CORPORAL WALLIS nodded, and proceeded to light the cigarette with infinite artistry. He puffed delicately upon it, inhaled it with the care a man learns when he has just so much tobacco and never expects to get any more, and reluctantly handed it to Sergeant Coffee.
Sergeant Coffee emptied his lungs in a sigh of anticipation. He put the cigarette to his lips. It burned brightly as he drew upon it. Its tip became brighter and brighter until it was white-hot, and the paper crackled as the line of fire crept up the tube.
"Hey!" said Corporal Wallis in alarm.
Sergeant Coffee waved him aside, and his chest expanded to the fullest limit of his blouse. When his lungs could hold no more he ceased to draw, grandly returned about one-fourth of the cigarette to Corporal Wallis, and blew out a cloud of smoke in small driblets until he had to gasp for breath.
"When y' ain't got much time," said Sergeant Coffee amiably, "that's a quick smoke."
Corporal Wallis regarded the ruins of his cigarette with a woeful air.
"Hell!" said Corporal Wallis gloomily. But he smoked what was left.
"Yeah," said Sergeant Coffee suddenly, into the field telephone. "I'm still here, an' they're still dead. . . . Listen, Mr. Officer, I got me a black eye an' numerous contusions. Also my gas-mask is busted. I called y'up to do y' a favor. I aim to head for distant parts. . . . Hell's bells ! Ain't there anybody else in the army—" He stopped, and resentment died out in wide-eyed amazement. "Yeh. . . . Yeh. . . . Yeh. . . . I gotcha, Loot. A'right, I'll see what I c'n do. Yeh. . . . Wish y'd see my insurance gets paid. Yeh."
He hung up, gloomily, and turned to Corporal Wallis.
"We' got to be heroes," he announced bitterly. "Sit out here in th' stinkin' fog an' wait for a tank t' come along an' wipe us out. We' the only listenin' post in two miles of front. That new gas o' theirs wiped out all the rest without report."
He surveyed the crumpled figures which had been the original occupants of the pill-box. They wore the same uniform as himself and when he took the gas-mask off of one of them the man's face was strangely peaceful.
"Hell of a war," said Sergeant Coffee bitterly. "Here our gang gets wiped out by a helicopter. I ain't seen sunlight in a week, an' I got just four butts left. Lucky I started savin' 'em." He rummaged shrewdly. "This guy's got half a sack o' makin's. Say, that was Loot'n't Madison on the line, then. Transferred from our gang a coupla months back. They cut him in the line to listen in on me an' make sure I was who I said I was. He recognized my voice."
CORPORAL WALLIS, after smoking to the last and ultimate puff, pinched out his cigarette and put the fragments of a butt back in his pocket.
"What we got to do?" he asked, watching as Sergeant Coffee divided the treasure-trove into two scrupulously exact portions.
"Nothin'," said Coffee bitterly, "except find out how this gang got wiped out, an' a few little things like that. Half th' front line is in th' air, the planes can't see anything, o'course, an' nobody dares cut th' fog-gas to look. He didn't say much, but he said for Gawd's sake find out somethin'."
Corporal Wallis gloated over one-fourth of a sack of tobacco and stowed it away.
"Th' infantry always gets th' dirty end of the stick," he said gloomly. "I'm goin' to roll me a whole one, pre-war, an' smoke it, presently."
"Hell yes," said Coffee. He examined his gas-mask from force of habit before stepping out into the fog once more, then contemptuously threw it aside. "Gas-masks, hell! Ain't worth havin'. Come on."
Corporal Wallis followed as he
