Chapter III

For eight days the Fourth Brigade lived off the Russians. It was not luxurious, but it was better than crumbs scraped out of a fortress twenty years in its grave. Apparently the Russians had met and defeated other forces to the east, for the stores included a kind of bread, made of bark and wild wheat, peculiar to Rumanian troops and a wine which Alsatian soldiers concocted from certain roots. Too, there were some spare tunics and overcoats, evidently located in some hitherto-forgotten dump. These, though slightly moldy and insect-frayed, were most welcome, especially since they were light tan, a color which blended well with the autumn which was upon them.

But at the end of eight days the brigade began to show signs of restlessness. Wild geese, in increasing flock, had begun to wing southward, and the men lay on their backs, staring moodily into the blue, idly counting.

The lieutenant paced along a broken slab of concrete which had once been part of a pillbox commanding the valley. For, with the new guns and even the scarce ammunition, the troops did not need to fear sunlight.

In his ears, there sounded the honking which heralded an early winter. And the caterpillars which inched along and tumbled off the guns had narrow tan ruffs which clearly stated that the winter would be a hard one. Spiders, too, confirmed it.

It was one of those infrequent times when the lieutenant did not smile, which heightened the effect of his seriousness. Men moved quietly when they came near and aid not linger but cat-footed away. The battery crew silently sat along the grass-niched wall and studiously regarded their boots, only glancing up when the lieutenant went the other way.

All hoped they knew what he was thinking. The winter past had not been a comfortable one: starving, they had huddled in an all-but-roofless church, parsimoniously munching upon the stores they had found buried there-stores which had not lasted through. At that time the Germans were still making sporadic raids, not yet convinced that their own democracy could win out against the French king, but bent more upon food than glory. The brigade had marched into that town four hundred and twelve strong.

And now winter was here again, knocking with bony fingers upon their consciousness. Longingly they looked south and watched to see if the lieutenant gave any more heed to one direction than another.

Not for their lives would they have bothered him. Even Mawkey stayed afar.

And it came to them with an unholy shock when they saw that a man had been passed through the sentries and was approaching the lieutenant with every evidence of accosting him. Several snatched at the fellow, but, imperiously, he swept on.

He might have been a ludicrous figure at a less tense moment. He was a powerful brute, his massive, hairy head set close down upon his oxlike shoulders. But about him he clutched some kind of cloak which would have heeled an ordinary being but only came to his thighs. On his head he had a cocked hat decorated with a plume. At his side swung a sword. On his chest was a gaudy ribbon fully two feet long.

Without ceremony he planted himself squarely before the lieutenant and lifted off his hat in a sweeping, grandiloquent bow.

 

The lieutenant was so astonished that he did not immediately return the salutation. Carefully he looked the fellow up and down, from heavy boots back again to the now-replaced cocked hat.

"General…" began the intruder, "I come to pay my respects."

"I am no general, and if you wish to see me get permission from my sergeant major. Pollard! Who let this by?"

"A moment." said the hairy one. "I have a proposition to offer you, one which will mean food and employment!'

"You are very sure of yourself, fellow. Are we mercenaries that we can be bought?"

"Food is a matter of need, general. Allow me to introduce myself I am Duke LeCroisaut."

"Ekike? May I ask of what?"

"Of a town, general. I received the grant from the king not three years ago!'

"King?"

"The King of France, His Majesty Renard the First. My credentials." And he took forth a scroll from his cloak and unwound it.

Without touching it, the lieutenant read the flowing phrases in the flourishing hand.

"Renard the First has been executed these last six months. And I, fellow, have nothing to do with the politics of France. We waste time, I think."

"General, do not judge so abruptly. My town, St. Hubert, has come into the hands of a brigand named Despard, a former private in the French army, who has seen fit to settle himself upon my people, oppressing them!'

"This is nothing to me. Guard, escort this n beyond the sentries!"

"But the food¯" said the Duke with a leer.

The lieutenant shook his head at the guard, staying them for a moment.

"What about this food?"

"The peasants have some. If you do as I ask, it shall be yours."

"Where is this town?"

"About a week's march south and west for you and your men; two days' march for myself."

"You evidently had some troops. What happened to them?"

