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Updated: June 28, 2025
He lay on his back, silent, staring straight up at the bit of sky that showed through the branches above, and I'd just reached the point of asking, when he sat up and forestalled my questions. "This is going to be risky business, Sarge," he began. "But so far as I can see, there is only one way that we can hope to get the thing straightened out.
The Adjutant went out with his pies and doughnuts and distributed them here and there where they would do the most good, getting on the right side of the Top Sergeant, for he had discovered some time ago that even with the General as an ally one must be on the right side of the "old Sarge" if one wanted anything.
"They fight fire with fire in a grass country," he observed. "The Mounted Police are a hard formation to buck against but I've a mind to see this thing to a finish. How do you feel about it, Sarge? Will you go through?" "All the way and back again," I promised recklessly.
"Fuselli," said the first sergeant, "bring up the record book to my stateroom; 213 on the lower deck." "All right, Sarge," said Fuselli with alacrity. He admired the first sergeant and wished he could imitate his jovial, domineering manner. It was the first time he had been in the upper part of the ship. It seemed a different world.
"You don't understand the lay of things, Sarge," he said, rather hesitatingly. "If I have the situation sized up right, Lyn is practically alone here, and things are going to look pretty black to her when she learns what has happened. Hank never had anything much to do with his people. I doubt if Lyn has even a speaking acquaintance with her nearest kin.
"Ah wouldn't ha' thought it had been so easy," said Chrisfield. The woman came through the door at the end of the kitchen with a candle in her hand. Chrisfield stopped speaking suddenly. "Tomorrow I'm going to Paris," cried Andrews boisterously. "It's the end of soldiering for me." "Ah bet it'll be some sport in Germany, Andy.... Sarge says we'll be goin' up to Coab...what's its name?" "Coblenz."
Tenant Mycroft Jones, Reader Stamford Rawson, Toon Sarge Verner Hughes, and his son, Murray Hughes, sat around the bare-topped table in the room on the second floor of the Aitch-Cue House. A lighted candle flickered in the cool breeze that came in through the open window, throwing their shadows back and forth on the walls.
Confronted by the Huisne, the heights of Yvre and the plateaux of Sarge and Auvours, having, for the most part, to keep to the high-roads for, bad as their state might be at that season, it was nothing compared with the condition of the many narrow and often deep lanes, whose high banks and hedges, moreover, offered opportunities for ambush the Germans, it was obvious, would have a difficult task before them on the eastern side of Le Mans, even should they drive the 21st Corps from Montfort.
The Yankees probably believe they've swept out this valley. You stay holed up here, and you're safe for a while. Then when you're ready to ride, Sarge, we'll head back south." He stopped to pick up his carbine by its sling. "Where're you going?" "Take a look-see for Yankees. If they got Anse, there's a slim chance we can learn of it and take steps.
Crawl up there again, Sarge, and look straight down at the first ledge from the bottom. Hurry; you won't see anything if the sun has left it. And be careful how you show your head. We don't want to get them stirred up till we have to." Cautiously I peeped over the brink, straight down as Mac had directed.
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