nd
what's the chance of getting back to my own outfit."

"Damn slim, I'd say. Boches are all around us here, thicker than fleas
on a dog."

They approached the summit, were challenged, were accepted. They saw a
gray-haired man--an old man, for such a location--seated calmly upon a
rock, smoking a cigarette. His smartly-tailored uniform, which fitted
perfectly his not-so-slender figure, was muddy and tattered. One leg of
his breeches was torn half away, revealing a blood-soaked bandage.
Although he was very evidently an officer, no insignia were visible. As
Kinnison and the gunners approached, a first lieutenant--practically
spic-and-span--spoke to the man on the rock.

"First thing to do is to settle the matter of rank," he announced,
crisply. "I'm First Lieutenant Randolph, of...."

"Rank, eh?" The seated one grinned and spat out the butt of his
cigarette. "But then, it was important to me, too, when I was a first
lieutenant--about the time that you were born. Slayton, Major-General."

"Oh ... excuse me, sir...."

"Skip it. How many men you got, and what are they?"

"Seven, sir. We brought in a wire from Inf...."

"A _wire_! Hellanddamnation, why haven't you got it with you, then? Get
it!"

The crestfallen officer disappeared; the general turned to Kinnison and
the sergeant.

"Have you got any ammunition, sergeant?"

"Yes, sir. About thirty belts."

"Thank God! We can use it, and you. As for you, Captain, I don't
know...."

The wire came up. The general seized the instrument and cranked.

"Get me Spearmint ... Spearmint? Slayton--give me Weatherby.... This is
Slayton ... yes, but ... No, but I want ... Hellanddamnation, Weatherby,
shut up and let me talk--don't you know that this wire's apt to be cut
any second? We're on top of Hill Fo-wer, Ni-yun, Sev-en--that's
right--about two hundred men; maybe three. Composite--somebody,
apparently, from half the outfits in France. Too fast and too far--both
flanks wide open--cut off ... Hello! Hello! Hello!" He dropped the
instrument and turned to Kinnison. "You want to go back, Captain, and I
need a runner--bad. Want to try to get through?"

"Yes, sir."

"First phone you come to, get Spearmint--General Weatherby. Tell him
Slayton says that we're cut off, but the Germans aren't in much force
nor in good position, and for God's sake to get some air and tanks in
here to keep them from consolidating. Just a minute. Sergeant, what's
your name?" He studied the bu