Then his brain reeling around.
Flames searing his breast.
Hamilton’s eyes fluttered open to a white ceiling. He became aware of a sickeningly sweetish odor of ether. His eyes closed. He was back in the gray world, with its weird, screaming lights. Running, running. He was falling, with bayonets flashing out of the shadows and tearing at his chest.
“Get ’em! Get ’em! God! They got me. Sergeant!”
His eyes fluttered open again. Eyes were resting on his bewilderingly.
“What? Where am I?”
Soft hands were patting him.
“Where are you, sergeant? All right, bombers! Get ’em! Get ’em! Damn!”
Hamilton was conscious. The pain had concentrated in a single place in his chest. He saw a surgeon and a nurse in white bending over him. He knew that he was in a hospital. He heard the nurse’s low voice consoling him:
“You’re all right, now. A few days and you’ll be sitting up.”