Wims pulled back just in time to avoid falling into a well camouflaged machine-gun nest. One of the foliage-covered gunners, thinking Wims was about to topple on him, jumped aside. His ankle twisted under him and he fell, catching the barrel of the machine gun just under the edge of his helmet and sagging into unconsciousness. A platoon sergeant heard the steely clatter and rushed over. "That's funny," he growled ominously, "I coulda sworn I set up a machine-gun emplacement here but it's makin' noises like a boiler factory." The assistant gunner pointed to the unconscious gunner. "He fell an' hit his head. He's breathin' but he ain't movin'." The chattering of a machine gun from the woods opposite the hill was noted by the sergeant and he knew the Blues would be coming soon. He turned to the gunner. "Get up the hill an' snag one of our looeys or a referee. Tell 'im we got a man hurt here, needs lookin' at." The gunner dashed off and the sergeant jerked his thumb at Wims. "You! Get on that gun!" "But Ah got an important message fer the lieutenant," Wims protested. The sergeant, annoyed, glanced at the green bar. "What lieutenant?" "The captain said the lieutenant in charge." "Gimmee the message. I'll tell 'im." Wims started to protest but the sergeant's eyes crackled. "Well, the captain said fer the lieutenant not to move out 'til he saw the white flare fired outta the woods on his left." "Not to move out?" the sergeant echoed doubtfully. "That don't sound right. Are ya sure he didn't say not ta _fire_ until we saw the white flare?" "Maybe that's it," Wims said agreeably. "Maybe!" the sergeant roared, "whaddaya mean, maybe?" He grabbed Wims by the collar and pushed his face against the boy's as if he were about to devour him. "Is it YES or NO?" "Y-yes," Wims agreed nervously. "What's your name, soldier?" the sergeant asked. "Dolliver Wims." "You don't happen to be a gen'ral do ya?" Wims looked confused. "No," he ventured. "Well then say so!" the sergeant screamed. "Ah'm not a gen'ral," Wims said, desperately trying to please. "Are ya tryin' ta get wise with me? WHAT IS YOUR RANK?" "Private." "Now, what's your name, soldier." Wims finally understood. "Private Wims, Dolliver." "That's better." The sergeant's eyes narrowed as he searched his memory. "I don't r'member seein' ya 'round this company before." "Ah don't recall seein' you 'roun' here either," Wims said in suicidal innocence. "Y'ARE GETTIN' WISE WITH ME!" the sergeant roared. "I'll take care of ya later." He thrust Wims into the pit with the machine gun. "Now stay there on that gun 'til I get back. I'm goin' ta find the lieutenant." Wims squatted behind the gun, squinting experimentally through the sights and swinging the barrel to and fro. The sergeant returned shortly with the lieutenant. "That's him," he said, pointing to Wims. The lieutenant glanced at the green bar. "Are you sure you got that message straight?"