Tommy stumbled out into the darkness and headed in what he thought was the direction of the guardhouse. His head was buzzing painfully. A volley of shots sounded somewhere in front of him. He felt vaguely that he ought to do something about it, and ran in that direction, only to fall over the guy-rope of a hangar and fall heavily. More shots behind him. He got up and staggered on. Suddenly there was a flash and a report right before him. Then a voice yelled—
“Halt.”
“Commander of the guard,” bawled Tommy.
A dark figure loomed up vaguely in the murk. He struck a match and saw a grinning cadet working the bolt of his rifle and waving the muzzle around dangerously. Suddenly it exploded and Tommy felt mud splatter over him.
“I thought I saw something moving and halted it, and it wouldn’t halt, so I fired, but I don’t understand this gun very well, sir,” said the cadet, still working at the bolt.
The commander of the guard turned and fled. He was getting dizzier every minute. Finally he tripped over another guy-rope and fell, to rise no more.
When he woke, it was with the consciousness of having been annoyed for a long time by a rasping noise which was still going on. He tried to pull himself together and think. He could vaguely discern the bulk of a hangar. There was a queer, unexplained rasping. Filed wires—Wings coming off—Funerals—
The noise stopped, and presently a dark figure crept out through the hangar door and started to steal away. Tommy drew the little automatic from its holster and fired. The next thing he realized was that there were flashlights and men everywhere. The sergeant of the guard. Major Krause. Calls for explanation. Tommy tried to explain. A voice said—
“You fool, you’ve shot the adjutant!” Strong hands seized him and hustled him away.