allowing people to ride their bicycles and motorcycles during broad day light. Soon the word spread and two-way traffic resumed. Some small cars and carriage vehicles too started playing. Families were reunited sooner than expected. People were happy.
It brought a smile of satisfaction on my face and a cheer of pleasure in my heart. As for credit, my PhD in hydrology, that had nothing to do with snow clearing, got more of it than my common sense and initiative.
The story relates to the time when I was freshly promoted Lt Col and out in the field following a long academic hiatus. Having graduated from the military academy and completed my basic courses, I had gone to an engineering college for a four-year civil-engineering degree. After serving in two different engineering battalions, I was selected for a five-year MS cum PhD degree in hydrology and fluid mechanics from a prestigious foreign university. On return, I was posted for three years as a major to my old engineering college as an Assistant Professor. With my promotion to my current rank, the army HQ realised that I had not seen any real action in my life and decided to give me the command of a unit on the front line where exchange of fire with enemy occurred nearly every day.
I packed my bags and boarded a bus for a major town on the confluence of two rivers and midway to my destination. Contrary to public perception, army officers, even as senior as the battalion commanders, travelled on postings by public transport where available or by their own vehicles. My bus took four hours to cover the 140 km. My final destination lay about 100 km further ahead upstream of the smaller river during which it rose in elevation from 700 meters to 2,100 meters. The military maps indicated that the surrounding ridge lines on both sides of the river varied from 3,000 to 4,500 meters. I debussed past noon and sighted a jeep in the bus stand with its driver and a helper stepping up to me. They saluted smartly as I approached them. Other passengers paid no attention to the spectacle. Being residents of a frontier town, they were used to such formalities. The helper collected my two bags and put them in the rear hold of the jeep. The driver deferentially opened the front left door for me to take my seat. I felt elevated and humbled.
These men were to be my companion for at least two years. I had left my family behind as they had theirs. I was going to entrust my life in their hands as they were to depend on my leadership for theirs. Together, we were expected to uphold the defense of the area entrusted to our battalion. We drove on the smooth road for about one hour along the river when the driver left the road and got on to a trackless track on the left. We drove round a bend of the hill over a small cascading stream. We were now behind the ridge on whose other side flowed the river and lay the road that we had abandoned. The border between the two nations made no sense to the uninitiated, and was the result of a hasty division, several militia actions and a low intensity warfare over fifty years. On this front, the line lay away from the river on the enemy side except at a couple of places, where it was located in its middle for 15 and 20 km respectively.
Our side of the border was inhabited whereas their side was not. A road ran along the entire length of the river on our side to connect the villages with the rest of the country. The road, unfortunately, was exposed to the enemy fire. Some of their posts were behind large rocks on the slopes two km away. A single well-camouflaged marksman could disrupt our traffic on the road, or shoot anyone trying to pass through. Having suffered a few casualties, our side decided to use the rear of the ridge as bypass at the first problematic location, transforming a drive of thirty minutes into a bone jarring and perilous ride of over four hours. Alternately, one could take a chance with driving on the regular road at night without using lights, or lighters or cigarettes. The enemy also had issues of their own as their supply road lay a score of km away in the rear but they occupied a higher ridge and their difficulties were not life threatening as ours were. My second in command had instructed to driver to use the bypass at the first location and drive at night at the second, where a bypass could not be constructed. This placed me at the risk of losing my life even before reporting on duty at my Battalion HQ. However, we made the distance safely.
I took over the command of the engineering unit in this mountainous region in October when the first snows had started. Our basic role was to support the operations of an infantry division deployed in the region. For the first few days, I was dazed by the natural beauty of the area. We were deployed on both sides of the river as the border at this location lay at least five km away to the east on the 3,500-meter-high ridge line. We were out of their small-arms firing range but could be hit by artillery shells. However, an artillery shell would call for our artillery response and that kind of heavy exchange happened only rarely. From my bunker high above the road, the river was a couple of hundred meters away. I heard the melodious roar of its torrents incessantly. Numerous streams, fed by glacial and spring waters, merged into the fast-flowing river. Tall pine trees with thick undergrowth reached up to the sky all around. Ten men hiding in this thick foliage couldn't be spotted even from a hundred meters away. Tall peaks over the river were perpetually snow covered. Water flowed down through every crevice. On our side, the villagers carried out terraced farming and raised cattle. The view was mesmerising.