"Perhaps unwisely, general, I dispensed with their services some months ago."

"Then you wish us to take a town, set you up and¯ Here! What's this?"

The fellow had sunk back against the concrete wall. He had been breathing with difficulty and his hand now sought his throat. His eyes began to protrude and some flecks of blood rose to his lips. He shook.

"An old wound¯" he gasped. "Gas¯"

The lieutenant unlimbered his pistol and slid off the catches.

"No! No no!" screamed the Duke. "It is not soldier's sickness, I swear it!

No! For the love of God, of your king¯"

Smoke leaped from the lieutenant's hand and the roar of the shot rolled around the valley below. The empty tinkled on the stones. The lieutenant stepped away from the jerking body and made a sweeping motion with his arm.

"March in an hour. I do not have to caution you to stay away from this body. Mawkey, pack my things."

"The guns?" said Gian, worriedly glancing at his pets and then beseechingly at the lieutenant.

"Detail men … to haul them. They're light enough. But leave the three-inch.

It would bog before the day was out."

"Si," said Gian gladly.

Shortly, Sergeant Hanley hurried up. "Third Regiment ready, sir."

An old man named Chipper piped, "First Regimerit ready, sir."

Toutou bounded back and forth, making a final check from the muster roll he carried in his head. Then he snapped about and cried, "Second Regiment ready, sir."

Gian, overcome by new importance, saluted. "First Artillery ready, sir."

But it did not come off so well. The Fourth Brigade's First Artillery, a unit of .65-caliber field pieces, had been drowned to a man in a rising flood of the Somme while they strove to free their guns. For an instant the people here glanced around and knew how small they were, how many were dead and all that had gone before; they felt the chill in the wind which blew down from countless miles of graveyard.

"Weasel!" bawled the lieutenant. "Leadoff at a thousand yards with your scouts. Bonchamp! Bring up the rear and shoot all stragglers. Chipper and Herrero, wide out on the flanks! Fourth Brigade! Forward!"

The wind mourned along the deserted ridge, searching out something to twitch. But nearly all signs of the camp had been destroyed, just as there would be left no mark along the line of march by which another force could follow and attack. The wind had to content itself with the cloak of the dead man which it lifted off the legs time and again, and the gaudy ribbon which it rippled over the cooling face.

 

Malcolm matched the lieutenant's stride, glancing now and then at the man's quiet profile. Malcolm could not rid himself of the vision of the Duke trying to stop a bullet with his hands and screaming his pleas for life.

"Lieutenant," he said cautiously and respectfully, "if... if one of your men came down with soldier's sickness ... would you shoot him like that?"

Malcolm clearly meant himself.

The lieutenant did not glance at him. A shadow of distaste dropped over him and passed. "It has happened."

Malcolm avoided the finality of that statement. "But how would you know?

How do you know that that fellow back there had it? Wouldn't gas¯"

"Yes. It would."

"Then ... then¯

"You've seen men die of soldier's sickness?"

"Of course."

"You were in England when the first waves of it came. Over here, when one man got it, his squad got it shortly after. No one knows how it travels.

Some say by lice, some by air. There was only one way to save a company and that was to execute the squad. "But ... but some are immune!"

"Maybe. The doctors who tried to make the tests died of it, also. Let's have an end of this, Malcolm!"

They walked in silence for some time and gradually forgot about it. They had come to a broad valley matted with young trees. Here and there stone walls showed brokenly in the undergrowth; less frequently the gashed sides of a house stared forlornly with its gaping windows. A city had once flourished them. But the lieutenant's only interest in it was to see that the squirrels, rabbits and birds, those Geiger counters of the soldier, flourished through it with the ease of familiarity. It was not radioactive then. Nevertheless the rubble made the walking hard. And they clung to the outskirts, choosing rather an old battlefield than the tomb of the civilians. Pounded into the earth by rain of a dozen years lay an ancient tank, its gun silently covering the clouds which scurried south.

