but he will not be content merely to defeat me. He will want to defeat me by a plan of consummate artistry, which will arouse admiration among soldiers for years to come."
"But General, every minute, every second—"
"We are losing men, of whom we have plenty, and tanks, of which we have not enough. True, very true," conceded the general. "But I am waiting to hear from two strayed infantrymen. When they report, I will speak to them myself."
"But, sir," cried the chief of staff, withheld only by the iron habit of discipline from violent action and the taking over of command himself, "they may be dead! You can't risk this battle waiting for them! You can't risk it, sir! You can't!"
"They are not dead," said the general coolly. "They cannot be dead. Sometimes, sir, we must obey the motto on our coins. Our country needs this battle to be won. We have got to win it, sir! And the only way to win it—"
THE signal-light at his telephone glowed. The general snatched it up, his hands quivering. But his voice, was steady and deliberate as he spoke.
"Hello, Sergeant—Sergeant Coffee, is it? ... Very well, Sergeant. Tell me what you've found out. ... Your prisoner objects to his rations, eh? Very well, go on. ... How did he gas our listening-posts. ... He did, eh? He got turned around and you caught him wandering about. ... Oh, he was second wave! They weren't taking any chances on any of our listening-posts reporting their tanks, eh. ... Say that again, Sergeant Coffee!" The general's tone had changed indescribably. "Your prisoner has no recognition signals for his own tanks? They told him he wouldn't see any of them until the battle was over. ... Thank you, Sergeant. One of our tanks will stop for you. This is the commanding general speaking."
He rang off, his eyes blazing. Relaxation was gone. He was a dynamo, snapping orders.
"Supply tanks, machine-shop tanks, ground forces of the air service, concentrate here!" His finger rested on a spot in the middle of the dead area. "Reserve tanks take position behind them. Draw off every tank we've got—take 'em out of action !—and mass them in front, on a line with our former first line of outposts. Every airplane and helicopter take the air and engage in general combat with the enemy, whereever the enemy may be found and in whatever force. And our tanks move straight through here!"
Orders were snapping into telephone transmitters. The commands had been relayed before their import was fully realized. Then there was a gasp.
"General!" cried the chief of staff. "If the enemy is massed there, he'll destroy our forces in detail as they take position!"
"He isn't massed there," said the general, his eyes blazing. "The infantrymen who were gassing our listening-posts were given no recognition signals for their tanks. Sergeant Coffee's prisoner has his gas-mask broken and is in deadly fear. The enemy commander is foolish in many ways, perhaps, but not foolish enough to break down morale by refusing recognition signals to his own men who will need them. And look at the beautiful plan he's got."
HE sketched half a dozen lines with his fingers, moving them in lightning gestures as his orders took effect.
"His main force is here, behind those skirmishes that look like a feint. As fast as we reinforce our skirmishingline, he reinforces his—just enough to drive our tanks back slowly. It looks like a strong feint, but it's a trap! This dead space is empty. He thinks we are concentrating to face it. When he is sure of it—his helicopters will sweep across any minute, now, to see—he'll
