"Bulger," said the lieutenant, "bring the captain some breakfast."

Bulger lumbered up with a whole piece of bread and a dixie of tea which the staff officer seized upon avidly.

"Not much," said the lieutenant, "but it's the last of the supplies we found cached here in this fortress. Eat slowly, for the next, if any, will have to be Russian. Now. Any orders?"

"You're recalled to G.H.Q. for reorganization."

The lieutenant gave a slight quiver of surprise. "Does this have anything to do—with my failure to comply with the B.C.P. Military Committee's orders to appoint soldiers' councils?"

Malcolm shrugged and spoke through a full mouth and without truth. "Oh, no. Who'd bother about that? I think they wish to give you a wider command. They think well of you, you know."

"Then—" said the lieutenant, knowing full well that a recalled officer was generally a deposed officer.

"It's the general's idea. But, see here, those Russians—"

"I'll engage them shortly," said the lieutenant. "They're fresh and they ought to have boots and bread and maybe something to drink. My favorite listening post, a chap named Weasel, said he heard wheels last night."

"Right. I was going to tell you. I saw a trench mortar and an anti-tank rocket—"

"No!"

"Truth," said Malcolm.

"Artillery!"

"No less."

"Well, I'll—Why, there hasn't been a field piece on this front since the storming of Paris two years ago. Though mortars and bazookas could hardly be called field pieces. Have they got shells, do you suppose?"

"They had caissons."

"And—say! Horses!"

"I saw two!"

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