The men were not in any recognizable formation of march, but there was a plan of sorts despite the appearance of straggling. Loosely they formed a circle two hundred yards in diameter, a formation which would allow both a swift withdrawal into a compact defense unit from any angle of attack and would permit a swift enveloping of any obstacle met, the foremost point merely opening out and closing around. But the movements of the men themselves were quite independent of the organization, for they marched as the pilot of an ailing plane had once flown-not from field to field, but from cover to cover. All open spaces were either traversed at top speed, completely skirted, or else crawled through. The equidistant posts were very flexible of position according to the greatest danger of the terrain; these, too, were loose circles save for the rear guard, which was a long line, the better to pick up any willful stragglers or extricate any which had been trapped in the pits with which all this land abounded-pits which had the appearance of solid ground, built to impede troops and used now by peasants who found a need for clothing and equipment.

The one officer, if such he could be called, who had latitude of movement for his small group was Bulger Bayonet thrust naked and ready in his belt, helmet pulled threateningly down over one eye, filthy warm flapping against his heels, he roved purposefully and thoroughly, rumbling from flank to flank and beyond, appearing magically inside and outside the circle of march. He would overrun the vanguard, inspect the ground ahead and then go rambling off with two or three scarecrows at his heels to poke into some suspicioned rise of ground and, sometimes, send a runner back to change the whole route of march to roll over the place and pick up cached supplies. After a good day Bulger would begin the evening meal by pulling birds, onions, old cans of beef from an unheard-of time, moldy loaves and wild potatoes from that warm which seemed to have the capacity of a full transport; for while the main discoveries had been shared around, Bulger took a joy in personal collection which outrivaled, if possible, his lieutenant's love of victory without casualty! These choice bits¯and scarce enough they were¯made first, the lieutenant's board and, second, the noncoms' fare. The brigade said of Bulger that he could hear a potato growing at the distance of four kilometers and could smell a can of beef at five.

 

The brigade flitted swiftly over an exposed chain of embankments,, which had been a railroad, long ago shelled out of existence and then robbed of its rails for bomb-proof beams. Bulger alone paused at the to his hairy nostrils quivering avidly. He broke his trance and sped forward, presently lumbering past the vanguard. Weasel's narrow face popped alertly from beyond a bush.

"I don't hear anything," complained Weasel.

Bulger touched his nose pridefully and swept on, vanishing into the undergrowth ahead. As this was the mid portion of the valley, the only difference of level was a stream. This was revengefully eating away at an old mill dam, having already toppled the shell-bursted mill down the bank. But there was no ocular evidence whatever of anything unusual.

Telepathically quiet, the word skimmed through the brigade and the route of march shifted. Gian's artillery, which had been annoying its motive power by forbidding their taking the best cover, was balked by the stream until Gian, scurrying up and down the bank, found a shallow bar which had been built up by the downfall of an old bridge.

Bulger and his two scarecrows flickered beyond a screen of willows and vanished afield; one of the men, as runner, reappeared as a signpost and was scooped up by the advancing Weasel.

Presently the first sign of habitation was noted by the lieutenant. A rabbit snare flicked at his foot and sprang free. A moment later he brushed through a camouflage of small shrubs and was abruptly confronted by a plowed field. A crude arrangement consisting of a harness and a twisted stick had been turning back the furrows. A woman's cap lay on the untouched ground, but there was no other sign than this and tracks of those who had been there but a moment before.

Like a bear on the scent of a honey tree, Bulger was plunging along the fringe of wood, searching for a path and failing wholly to find it. The lieutenant, accompanied by Mawkey, came from cover and joined him.

"I smelled fresh earth," said Bulger, "and here it is. But where the seven devils is the trail?"

"There," said Mawkey, slightly disdainful. The tunnel looked as if it would refuse to admit anyone larger than a rat terrier, but Mawkey's eyes had seen a broken twig and so had been directed to this covered hole in the undergrowth. , "If they got energy enough to plow, they must have something to eat," reasoned Bulger with his usual single-mindedness. And immediately stooped to paw away the screen.

The lieutenant brought him back by a yank at his boot and, despite Bulger's size, landed him some ten feet from the hole. There was a sharp explosion and a crater appeared where the tunnel had been.

Bulger got to his knees looking sheepish.

