No one asked for a moment, because it seemed certain
that Robinson had been struck, also. The 16th major
shook his head when at last the question had been asked.
"No, he's taken command. He seems to know what he is about."
Robinson did. It was for that affair that he and Corporal Johnson were awarded the Distinguished Service Cross. Wolff and he had been sitting together in a funk hole, and Wolff had just said to him, expecting to leave with the last of his battery in a few moments:
"You know, Robinson, I'm not so sure I'm going to get out of this place alive after all.”
He had laughed a little, and just then the shell had tumbled into the dump, and he had telephoned battalion headquarters and had asked what he should do about it. He, and his assistant Dean, and Robinson had all gone in, carrying dirt which they had thrown on the popping shells.
Robinson had just gone out for more dirt, and Deane was starting when the explosion occurred. There had been shrapnel there. While it was still bursting Robinson had dashed in. Corporal Johnson, without any command, without any request, had followed him, and they had dragged out Wolff's body, and the wounded lieutenant. It was then that Robinson had reported.
The major of the 16th looked very tired. At last he shrugged his shoulders, and called up his colonel.
"Wolff's dead. Dean's hurt. Burning dump. What? One officer of the 305th, but I'm getting an officer over to stay until the relief's complete."
It seemed at times as if that formality would never be accomplished. We got reports from A, and, at last from C. But B hadn't reported its second platoon in yet, or its command post moved to the new position. So we sat and waited.
We had had a number of gas alarms during the evening.
