“Bully!” cried Dad. “Good boys! We’ve got the hill. Now to hold it until the support can come up. Captain Fitch, deploy—”
Dad saw ten million sparks leap into crackling life. A billion more exploded within his brain.
He fell from a great, great height into a cool darkness that lovingly wrapped itself about soul and mind and body.
Somewhere, he vaguely remembered, a battle was raging. But it had ceased to interest him.
Then he fell quietly asleep.
Dad shook off the sweet lethargy and opened his eyes.
There was work to do. He recalled everything now. The senior officers of his brigade were dead or incapacitated.
He had led his men up a hill that vomited fire and shot. They had barely won the summit.
This surely was no moment for their leader to drop into a doze. He felt heartily ashamed of himself.
With an effort he gripped at his sword-hilt—and his fingers closed weakly over the folds of a hospital sheet.