He looked at General Mitchell queerly.
“Not yet,” the General said. “I think it’ll last long enough for you to get in. As soon as you’re in shape you’re coming back to the group. I’ll hold a place for you.”
“Thanks, sir.”
“Those Gothas,” Mitchell went on, “had bombs for the General.” He leaned over and whispered. “I’m recommending you for the D.S.C.” He smiled and bit his lip and went out.
Lancaster sat down on the edge of the bed.
“By God,” he said, “you must have been born with a horseshoe in your mouth.”
Big George Dorman grinned and thumbed his nose at him.