Hubbard, L. Ron (10 page)

But there were no complaints to be heard, for the rains had held off much longer than usual this fall, and because an outfit whose bellies are full would not feel right unless something bad came along with the good.

At one time, out this far, there had been photoelectric sentries and land mines, but as these had worn out and had been exploded by occasional attacks, they had not been replaced. In fact, the brigade was almost upon the hill itself before they were decried.

"Soldiers," sniffed Weasel to Bulger in derision. "We could have walked in and stole their socks if we'd been trying."

"They get that way," said Bulger. "That was always the trouble with forts.

Eight years ago I said it always happened. They feel so safe they don't even bother to watch. You give a soldier a full belly and some sandbags to dig into and he goes to sleep."

"Naw, he don't," said Weasel. "He sits around and thinks, and pretty soon he's got it figured out that he's a Communist or a Socialist or an Individualist, and the next thing you know he shoots the officers and changes the government. I says we'd still have a king in England if they hadn't had bases to bore the soldiers to death. It ain't fightin' that ruins governments. It's eatin'."

"There ain't nothin' wrong with eatin'," said Bulger, defensively.

"Not when there's fightin'. All eat and no fight makes Tommy a politician."

"They ain't doin' much eatin' around here," said Bulger, having come within surveryal distance of the first sentry.

Indeed, the man was very gaunt. His buckle was fastened around his spine and his cheeks showed the outline of his teeth. There was a dreary hopelessness about him, and when he was supposed to port his arms he lifted the rifle up an inch or two to show that he knew he should and let the lieutenant through without so much as whispering to turn out the guard.

The Fourth Brigade went down the incline into the earth, gun wheels rumbling up the echoes. They paused in the first chamber until an officer came out of the guardroom.

"Fourth Brigade?"

"Right," said the lieutenant.

"I am Major Sterling. Oh! Hello, Malcolm. By George, old chap, we wondered what on earth had happened to you."

"We took a personally conducted tour of Europe," said Malcolm, for the first time feeling at ease when in the lieutenant's presence, and therefore giving vent to what he really thought.

"Well, now. We waited. Couldn't see what had happened. But you're here, and that's what matters. Malcolm, if I were you, I'd quarter my men in the north section. We've got sixteen hundred herr, all told, and you make almost eighteen hundred. Most everyone is quartered in the north section in those old thousand-man barracks. It's quite light and roomy now and it's better that everybody is together."

The lieutenant was not particularly surprised that the major should, call them Malcolm's troops; he was only annoyed by the actual fact. They were not Malcolm's yet.

"Sergeant major Pollard," said the lieutenant. "You will quarter the brigade in the north section. I shall be in to make an inspection as soon as I have paid my respects to General Victor."

"Yessir," said Pollard. "And the carriers, sir?"

"Retain them until further orders. I daresay they're happy enough."

"Yessir." He hesitated, and then saluted and turned away. He had not quite dared wish the lieutenant luck, no matter how much he wanted to do so.

The lieutenant looked at Sterling. He did not like the fellow. General Victor had brought rabble with him instead of a staff. Every bootlicker that had skulked throughout the war in the shelters of London had been ousted by the last reversal of government. Sending a man to France since the quarantine was placed was tantamount to exiling him for life. None of these fellows had seen real war. They had dodged bombs and fawned upon superiors. In the latter they had become very adept.

Long ago the last competent officer had taken the field. And now, where were they? Adrift somewhere in Europe or deposed and languishing here without command.

Major Sterling was not quite able to bear the censure which was leveled upon him by the lieutenant's men, nor did he like the slight smile which lingered about the mouth. There were around eighty-seven field officers still unreported and it was apparent now that they would never report; why, then, should a man with a record as brilliant as the lieutenant's come back? Only twenty-one fragments of organizations had come in, and these because of starvation. But the Fourth Brigade, quite obviously, was not starving. However, it was a strange thing, this habit of duty.

"This orderly will show you your quarters," said Major Sterling. "You will please prepare a written report and send it, by him, to the adjutant colonel."

Dismissed, the lieutenant looked for a moment at Malcolm who, very obviously, was on his way right now to see General Victor. Malcolm, too, was unable to support the directness of those eyes. The lieutenant followed the orderly and Mawkey followed the lieutenant.

They went deeper into the labyrinth, along dank corridors which long had gone unswept and unlit. Here and there the concrete had faulted and drips of water were outlined by a pattern of moss.

Row upon row of officers' apartments were musty with disuse, their doors, untouched for two years and more, sagging out from their weary hinges. The lieutenant remembered this place from its yesterdays. Five years before, when England had sent her last flood of men to the Continent and when the army here was still great and proud, these corridors had resounded with cheerful voices and hurrying boots; sergeant majors had bustled along to receive or to obey orders; subalterns' dog-robbers worried themselves frantic as they raced about with hot water and laundry; canteen runners had flashed along with their trays of drinks; and officers would have popped forth as the word raced along to give him greeting and beg for news.

It was all quiet now. Not even a rat scuttled in the dead gloom. These voices which should have called out a welcome were forever stilled, these faces were decomposed in some common grave out in the endless leagues of mud. Only the ghosts were here, crying a little, naked and cold and forgotten
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or was it just the wind?

The runner tiredly indicated a door and slumped down on the bench outside as though the effort had been too much. Mawkey entered and finally found the trap which opened the helio-mirror.

The apartment was littered with scraps of baggage, Gladstones, and locker trunks and valises. It had been a long while since they had been ransacked for valuables and the mold was thick and clammy upon them. Useless knicks, dear only to their dead owners, were thrown carelessly about. A large picture of a girl lay in the center of the room.