"I'll be changing your diapers next ' " said the lieutenant to the assembled. "Falling for a planted grenade!" He faced about and signaled Weasel up with the vanguard. "Drop back with your kettles, Bulger, and be careful you don't drop one on your toe and kill yourself"

"Wait!" cried Bulger. "Please, sir. Wait! The wind's changed. I smell wood smoke!"

Weasel tested the air, mouth half-open, walking around in a small circle and looking skyward.

"There!" cried Bulger. "It's stronger now! Real dry wood burning." And, having redeemed himself, he rumbled after the scent, the slight Weasel trotting at his heels.

The lieutenant circled his right hand over his head, left hand extended palm down for caution. A few leaves stirred around the borders of the field. The brigade was moving up.

Presently one of Weasel's men bobbed out before the lieutenant. "Over to the right, sir!'

The lieutenant swung in that direction and found Weasel and his vanguard standing around a pit, pulling up one of their number. The lieutenant gave a searching glance to the immediate surroundings and stepped forward. The trapped man's leg was bleeding where the stake at the bottom had gouged him. It was not serious and Mawkey laid the fellow out and bandaged it, having placed a chunk of spongy pitch in the wound.

There were some bones in the excavation, but no sign of any equipment.

Alertly the lieutenant paced back and forth over the ground. In a moment he thrust a stick into a solid-appearing patch and so knocked the camouflage through. There were bones here as well.

"Pass the word," he said to a runner.

Bulger trundled his excited bulk back to them. "Sir, I've found it. About eighty houses and a dozen storerooms."

"Lead off!"

 

The lieutenant strode along at Bulger's heels, knocking in an occasional pit and warily avoiding the invitation of clear walkways, going through brush instead. The wood smoke was apparent to him now, though elusive.

They came to a flat expanse which was even more brush-covered than the surrounding terrain. There was nothing whatever to remark the presence of people and, had they come by earlier instead of at the time of the evening meal, it is certain they would have missed the village altogether.

The barest suggestion of heat waved in the air above the place. Only one wisp of smoke could be seen in the evening air, and the source of that could not immediately be traced. The lieutenant, from cover, examined the place minutely and it gradually began to take definite form for him.

He waited for some time, knowing that the brigade would envelop the place, and then turned to Mawkey. "I am going forward. Pick out and mark all the smoke spots and watch for my signal."

He pulled down his visor and drew his pistol. Then, wrapping his cloak tightly across his chest, he walked into the open! Instantly several shots snapped at him, two of them striking him and, for an instant, breaking his pace. Dark had been settling slowly for some little time, but the first indication he had of it was his ability to see the flashes from the rifles, which were orange in the half-light. Again shots drilled savagely around him. They came from the center in their highest concentration.

 

"Hello, the leader!" shouted the lieutenant in French.

The firing ceased and from nowhere in particular a voice rose from the flat earth. "We have no wish to see anyone! Go or we shall use grenades!"

"You are surrounded by the Fourth Brigade. We have artillery!"

There was a long pause and then, falsely aggressive, the same voice cried:

"Devil take your artillery! We have much to answer!"

A grenade bounded from nowhere to the lieutenant's feet. It exploded with a bright flash. The lieutenant lifted himself from the depression some five yards beyond the place where it had gone off.

"One more chance. Surrender peaceably or take the consequences."

"Go to the devil!"

The lieutenant vanished into another patch of cover which was instantly raked by fire. He whistled shrilly twice. Instantly the villagers opened up at the borders of their field. But no shots came in return. Dusk was dropping swiftly now and it was that period of the day when it is both too dark and too light to see moving men.

The fire from the hidden emplacements slacked and stopped. Mystified and none too sure, the villagers conserved their scanty cartridges.

Short calls began to sound throughout the clearing, and the lieutenant waited until they had done. There was silence then for several minutes.

"We still offer you your chance to give over," stated the lieutenant. "All we require is billeting and food."

"We haven't changed our minds," said the leader.

"I shall count to ten. If you have not by that time, I cannot answer for the consequences." And he counted, very slowly, to ten. And there was no reply.

 

These people were tougher than the lieutenant had suspected. Usually his own careless appearance and the reports were sufficient to shake resolve.

These survivors of all that science and politics could achieve had become survivor types, of a rare order. He shrugged to himself, little he cared.

