He made his way back along the lines of infantrymen, artillery, ambulances and wagon trains until he reached an old stone stable that had miraculously escaped destruction.
Having no light, he groped around in the black interior, seeking a place where he might spread his coat for a bed. He stumbled against a ladder, which mounted upward into the cavernous mow of a loft. He climbed the creaking rungs, found footing on the dry floor, and stopped to sniff at the odor of the few wisps of dry, musty hay scattered thinly over the rough boards. He took a step forward, stumbled over a pair of legs and landed headfirst on the stomach of another sleeper.
“Whoosh!” went the escaping breath of that truant soldier, followed by an angry outpouring of abuse.
“Say, soldier! Get your foot out of my face! What do you think this is–a football game?”
222“Pipe down!” came a gruff voice from another corner. “Do you want some smart Looie to come up here and chase us out?”
McGee smiled, wondering what would be their reaction should he announce that “a Looie” was even now in their presence. Perhaps it was his duty, as an officer, to rout them out and order them to rejoin their commands, but he felt no responsibility for these men of the line, and if they were as weary and sleepy as he–and doubtless they had more reason to be–then he could hardly blame them for falling out. With the morning, he knew, these army-wise soldiers would go down the road until they found their outfits and there pour forth a plausible lie about becoming lost in the tangle and how they had searched all night for their company.
McGee knew little enough about the American infantrymen, but he did know that “for tricks that are vain” Bret Harte’s famous heathen Chinee had nothing on the average soldier of the line, be he American, English, French or a black man from Senegal.
Cautiously he felt out a clear space, spread his coat over the rough timbers and was soon sound asleep.
2
While McGee slept soundly, blissfully removed 223from all scenes of conflict and completely ignorant of his exact location, a midnight conference of gravest nature was taking place in the little settlement of Landres-et-St. Georges, far behind the German lines of defense.