ver a telephone, temporarily
quiescent, smoking a woodbine, heaves a resigned sigh, extinguishes the
woodbine and places it behind his ear; hitches his repairing-wallet
nonchalantly over his shoulder, and departs into the night--there to
grope in several inches of mud for the two broken ends of the wire,
which may be lying fifty yards apart. Having found them, he proceeds to
effect a junction, his progress being impeded from time to time by
further bursts of shrapnel. This done, he tests the new connection,
relights his woodbine, and splashes his way back to Headquarters. That
is a Buzzer's normal method of obtaining fresh air and exercise.

More than that. He is the one man in the Army who can fairly describe
himself as indispensable.

In these days, when whole nations are deployed against one another,
no commander, however eminent, can ride the whirlwind single-handed.
There are limits to individual capacity. There are limits to direct
control. There are limits to personal magnetism. We fight upon a
collective plan nowadays. If we propose to engage in battle, we begin
by welding a hundred thousand men into one composite giant. We weld a
hundred thousand rifles, a million bombs, a thousand machine-guns, and
as many pieces of artillery, into one huge weapon of offence, with
which we arm our giant. Having done this, we provide him with a
brain--a blend of all the experience and wisdom and military genius at
our disposal. But still there is one thing lacking--a nervous system.
Unless our giant have that,--unless his brain be able to transmit its
desires to his mighty limbs,--he has nothing. He is of no account; the
enemy can make butcher's-meat of him. And that is why I say that
the purveyor of this nervous system--our friend the Buzzer--is
indispensable. You can always create a body of sorts and a brain of
sorts. But unless you can produce a nervous system of the highest
excellence, you are foredoomed to failure.

Take a small instance. Supposing a battalion advances to the attack,
and storms an isolated, exposed position. Can they hold on, or can
they not? That question can only be answered by the Artillery behind
them. If the curtain of shell-fire which has preceded the advancing
battalion to its objective can be "lifted" at the right moment and
put down again, with precision, upon a certain vital zone beyond the
captured line, counter-attacks can be broken up and the line held.
But the Artillery lives a long way--s