He gave a short whistle in a certain key and there was a faint wave of movement through the clearing. Then, after a short time, the smoke began to clear from the air. Presently there sounded some coughs under the earth. And then more. The smoke which. had vanished now began to thicken in the night. Throughout the village, handfiils of green leaves had been thrust down the camouflaged chimneys.

The coughing increased as the smoke increased, and there came wails of despair, the rattle of poles which sought to clear the obstructions, and the frenzied swearing of men trying to haul the green leaves from the grates.

The lieutenant lay upon his back and looked at the evening star, jewel-like in the darkening heavens. Other stars came slowly forth to make up constellations. A breeze played with the treetops and made them bow before the majesty of night.

"My general!" sobbed the leader. "We have seen the error of our decision.

What mercy can we expect if we come up now?"

The lieutenant counted the stars in Cepheus and began upon the Little Bear.

"My general! For the love of Heaven, have mercy! There are children here!

They are strangling! What can we expect if we come up now?"

With a sigh, the lieutenant gave his attention to the Great Bear and tried to make out the Swan, part of which was hidden by the drifting smoke.

There was a ripping of brush and the thump of a door thrown back and the clearing was immediately alight and fogged with billowing smoke. The lieutenant stood up. Soldiers materialized from the earth and people were herded into weeping, pleading groups. A few madmen gripped rifles, but were so obviously blinded that no one wasted ammunition upon them but merely wrenched the weapons away and pushed them into the crowds.

"Clear the chimneys," said the lieutenant. "Anyone who happens to have a mask, go below and clear the grates."

"I would never have surrendered," said the leader, groping toward the voice of command. "But they were going out down there! For the love of Heaven, don't kill us! We are friendly. Truly we are friendly. We shall show you the storehouses, give you beds, women, anything, but don't kill us!"

The lieutenant turned away from him in disgust and watched his men dropping down steps into the earth.

"We have so little but we give it all!" cried the leader, pulling at the hem of the lieutenant's cape. "But spare us!"

"Pollard," said the lieutenant, making a slight motion with his hand. The leader was dragged away.

Presently Sergeants Chipper and Hanley drew up before their commander. "I guess you can breathe down there now, sir," said Hanley. "At least, on my side. And I've taken a look at the inhabitants, sir, havin' a little more time than some people. A scrawny lot but there ain't a sick one among them."

"This half all cleared, sir," said the veteran Chipper, indignant at this fancied gibe about his age. "I made damn sure about the bugs. They still must have insect powder 'cause there ain't one." He glared at Hanley.

"Pollard! Billet the men as the huts will take them. Be certain to collect all weapons and mount a guard upon them. Post sentries at fifty-yard intervals along the edge of the village'

"Yessir!" said Pollard.

Gian came up sour because he had had no chance to use his artillery. "Smoke," he muttered, disgustedly.

"Gian," said the lieutenant as though he had not overheard, "take a post to the north there on that little rise and hide your guns well. From there you can rake anything which puts in an appearance, with the exception, of course, of British troops, providing they are friendly. We'll depend upon you to give us a sound night's sleep."

Gian brightened and got two inches taller. "Anything, sir?"

"At your discretion."

"Yessssss, ssssssir!"

"Mawkey! Locate the leader's house and ask Toutou to please post a sentry over it."

Bulger dashed by, rubbing his hands together and swearing with delight as he uncovered storehouse after storehouse.

"Come along, Malcolm," said the lieutenant, presently.

 

They followed Mawkey down into the earth and found themselves in a large but low-ceilinged cavern. The roof was arched, supported by crudely hewn logs and railroad rails and smoothed off with a coating of dried white clay. The floor was carpeted with woven willows. Old fortress bunks were ranged along one wall and covered with army blankets. The furniture was all of branches, lashed with a kind of vine, with the exception of the table, which was topped by an old tank plate and supported artistically with upended one-pounders. The fireplace was of metal plate built into mud and stone and was fitted with several ingenious hinged shelves at variant heights above the grate.

Evidently a fireplace was used because it smoked less than a stove. The utensils which hung about were all military, bearing various army stamps.

