"
"Quite so. But don't you think you ought to keep some of your company
in rear, as a supporting line? I see you have got them all up on one
front."
By this time A Company is advancing in its original direction, but
split up into eight half-platoons in single file--four on each side of
the road, at intervals of thirty yards. The movement has been quite
smartly carried out. Still, a critic must criticise or go out of
business. However, Captain Blaikie is an old hand.
"I was assuming that my company formed part of a battalion, sir," he
explained. "There are supposed to be three other companies in rear of
mine."
"I see. Still, tell two of your sections to fall back and form a
supporting line."
Captain Blaikie, remembering that generals have little time for study
of such works as the new drill-book, and that when General Freeman
says "section" he probably means "platoon," orders Numbers Two and
Four to fall back. This manoeuvre is safely accomplished.
"Now, let me see them close on the road."
Captain Blaikie blows a whistle, and slaps himself on the top of the
head. In three minutes the long-suffering platoons are back on the
road, extracting thorns from their flesh and assuaging the agony of
their abrasions by clandestine massage.
General Freeman rides away, and the column moves on. Two minutes later
Captain Wagstaffe doubles up from the rear to announce that General
Hardy is only two hundred yards behind.
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