The next thing that I remember was Roy’s voice:
"They’ve done it on him! The dirty dogs! They’re sending him home! Did
you—know?"
"No! Yes! Well, I was half afraid of it. I knew the people higher up
were getting a bit restive: in fact, I tried to warn him only this
afternoon. But I never dreamed they would strike back at a moment like
this. You are right, Roy—it will break his heart." (It was the second
occasion upon which I had employed that phrase within the last hour.)
Another thought struck Roy.
"You are in command now!" he said.
"I suppose so; but not until this despatch is actually delivered to the
Colonel."
We were silent again. We were both picturing the same scene, I fancy.
Presently Roy said:
"If only it had been delayed in some way!"
I nodded.
"Even for a day!—"
"Even for an hour!—"
"Even for ten minutes! We should have been gone out of this place, and
they would not have got us until the show was over!"
Our eyes met, then dropped hurriedly. We had read one another’s
thoughts. Discipline, Discipline, Discipline!
Roy picked up the two despatches, folded them, and put them mechanically
into the pocket of his field despatch-book. Then he cleared his throat
huskily. I found myself doing the same.
"Look here!—" we began both at once.
A cheery voice interrupted us:
"Good evening, sir. Is this Caterpillar Farm?"
We both jumped, like detected conspirators.
In the doorway stood a subaltern, saluting, with the totem of the Royal
Mid-Mudshire Regiment stencilled upon his tin bowler.
"Come in," I said. "This is the place you want. I presume you have
come to take over?"
About midnight, the Orderly-room Staff filed through the ghostly streets
of Albert, to the music of innumerable big guns working up to their
final spasm. At their head marched a silent major and a preoccupied
assistant adjutant.
Next morning, just after dawn, the Second Royal Covenanters went raging
to the opening attack of the greatest battle yet fought in the history
of warfare. We were led into action by our Commanding Officer, Eric
Bethune.
*CHAPTER XI*
*ENFIN!*
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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