More than that.  He is the one man in the Army who can fairly describe himself as indispensable.

In these days, when whole nations are deployed against one another, no commander, however eminent, can ride the whirlwind single-handed.  There are limits to individual capacity.  There are limits to direct control.  There are limits to personal magnetism.  We fight upon a collective plan nowadays.  If we propose to engage in battle, we begin by welding a hundred thousand men into one composite giant.  We weld a hundred thousand rifles, a million bombs, a thousand machine-guns, and as many pieces of artillery, into one huge weapon of offence, with which we arm our giant.  Having done this, we provide him with a brain—­a blend of all the experience and wisdom and military genius at our disposal.  But still there is one thing lacking—­a nervous system.  Unless our giant have that,—­unless his brain be able to transmit its desires to his mighty limbs,—­he has nothing.  He is of no account; the enemy can make butcher’s-meat of him.  And that is why I say that the purveyor of this nervous system—­our friend the Buzzer—­is indispensable.  You can always create a body of sorts and a brain of sorts.  But unless you can produce a nervous system of the highest excellence, you are foredoomed to failure.

Take a small instance.  Supposing a battalion advances to the attack, and storms an isolated, exposed position.  Can they hold on, or can they not?  That question can only be answered by the Artillery behind them.  If the curtain of shell-fire which has preceded the advancing battalion to its objective can be “lifted” at the right moment and put down again, with precision, upon a certain vital zone beyond the captured line, counter-attacks can be broken up and the line held.  But the Artillery lives a long way—­sometimes miles—­in rear.  Without continuous and accurate information it will be more than useless; it will be dangerous. (A successful attacking party has been shelled out of its hardly won position by its own artillery before now—­on both sides!) Sometimes a little visual signalling is possible:  sometimes a despatch-runner may get back through the enemy’s curtain of fire; but in the main your one hope of salvation hangs upon a slender thread of insulated wire.  And round that wire are strung some of the purest gems of heroism that the War has produced.

At the Battle of Loos, half a battalion of “K(1)” pushed forward into a very advanced hostile position.  There they hung, by their teeth.  Their achievement was great; but unless Headquarters could be informed of their exact position and needs, they were all dead men.  So Corporal Greig set out to find them, unreeling wire as he went.  He was blown to pieces by an eight-inch shell, but another signaller was never lacking to take his place.  They pressed forward, these lackadaisical non-combatants, until the position was reached and communication established.  Again and again the wire was cut by shrapnel, and again and again a Buzzer crawled out to find the broken ends and piece them together.  And ultimately, the tiny, exposed limb in front having been enabled to explain its exact requirements to the brain behind, the necessary help was forthcoming and the Fort was held.