Old blackout curtains were so arranged as to divide the place into sections, but they had strayed so far from their original purpose that they lacked two feet of reaching the roof Two other entrances led off, one near the bunks and another at the side of the outside door. Several pedestals were in place along the walls below roof cavities just big enough for a man's head; outside these were armored-car turrets projecting slightly into dumps of brush. The weapons had already been collected, but their racks occupied a prominent place. A series of channels edged the bottoms of the walls, made of bright airplane alloy, to catch any water which might come in from above.

The hut was more colorful than could be expected, for camouflage paint brightened the supporting columns and the bunks and table and several bunches of flowers were about, placed in vases hammered out of large shells.

The place was lit by an intricate system of polished metal plates which, in the daytime, brought the light down from the, slots and, at night, scattered around the light from the fireplace.

The lieutenant grinned happily and stood up to the blaze to warm his hands.

The sentry stepped into place at the bottom of the stairway and Mawkey closed and bolted the passageway doors.

Carstone looked in. "Any orders, sir?"

"Might post a couple of guns at the corner of the clearing to rake it in case!'

"Yessir." He lingered for a moment.

"Yes?"

"I found another pneumatic tank, sir. They use it for water storage."

"Take it along."

"Thank you, sir."

"Ah…" sighed the lieutenant happily, getting the weight of his cape from his shoulders. He unstrapped his helmet and gave it over to Mawkey, "Near thing, sir," said Mawkey, poking 2 fingers into the cape where a new slug had gone in exactly upon an old one.

"Mawkey, isn't there any way to get the bullets out of that thing? It weighs nine hundred pounds more every night I remove it."

"I saw some parachute silk on one of them women, sir. I could cut out the bullets and wad that stuff for a patch. It'd be safer, sir."

"By all means, Mawkey."

"Sir," said the sentry, "there's a bunch of people up here that want to see you."

The lieutenant made a motion with his hand and the sentry beckoned to someone up in the darkness. In a moment a woman, followed by two small children, came down. She looked as bravely as she could at the officers and then instinctively chose the lieutenant.

"You are our guest, sir," she said in halting English.

"Oh, yes, of course. You live here, eh? Well, there's plenty of room. By all means, bring your family down."

She looked relieved and made a beckoning motion to the top of the stairs.

Three younger women and another child came down, followed by a very hesitant young man who stood defensively between two who were apparently his wives. A fifth woman came helping a very aged dame whose eyes gleamed curiously as they inspected the officers. She, too, turned her attention to the lieutenant.

"You good gentlemen gave us a time," said the old woman in French.

"Hush," said one of the women, terrified at such boldness.

"Well, if they didn't kill us before, they aren't going to kill us now.

Welcome, gentlemen. In payment for our lives these girls will get you a very good supper."

 

The five younger ones made haste to tuck the children into the far bunks, where they lay with their heads submerged and only their wide eyes showing.

An attractive blonde hurried to the fire to replenish it and, so doing, dropped a stick of wood on the lieutenant's boot. She backed up, paralyzed.

"Don't mind Greta," said the old dame, sitting down and putting her toothless chin upon her cane. "She's a Belgian. Pierre here brought her back one day. You can't really blame a Belgian."

"Of course not," said the lieutenant. He looked curiously at the girl and smiled. Very cautiously she retrieved the piece of wood and cast it on the fire without again daring to look at him.

The young man had settled himself watchfully in the corner. His hands were. enormous with toil; his eyes were brutish and sunken. He suggested an animal in the way his shoulders hunched. The girl Greta, sent for food from the locker at his side, walked clear of him, but he succeeded in seizing her wrist.

"You clumsy fool," he whispered harshly. "Do you want us all killed? I would not be surprised if you did that on purpose!"

She wrenched away from him, her whole body suddenly like a flame. She struck him across the mouth and then yanked open the locker door in such a way that it pinned him in the corner while she got the mask container of flour.

The old woman was delighted at the young man's discomfiture. "Well! I have been wondering how she would answer you at last."

"Serves him right," whispered one of the women to another. "Picking up strays."

Their laughter stretched his intelligence beyond its elasticity and it snapped into rage. As soon as he was released he lunged at her and began to strike at her, roaring that she had pushed him away too long. But he stopped with a scream of pain and dropped to the floor, holding the side of his head. At a sign from the lieutenant, Mawkey had thrown his chains.

