I drove off the policeman with some difficulty, making myself personally responsible for Cotter’s safety. Then I questioned the old gentleman.
“What have you been doing?” I said.
“Waiting for the ambulance. I’d be waiting still if that ass of a policeman hadn’t insisted that I was drunk and dragged me away.”
“Good Lord!” I said, “and they’ve been looking for you for hours.”
“I know that,” said Cotter. “I saw their lights all over the place and heard them shouting.”
“Then why on earth didn’t you shout back and let them know where you were?”
“Casualties don’t shout,” said Cotter. “They can’t. They’re too weak. I groaned occasionally; but I suppose they didn’t hear me.”
“And how long did you mean to lie out in this storm?” I said.
“Till the stretcher bearers found me,” said Cotter. “Those were the C.O.‘s orders.”
I do not know whether any medals will be given to volunteers after the war. Cotter certainly deserves one. I have never heard a finer story of devotion to duty than his. When I had got rid of the policeman he actually wanted to go back and lie down again.