We were now well beyond the left of our own regimental sector, and a long half kilo from the company. The withdrawing outguards of the enemy were passing all around us. For twenty minutes we played a desperate game of blind man’s buff with them. Occasionally we would catch a glimpse of a gray form or a green helmet through the trees, and our little messengers of death would speed him on his way. Then bullets would sing over our heads from all directions, and we would hug the ground until we could push on again, to repeat the performance from another position. Finally I gave up hope of finding the 2nd platoon, and got out my compass to steer our course back to B Co. Cautiously we stole through the woods to the southeast. We could still hear the Boche trampling the bushes all around us. Suddenly from the bushes ahead came a challenge, in the mechanical, drill-book German that means bullets are coming. We hit the dirt, just as a brisk rapid fire opened on us, cutting the twigs overhead. We let drive into the bushes in front, firing low. As I slipped a fresh clip into my magazine, I glanced at Martocci, his olive cheek white with excitement, but firing quite steadily and coolly from a kneeling position. I signalled “Cease firing.” All was still, except for a trampling receding off to the right. Warily we circled round the bushes, and came upon a road--one of those straight German roads, with a 2-inch pipe line running along the side. One of the men crossed, while the rest stood ready to cover him. I crossed next, with Martocci. As I glanced down the road, I saw two Germans lying at the side of it, about ten yards away. Nice looking, fair-haired lads they were. One of them just then stretched out his hand towards his rifle, which lay beside him. It may have been only a convulsive movement, but we weren’t taking chances. I put a bullet into him, squeezing the trigger carefully. He jumped and rolled out into the middle of the road, where he lay still enough. Then I did the same for the other, mechanically, with a cold disgust at the whole business. My mind seemed to stand aloof and watch the proceeding for a moment; then it went on thinking, planning, weighing carefully our next move. After this, the enemy seemed to steer rather clear of us, though we passed near several other groups. One fellow was shouting for “Emil;” and I reflected grimly that Emil’s military career was probably blighted, anyhow. So we came at last to the foot of the ridge again, and about 200 meters along the road at its foot we found our left flank post. And there at last we found the 2nd platoon--Lt. Dunn, Sgt. Sweeney and four men. The rest were lying back in the field where the barrage had struck them, or were on that long, long trip back to the first aid post.