In recalling the majesty of Tolstoy's novel, I had overlooked that Kutuzov had infantry, cavalry and horse-driven artillery; all of which could wheel around on the spot. Heavy earth-moving machinery have a minimum turning radius of 20 feet and the road was barely 12 feet wide
The area received heavy snowfall during winters and one of the tasks assigned to my unit was to clear a 40-km-long portion of the road. That part included the 20 km where the line of the border was drawn in the river and where we could only commute at night. I was told that it took a month to clear the track as the enemy didn't allow the work on the 20 km where they sat on the other bank of the river. As the first snows started falling, I asked for the SOPs for the road clearance operation. The plan was based on linear operation. The machinery started work from the upper part of the valley, where unit HQ was located, and proceeded to the lower end. The worked slowed down on the dangerous twenty km length as it could be undertaken only at night.
I sensed the gravity of the operation. This was the sole road linking the areas further up with the rest of the country. Every day was crucial as people depended on us to open the road for provisions and for visiting their families. I sensed that this time could be cut in half if two parties worked simultaneously, one from each end. I wondered why it had not been done so earlier and found that there was no particular reason and everyone took the schedule for granted. Therefore, before the road was closed due to snow, I positioned one tracked dozer and one front end (FE) wheeled dozer on the other end to be stowed away for the winter. The machinery was camouflaged to evade detection. The crew was billeted with a unit whose area of responsibility lay on the next stretch of road. The prime concern, for both adversaries during the six cold months was to stay healthy and free of frostbite. Firing, that took place on a daily basis during warmer days, died down with the arrival of snows.
Before the heavy snows started, anticipating the snow clearing operation later after the winter, and keeping the military tradition of practicing every move, I took a chain-dozer and an FE dozer on a night excursion. At mid-night, I placed the dozers ahead and followed in my jeep with my 2i/c major and a driver. A dozer can move as fast as 10 km/hr but in earth or snow moving operations, it moves at a walking pace. My grand Mughal-caravan snailed forward at five km per hour. Afterall, it was a practice and it called for a bit of reality. At one point, the road narrowed down, reducing our speed further. The river on our right shone like a silvery snake. We looked apprehensively at the enemy positions across the river. After a few km, we turned around and sped to the safety of our bunkers. We spent the winter hunkered down in our winter quarters.
When the snowfalls ceased in late February, a soldier brought me a wired letter from the Brigade HQ. I looked at the young man. He had been married a month ago. I felt sad. As I looked around at the tall mountains, snow covered peaks, the fast torrents of the river dividing us from the enemy, I thought that our young sons should be coming here on honeymoon with sensual desires to procreate their future generations. Instead, here we were, forcing them to these places with guns in their hands, and readiness to kill. I felt depressed and earnestly prayed that he went back to his waiting wife on his feet.
I read the letter. It was routine correspondence from the Brigade HQ warning us to clear the road by end March. I sent a return signal informing that it would be open in one week. Within an hour, I received a phone call from the commander indicating my wrong estimates. He attributed it to my inexperience. The road had never been cleared before the first week of April. I had proposed clearing it in the first week of March, gaining one month of movement. I replied that my timeframe was calculated, fully aware that my future career could be cut short if I didn’t deliver.
The night before I had planned to start my operation, I had our parked heavy vehicles on both ends uncovered, checked their tires, and started their engines for half an hour, moving them up and down a bit; as much as the piled-up snow allowed. They were then shut off and re-covered. Next night, as the moon set down, letting darkness engulf the valley, I walked with my crew to the machinery. The dozers were started and put to work. The chain-dozer was in the front, lifting the snow and piling it on the left. This pile was intentional as it would keep us hidden from the enemy. The FE dozer followed with finer sweeping. The road was about a dozer and a half in width, and we had planned to clear only one dozer-width. The piled-up snow on the river side would hide the vehicular movement from the enemy in their perch high across the river. With the chain-dozer a hundred meters ahead, the wheeled dozer followed with finer sweeping. I received similar reports of operation from the other side.
As we ploughed along, the road turned right around a cliff in a wide loop making a 120° turn before turning back to the left and straightening along the hillside. In the loop and behind the cliff, sheltered from the enemy line of fire, I saw a wooden door. I had passed by this place in my Jeep many times but always at night and had not noticed its existence. Now, trudging along on my feet, I stopped before it and grudgingly pushed it open. It was pitch dark inside. I switched on my torch, something that I wouldn't have done on the other side of the rock. I sprayed the opening with light and sighted a cot, two chairs and a table; all made of metal and canvas, and very dusty. Some previous unit had dug into the rock to make a small clearing as a safe resting spot. I walked into it as the major followed me. I scanned the walls and the floor for lizards and snakes; more as a habit than a precaution because these cold-blooded creatures do not survive at this height and temperature.