A careless foot had broken the glass and the dampness had seeped in to almost blot the face with dirt. A sheaf of letters were scattered about, crumpled and smudged; one on the table was decipherable only as far as "My dearest Tim. I know this will find you safe and
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" A pair of boots, too well-tailored to be comfortable, stuck out from the lid of a locker. But the rats had eaten the leather nearly to the soles.

The lieutenant leaned against the table while Mawkey tried to straighten the place by heaving everything into a trunk. The lieutenant's eyes wandered up and fastened upon a stenciled box, the last piece of baggage upon the rack, where all of it had been placed so carefully so long ago.

Forsythe, A. J.

Col. Cmmdg. 4th Brigade, 2nd Div.

10th Army Corps B.E.F

For an instant there flashed across the lieutenant's memory the picture of a straight-backed, gray-mustached soldier, trying hard not to show the agony of his wound as he looked levelly at the lieutenant.

"They're gone, son. They're gone and I'm gone. It is up to you now, son."

Suddenly the lieutenant was filled with a great restlessness. Angrily, he swept the litter from the table and began to pace back and forth from wall to wall. Mawkey was startled, for he had never seen his lieutenant give way to any emotion before which even slightly resembled nerves. Hastily the hunchback finished cramming the refuse into the trunk and got the baggage out of the way. He set the lieutenant's effects upon a bunk and got out the razor and some clean clothing and started away to see if he could find any hot water.

"I'm not changing," said the lieutenant.

Mawkey looked at the mud-caked cape and the crusted boots and then turned back to put away the clean clothes.

"Get me some paper."

Mawkey found some in the refuse and smoothed it out upon the table. He put a pencil down and pulled up a chair.

The lieutenant sat and wrote.

Report 4th Brigade May to Nov.

To General Commanding B.E.F

From Lieutenant Commanding 4th Brigade

Via Adjutant Colonel, official channels

1. The 4th Brigade patrolled region north of Amiens.

2. The 4th Brigade met and defeated several commands of enemy troops.

3. The 4th Brigade provisioned itself on the country.

4. The 4th Brigade now numbers 168 men, 5 senior noncoms, I officer.

5. The 4th Brigade, on receiving orders, reported to G.H.Q. Commanding Officer 4th Brigade

Mawkey gave the report to the runner, who slouched off with it trailing limply from his fingers.

"Beg pardon, sir," said Mawkey.

"Well?"

"I don't like this, sir."

The lieutenant looked at him.

"That Captain Malcolm, sir. He is thought pretty well of here, I think. He is a staff officer. One of them thoroughgoing politicians, beggin' your pardon, sir."

"Well?"

"I am pretty sure that everybody is getting ready to leave this place. The men looked starved and there ain't anything in the country around here. I think that is why we were called back. Begging the lieutenant's pardon."

"And what of that?"

"I think Captain Malcolm is going to be given command of the brigade, sir.

He acted like that and he ain't any field officer. He's weak and hes soft and all he knows how to do
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"

"You are speaking of an officer, Mawkey."

"Beg pardon, sir. But I'm speakin' of one of them staff things that come over a couple years ago. And the B.C.R was always so rotten that whatever they wanted to get rid of must've been pretty
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"

"Yessir."

Mawkey withdrew and began to fuss with the forgotten baggage, seeing if there was anything there that his lieutenant could use. Now and then he bent a glance at his officer. Plainly he was worried.

In two hours the runner dragged himself up to the door to announce that the lieutenant was ordered to report to the adjutant colonel and the officer followed him.

As they passed the batman by the door, Mawkey whispered: "Be careful, sir."

They went down, down, down into the earth until it seemed that the staff of G.H.Q. wanted to be as close as possible to the devil. The lieutenant noted the emptiness and filth of the fortress in general and was inclined to agree with Mawkey that the place would soon be abandoned.

They came at last to the office of the adjutant colonel, a place wholly encased in lead plate so that voices repeated themselves hollowly and endlessly. This room did not bear the same stamp as the rest of the fortress. The five juniors who sat at desks in the outer chamber did not appear to be starved. Their uniforms were strictly regulation and, if a little old, were not much worn; they had had, after all, the whole fortress to pick from. There was something unhealthy about these fellows which the lieutenant could not immediately recognize. He was used to men tanned by wind and sun and darkened with dirt, men who had hard faces and wasted few words or actions. These faces were like women's, and not very reputable women at that. They seemed to be somewhat amused by the lieutenant's appearance and, as soon as he had passed, went back to their ceaseless chattering.

The adjutant colonel's name was Graves and certainly he resembled nothing more than an undertaker. He sat at his desk as though it was a coffin and he was melancholy about the dear, dead deceased. He was a dark, small, greasy man and his eyes were not honestly evil like Mawkey's; they were masked and hypocritical.

Graves showed scant attention to the lieutenant, but required him to stand for some minutes in front of the desk before he saw fit to glance up. Then he did not speak, but sent a junior in to find if the lieutenant could be seen.

The junior came back and Graves stood up. Graves went down the hall and stepped into a larger office encased in even thicker lead plate.

"Officer commanding the Fourth Brigade, Second Division, Tenth Army Corps," said Graves. He beckoned the lieutenant to follow him in. Another junior announced them in the inner chamber and then the lieutenant was beckoned into a large room. A table occupied most of the space and about the table sat men much like those in the adjutant's outer office. They were all shaven and brushed and anointed and wore their insignia conspicuously. They wanted no mistake made about their rank, which was high, or their staff position, which they thought was high.