"I'll have no fighting here," said the lieutenant. "Throw him out."

The sentry's fingers fastened about the clod's collar and he was wrenched toward the door.

"Don't have him Wed!" screamed the young man's wives, instantly down and clutching at the lieutenant's boots. One of the children began to howl in fright.

With distaste the lieutenant freed himself Malcolm was grinning at the predicament. Greta stood with her straight back pressed hard against the wall, watching the lieutenant.

Pollard was down the steps in an instant with drawn automatic, knocking the young man out of the sentry's grip and down to the floor once mom The clod, snarling, rebounded. The room was full of flame and smoke and sound. The clod was down on his hands and knees, shaking his head like a groggy bull. He tried to reach Pollard and then, abruptly, the effort went out of him and he dropped to the mats, kicking straight out with his legs with lessening force. Pollard rolled him over with his toe. The arms flopped out and the blood-spattered remains of a face stonily regarded the beams above.

The two women who had protested started forward and then checked themselves, their eyes fixed upon the body. Slowly, then, they turned and went back to the bunks to quiet the wailing of the young one.

"Everything else all right?" said Pollard, smoothing his rumpled tunic.

"Carry on, sergeant," said the lieutenant, making a small upward motion with his hand.

Mawkey and the sentry towed the corpse up the steps. One of the women took a handful of reeds and hot water and cleansed the mat. Malcolm was gray.

The lieutenant warmed his hands before the blaze and the affair drifted out of his mind. Greta, eyes lowered, began to mix pancakes.

 

The business of supper went on and soon the lieutenant and Malcolm were eating at the table while Mawkey squatted over a pannikin in the corner.

The sentry's back was expressive, moving restively and then springing erect in gladness as his fed relief came down to take over. The women sat at a smaller table by the fire with the exception of Greta, who waited with swift, quiet motions upon the officers and seemed to have forgotten about food. Angrily, at last, the old woman called to her and made her sit against the wall with her dinner.

"You are going far?" said the old woman.

"Far enough," said the lieutenant, smiling.

"YOU ... YOU intend to carry away our stores?"

"We won't encumber ourselves with them, madame. An army fights badly upon a full stomach, contrary to an old belief."

She sighed her relief "Then we will be able to live through the winter."

"Not unless you find some other way of disposing of your smoke," grinned the lieutenant.

"Ah, yes, that is true. But one does not always find an attack led by an officer of such talent!'

"But, on the other hand, one sometimes does." The lieutenant stretched out his legs and leaned back comfortably, opening up his tunic collar and laying his pistol belt on the table with the flap open and the hilt toward him.

The old woman was about to speak again when the sentry snapped a challenge and then rolled aside on the steps to let Pollard come down.

Pollard, a fiend for duty, stood up censoriously, his long mustache sticking straight out.

"Well?" said the lieutenant.

"Sir, I have been checking Bulger's count on the storehouses. And¯"

"Why count them? We're heading away from here at dawn."

Pollard received this without a blink. "I wanted to report, sir, that we have uncovered thirty-one soldiers."

"Feed them, shoot them or enlist them," said the lieutenant, "but let me digest a good dinner in peace'

"Sir, these men were naked in an underground cell. Fourteen of them are English. They have been used as plowhorses, sir. They say they were trapped and made slaves of, sir. One of them is balmy and I'm not sure of a couple more. They been cut up pretty bad with whips. Another says they're all that's left of the Sixty-third Lancers."

"Dixon! That's Dixon's regiment!" said Malcolm.

The lieutenant sat forward, interested. "Jolly Bill Dixon?"

"That's him," said Malcolm.

"They say he's dead, sir."

"By Heaven¯" began Malcolm, starting up.

The lieutenant motioned him back into his chair. "Bring the leader of this village down here, Pollard."

"Yessir."

The old woman was thumping her cane nervously, her eyes fever-bright.

"General¯"

"Quiet," said Mawkey.

 

The room fell very still with only an occasional pop of the fire and the movement of shadows to give it life. The flame painted half the lieutenant's face, which was all the worse for having no particular expression beyond that of a man who has just enjoyed a full meal.

