So Greg obeyed, in time almost to bump into Captain Ribaut.
"Four men from this platoon are missing, and presumably were captured by the enemy," said that officer. "I much fear that Captain Prescott was also taken away by the enemy."
"What? Captured by the Huns?" Greg demanded, divided between amazement and consternation. "Dick captured? Let me lead a force over to the enemy line to bring him back!"
"Only the division commander could sanction that," replied Captain
Ribaut, with grave sympathy. "And it is never done, Captain."
"Oh, I wish I had B company at my back, with A company thrown in for good measure!" quivered Greg. "But say, can't there be a mistake? Didn't Prescott go back wounded?"
"No; I have sent to the dressing station, and he was not seen there," Captain Ribaut replied.
At first Greg couldn't believe that his chum had been captured. When the probability of it did dawn on him nothing but his position as an officer kept him from sitting down on the fire step and sobbing.
"I'd sooner know he was killed than that he had fallen into Hun hands," Holmes sputtered. "But, if they have got him, then I'll make a business of mistreating Germans after this!"
Capture was precisely what had happened to Dick Prescott. It was not for long that he had remained dazed. Two German soldiers fairly dragged him across No Man's Land, his heels bumping over the rough ground.
Dick vaguely knew when the same men lifted him slightly and dropped him, feet first, into the German trench. He fell forward to his knees, and a German non-com raised him to his feet.