"It sounds all right," agreed Bobby. "We shall want a good many guns, though, shan't we?" "We shall. But don't let that worry you. It is simply raining guns at the Base now. In fact, my grandmother in the War Office"--this mythical relative was frequently quoted by Major Wagstaffe, and certainly her information had several times proved surprisingly correct--"tells me that by the beginning of next year we shall have enough guns, of various calibres, to make a continuous line, hub to hub, from one end of our front to the other." "Golly!" observed Captain Little, with respectful relish. "That means," continued Wagstaffe, "that we shall be able to blow Brother Boche's immediate place of business to bits, and at the same time take on his artillery with counter-battery work. Our shell-supply is practically unlimited now; so when the next push comes, we foot-sloggers ought to have a more gentlemanly time of it than we had at Loos and Wipers. And I'll tell you another thing, Bobby. We shall have command of the air too." "That will be a pleasant change," remarked Bobby. "I'm getting tired of putting my fellows under arrest for rushing out of carefully concealed positions in order to gape up at Boche planes going over. Angus M'Lachlan is as bad as any of them. The fellow--" "But you have not seen many Boche planes lately?" "No. Certainly not so many." "And the number will grow beautifully less. Our little friends in the R.F.C. are getting fairly numerous now, and their machines have been improved out of all knowledge. They are rapidly assuming the position of top dog. Moreover, the average Boche does not take kindly to flying. It is too--too individualistic a job for him. He likes to work in a bunch with other Boches, where he can keep step, and maintain dressing, and mark time if he gets confused. In the air one cannot mark time, and it worries Fritz to death. I think you will see, in the next unpleasantness, that we shall be able to maintain our aeroplane frontier somewhere over the enemy third line. That means that we shall make our own dispositions with a certain degree of privacy, and the Boche will not. Also, when our big guns get to work, they will not need to fire blindly, as in the days of our youth, but will be directed by one of our R.F.C. lads, humming about in his little bus above the target, perhaps fifteen miles from the gun. Hallo, there go the pipes! Tell your men to fall in." "The whole business," observed Bobby, as he struggled into his equipment, "sounds so attractive that I am beginning quite to look forward to the next show!" "Don't forget the Boche machine-guns, my lad," replied Wagstaffe. "One seldom gets the chance," grumbled Bobby. "Is there no way of knocking them out?" "Well--" Wagstaffe looked intensely mysterious--"of course one never knows, but--have you heard any rumours on the subject?" "I have. About--" "About the Hush! Hush! Brigade?" Bobby nodded.