But Kahl did not hear him. Possibly he remembered what he had said earlier in the day. Possibly he was really a hero. Possibly he again saw himself as a little boy playing Indian in the back yard. Whatever were his thoughts, he rose to one knee, and, after peering intently in the direction from which the bullets had come, he raised his rifle to his shoulder and sighted along the shining barrel. Rat-t-t-t-tat. A Maxim, but from an oblique direction, was firing, and Kahl sprawled on his face, his right arm falling over the shiny barrel of his rifle. Then other machine-guns rained their bullets into the clearing, and the men clawed at the ground in an effort to lower their bodies beneath the sweep of the lead. “What’ll we do, Hicks?” asked Pietrzak. The tender green leaves from the trunk of the tree behind which Hicks was secure fluttered to the ground, clipped by the machine-gun fire. “I don’t know, but we can’t stay here. Why don’t you find the rest of the gang?” “Why don’t you?” “Well....” Hicks started to crawl back from the clearing into the woods. After he had wriggled his body about fifty yards he rose to his feet and ran in the general direction of which he had last seen the company. Breaking through the woods, he met Captain Powers. “Captain Powers, there’s a squad of us up there, and we’re lost. We don’t know what to do. The men are in a clearing, and they’re afraid to move because they’re right in sight of a nest of machine-guns. Do you know where the platoon is? What shall we do?” And in a Shakespearian voice Captain Powers told Hicks to return to his squad and lead them in a charge on the machine-gun nest. “Aye, aye, sir.” Hicks turned and squirmed back through the woods to the clearing. “Like hell we’ll advance,” he thought. “The poor fool.” Hicks reached the clearing at the same time the German machine-guns momentarily stopped. “Ja find ’em, Hicks?” “No, but I saw Powers. If we made a half circle back to the left we might find ’em.” “Sounds good enough to try.” They were crawling, crawling on their bellies, in single file, when Pugh stopped and called with an exultant lilt in his voice: “Oh-o, here’s one Squarehead that’s kissed his papa good-by. Right through the eye.” The men in rear veered off so as not to see the dead body. A short distance away some one was moaning weakly. Hicks stopped. “Another one of our guys hit, I betcha.” They crawled eagerly and yet fearfully toward the noises. Seen through the trees bandy-legged Funk was supporting the head of little Halvorsen and trying to get him to open his eyes. Beside him was Lieutenant Bedford, saying: “You’re crazy, Funk. The kid’s gone, but we’ll see if anything can be done.” Funk was softly calling: “Hank, oh, Hank, ain’t you got anything to say?” Hicks got to his feet and came beside the group that was staring at the dead face of Halvorsen. “What’s that? Little Hank get it? Je’s, that’s bad.”