"I think you mean Damocles, captain," the lieutenant corrected. "Demosthenes was the orator." Aronsen looked sourly at the lieutenant. "I know what I'm talking about. Fyfe has only to say the word and off come our heads." The lieutenant lowered his voice. "I don't like the way he keeps looking at Wims. Do you think he's heard about him?" "In Washington?" "You know how rumors travel in the Army." "Rumors, yes," the captain said, "but the truth can't even limp out of the orderly room." He wiped his brow and shot a venomous glance at Wims. He said to the lieutenant, "I don't like Wims sitting there in full view of the general. Go tell him to take his comic book and sit on the other side of the tree." At that moment one of the young trainees stumbled into the headquarters area bleeding profusely from a deep gash on his cheek. Between lung-tearing gasps he told how the machine gun, intended to serve as the base of fire for the attacking platoons, had been captured by a Red patrol before it could be set up. They were being led off under the supervision of a referee when he tumbled into a ravine and in the confusion made good his escape. "Get the jeep and rush this man to the hospital," the captain instructed the lieutenant. "What about the attack?" the lieutenant inquired. "Someone will have to get word to the forward platoons to hold up until we can move up a new gun." "I'll send a messenger." "But they're all out." "One of them is bound to return soon. If not, I'll--" "What is the matter with that man sulking behind that tree?" boomed General Fyfe who had been listening since the trainee had blurted his story. The lieutenant snatched the bleeding recruit's arm and bolted for the jeep. "Hey, lieutenant, take it easy," the trainee complained, "you're pulling my arm off!" Ignoring him, the lieutenant was absorbed in desperate calculation. "The base hospital is about twelve miles from here," he muttered as they ran. "We should be safe enough there." "But, general," the captain was protesting, "that man is the company snafu. He means well but he was designed by nature to foul things up." "I won't buy that, captain," the general said forcefully. "If a man has the right attitude and still doesn't measure up then it's the fault of the people who are training him." There was a mark of menace in the general's voice as he said, "Do you read me?" "Like the handwriting on the wall," the captain said resignedly. He glanced at the tree behind which, he knew, doom sat reading a comic book. "Give the man a chance to redeem himself and I'm certain he'll come through with flying colors. I'll give you the opportunity to prove it to yourself." The general turned and bellowed at the tree, "Soldier! You! Private Wims! Come over here!" * * * * * Wims scurried over to the general and snapped a salute. The general flicked his hand in return. "Wims, your commanding officer has an important mission for you."