The leader was thrust down the steps in the hands of two guards. His small eyes were wild and bloodshot and he shook until no part of him was still.

His sudden fright passed and he managed to fix his gaze on the lieutenant.

"When we came in," said the lieutenant, "I saw evidences of traps. There were bones in them and no equipment."

"The soldier's sickness! I swear, general¯"

"And we have just located thirty-one prisoners. Soldiers you saw fit to convert into slaves."

"We have so much plowing, so few men¯"

"You're guilty, then. Pollard, hand him over to those soldiers you found."

"No, no! Your Excellency! They have not been mistreated, I swear it! We did not kill them even though they attempted to attack us¯"

"When you take him out, parade him around a little so that this offal will know enough to respect a soldier," said the lieutenant.

"Your honor¯"

"Carry on, Pollard."

"But your Excellency! They'll tear me to pieces! They'll gouge out my eyes¯"

"Am I to blame because you failed to treat them better?"

The old woman leaned toward the lieutenant. "My general, have mercy."

"Mercy?" said the lieutenant. "There's been none of that that I can remember where peasants and soldiers are concerned."

"But force will be met with force," said the old. woman. "This is a good man. Must you rob this house of both its men in one night? What will we do for a leader? There are only seven hundred of us in this village and only a hundred and fifty of those are men¯"

"If he is alive by morning, let him live. You have your orders, Pollard."

"I'll give them full rights!" wailed the leader. "A share in the fields, a voice in the council¯"

"You might communicate that to those fellows," said the lieutenant to Pollard. "No man is good for a soldier if he allows himself to be trapped in the first place. Carry on."

The leader was led away and the lieutenant relaxed again. Greta filled his dixie with wine and he sipped at it.

The other women in the room were very still. The children did not cry now.

The fire died slowly down.

Shortly there was a commotion at the top of the steps and the sentry lounging there reared up with his rifle crossed, barring passage to several men who seemed to desire, above all things, to dash down and worship the officer who had set them free. Finally understanding that the guard would have none of them, they went away.

"…a voice in council," the leader was saying, falsely hearty. "For some time I've kept my eye on you. Glad to have such an addition."

The women in the room started breathing again. A child whimpered and was caressed to sleep. Wood was tossed upon the fire and the room became cheerfully light.

"You are a good man, my general," said the old woman in a husky voice.

Greta sat in the recess of the chimney seat, her lovely body perfectly still, her eyes steady upon the lieutenant.

 

A long time after, the lieutenant lay in the bunk farthest from the door, gazing at the dying coals upon the grate, pleasantly aware of a suspension in time. Tomorrow they would again be on the march, heading back to G.H.Q. and an uncertain finish. He was quite aware, for the first time, that the war was done. He was aware, too, with ever so little sadness, that England and his people were barred to him, had rejected him, perhaps forever.

The fire died lower and most of the people of the household slept, the women in the tiers of bunks near the steps, the children with them. Malcolm was rolled in a blanket by the fire. At the far end of the dwelling in a wide bed which had been shaken and dusted well the lieutenant watched the fire dying. He watched through a slit in the curtains which masked him from the remainder of the room.

He was unconsciously aware of Mawkey lying just behind the slit as an active,, living barrier to anything which might seek to approach his invaluable and beloved commander. There was a rustle of parachutist silk and the creak of a bunk in the forward partition of the room. And the lieutenant was suddenly alert, but not to danger. Naked feet fell uncertainly amongst the reeds. The fire threw the curves of a shadow softly on the curtain. The footsteps came nearer.

As the snake strikes, Mawkey fastened savagely on her ankle as she would have crossed to the lieutenant. It was Greta.

The lieutenant raised on his elbow and whispered hoarsely, "Let her go, you fool!"

Mawkey came to himself. Her skin was soft under his hand and her fingers held no weapon. In the soft firelight the parachute silk revealed the rondeur of a lovely body. Mawkey shamefacedly withdrew his hands. And when again she had her courage up she stepped over him and went on toward the large bed in the deepest recess of the room.

Mawkey d e curtains shut as he rolled outside them. For a little he listened to the whispers, then at last, the girl's soft rich laugh. He smiled, pleased.

One by one the glowing coals went out. Mawkey slept.