The enemy may or may not have observed the progress that we made in those five days. In the absence of takka-tak, the tell-tale sound emanating from the muzzle of a machine gun in rapid fire mode, we assumed that they had not ventured out of their snow-covered hideouts
I patted the cot as a way of dusting it and half lay on it on my left side and motioned the major to take the chair. I took out my pack of cigarettes, pulled out two and offered the major, though I had never seen him smoke. I thought that holding the lighted cigarette might warm him up. He declined with a ‘thank you.’ I lighted up mine and took a deep drag. The cold, the breeze, piles of snow, rickety furniture and roadside consultation reminded me of a scene from my favorite novel War and Peace. In the book, Tolstoy depicts Field Marshal Kutuzov after the battle of Borodino and a few kilometres short of Moscow, sitting with his commanders on roadside benches and deciding, in the face severe opposition, to march through the ancient Capital, leaving it open for the Napoleonic Grande Armee. As a strategy, Kutuzov kept retreating before Napoleon, preserved his forces and waited for the French onslaught to whittle away before launching a counter offensive.
Rummaging through the book in my mind and aiming to preserve my little force, I muttered half consciously, "It will be dawn soon. Let's return and come back tomorrow night."
"Can't do that sir," the major replied. Not aware of the great Russian novel or the grand strategic retreat, he added, "The dozers cannot turn back on this narrow road, we must go on for another three km before we can take a U-turn."
In recalling the majesty of the novel, I had overlooked that Kutuzov had infantry, cavalry and horse-driven artillery; all of which could wheel around on the spot. Heavy earth-moving machinery have a minimum turning radius of 20 feet and the road was barely 12 feet wide.
I shook my wandering mind. We didn't have the time to clear much distance before the first light broke, exposing us to the enemy fire. I got up, threw away the butt and walked back to the working party. I told them to park the vehicles behind protected turn, cover them with white tarpaulin. Courage also means not putting your men in unnecessary danger. We had cleared 2 km of road on each side and that was good progress. We all walked back to our billets.
Next night, we again made good progress. I could now travel in my jeep on the cleared portion of the road. By 2 AM, we had cleared another two km of road on each end. I was thinking of going back to my bunker when the far party informed that the engine of their FE dozer had quit and that they were trying to ascertain the issue. Though I retained my apparent calm, my heart sank. We would be losing precious time. An hour later, I was informed that its fuel pump was faulty and that the mechanics had removed it for repairs. In the meantime, the chain dozer being in the front, continued its work unhindered. The fuel pump was taken away during the night to the city. Luckily, it got repaired the same day and fitted in at night. As I waited with muted anticipation the following night, I got the information that the vehicle had been started and was operating normal.
With over 4 km of road on each end now clear in two days and a pile of snow on the river side to hide the movement, the local population started traveling to neighbouring villages on their motorcycles. We were apprehensive that the enemy would get alerted. We were, however, at ease that the pile of snow on the riverside would camouflage these minor movements.
The next three days, too, passed peacefully with our routine of working from about midnight to five in the morning, and then drawing back to our bunkers. The routine was tiring me out. The crew could sleep till late the next morning, but I and my accompanying officer had to tend to the routine business of the unit, which was substantial. However, on the fifth morning of our operation, I could declare to the HQ that the road was open for traffic and if the jeeps drove hugging the snow mound, even day travel was possible. The news must have been received with a lot of satisfaction as I received a personal message of appreciation from the Brigade Commander.
The enemy may or may not have observed the progress that we made in those five days. In the absence of takka-tak, the tell-tale sound emanating from the muzzle of a machine gun in rapid fire mode, we assumed that they had not ventured out of their snow-covered hideouts. They wintered in larger protected bunkers; 1,500 to 2000 metres higher over the river. We had anticipated them by four long weeks.
The 5-8 feet of snow piled along the river side provided adequate protection allowing people to ride their bicycles and motorcycles during broad day light. Soon the word spread and two-way traffic resumed. Some small cars and carriage vehicles too started playing. Families were reunited sooner than expected. People were happy.
It brought a smile of satisfaction on my face and a cheer of pleasure in my heart. As for credit, my PhD in hydrology, that had nothing to do with snow clearing, got more of it than my common sense and initiative.