It was only a short walk to Brigade Headquarters, a couple of cottages by the roadside under the lee of a rising bank which had so far preserved them from the German shells. One red lamp burned there, and a sentinel stood by the doorway, leaning on his rifle. "I'm sorry you have got that confounded cigarette habit so soon," said Dashwood senior with a dry smile. "But you will find a box on that table, and you can amuse yourself while we get out a report." Dennis looked round the bare little room, contrasting it with their luxurious home in London. A flagged map was pinned on one wall, some British warms and mackintoshes hung on pegs, a couple of field bedsteads, whose disarranged blankets showed that they had been hastily left when the alarm was given, occupied one end, everything else was bare and comfortless. Standing in the doorway, Dennis heard the click of a typewriter, and could not help catching some of the report as his father paced backwards and forwards, filling a pipe with his favourite mixture as he dictated. "Three Saxon battalions delivered a surprise attack at 10.35 to-night, and one of them succeeded in penetrating my first line trench, No. ----, through the failure of a machine-gun, which was put out of action by an H.E.," began the brigadier. "The 2/12th Royal Reedshire Battalion, Platoons 1 and 2, behaved with great gallantry, and scarcely a man of the enemy was left alive. The bodies were lying six deep when I visited the position. Some confusion was caused by a German in British staff uniform making his way along the trench shouting 'Retire!' but I have the honour to report that through the initiative of Second-Lieutenant Dashwood, of the battalion, and Corporal Daniel Dunn, of the Australians, gallantly supported by two privates, whose names I shall forward later on, and who successfully bombed the enemy, the attack completely broke down, and was not supported by the Brandenburg Division, which, I am informed by a prisoner, was waiting in reserve." When Dennis heard his own name mentioned he stepped out into the darkness with a strange tingling all over him. It seemed like eavesdropping to listen any more, but he knew that proud thrill in his father's voice, and the boy's heart beat high with a great happiness. Some horses, picketed under the lee of the bank, fidgeted at their shackles, and over everything was the thunder of that incessant bombardment which, as Bob had said, was to go on night and day. He was watching the shrapnel bursting in the distance far over the German lines, where our guns were delivering a barrage fire to isolate the front enemy trenches from food and supports, when the sentry called to him. "The general is asking for you, sir," said the man, and Dennis stepped back and re-entered the cottage. "Here you are, my boy," said his father. "You know the way to Divisional Headquarters. There are a couple of motor-cycles standing at the end of the cottage, take your pick and away with you."