suspense and the producer of radio's outstanding theater of thrills, the master of mystery and adventure, William M. Rogerson. One man's war is another man's history lesson. Yet it is only 44 years ago this Indian summer that the war before the last set Europe afire. To today's missile-minded men in uniform, it was a quaint war which began with bravado cavalry charges and ended in the sickening senseless sailmate of the trenches. But to the fighting man of 1914 it was real. His bullets killed, his strap will pour the flesh, his grenades disemboweled. And whatever else it may have failed to accomplish, that first world war inspired some of the century's best literature, an example of which you are about to hear. One of the most provocative short stories of World War I. Listen, listen then as Herbert Marshall stars in The Man Who Won the War. The Man Who Won the War starring Herbert Marshall, a tale well calculated to keep you in the flamest. The Man Who Won the War Ten years is a long time in any man's life. It's beyond counting when he's ascending this race. He's exalted. The stony of the golden night I first had put upon this blemish beach. I returned here tonight under a sort of compulsion, like a criminal returning to the scene of this crime. But I am no criminal, and what I did here ten years ago was no crime. Oh, I'm so tired of whatever it is, and of forever being disbelieved. Good nob. Huh, what? Who's that? It's I, you're not actor. Did I not see you at dinner tonight? At the inn in the village. Oh yes, I'm staying then. And I, I believe we are the only two guests. Won't you sit down? This lip would laugh should be big enough for two. Thank you. You are English, Mr. Uh... Oh yes, excuse me, Badman's the name, Roger Bradman. Yes, I'm English, and you I take it you're German. That's right, Mr. Bradman. Ten years ago, we were at the Chateau de Peau. Yes, and for what? What, indeed. If I may say so, Mr. Bradman, it seems strange to find an Englishman in a channel watering place in October. Yes, I suppose it does. Mid-sum of the time we've talked to the beachers. But then you, you don't find any Germans on the Belt and Coast these days, at any time of the year. No, we are not exactly welcome here. And no wonder, after what we did to this country. It could have been worse, didn't it? You might have won the war instead of losing it. Here on this beach ten years ago. What? Ten years ago tonight on this beach. That's when you lost the war. I know because I'm the man who won the war. That is the most extravagant statement I've ever heard. Oh, I would love it. No one has ever believed it. No one. But it's true. Perhaps I would believe it. Would you? I might if I knew the details. Oh, you wouldn't be interested. No one is. I am very much interested. It sounds a little laughably to me. Why? Believe me, Herr Bradman, I would like very much to hear your story. Very well. You see, when the war began, our station commander would destroy a fire drake to catch the Admiral Colton Battle Forces from North Sea patrol. On the night of October the 28th, 1914, the fire drake was cruising at the Belt and Coast to join the main fleet. We had taken aboard the next shell of an ammunition at Simmons along with several cases of crotch whiskey. Since the fleet was looking forward to extended action. And I'm afraid those cases were uppermost in our minds at night as we sat around the ward room after dinner. I say, commander, what brand of whiskey did Schitt's supplies put aboard? No, I didn't think of looking. I did. Cameron Highlander had said on the boxes, and a very bonny bro, too. That wouldn't be a hint, would it, Mr. Gilliam? Oh, no, sir. But it is nippy on deck tonight. Do you concur, Mr. Ainsley? Yes, indeed, sir. The wind's got a bite to it. Man could catch himself a nasty cold out there tonight. Very well, you scoundrel. Proper. Aye, sir. Go down to the store room and break out a bottle of that whiskey they took aboard this afternoon. Aye, sir. Any news on the fighting front in Flanders, sir? What there is is all bad. Our forces have a handful in the center. On the right, the French are just barely holding. But the real danger is right off there, the starboard. How's that, sir? The left flank, the Belgian sector. Van Klook's third army is flicking hard. If he breaks through the Belgian line, you can right off them. The Kaiser will be in Paris in a week. Ah, here's Hopper with our wee drop. You needn't have bought the whole case, Hopper. Oh, I wanted you to see it, sir. I opened four of them, and the contents are all the same. Yes, I was right. It says Cameron Highlander on the box. Yes, sir, but the contents are not Cameron Highlander whiskey. They're Cameron Highlander uniforms. What? Yes, sir. See, here's the kilt, and the gangarys, and the sporens. Where's the whiskey? Well, as near as I can make out, there ain't any, sir. What I say is that them boxes contain nearly 200 Scotch Highlander uniforms. I'm afraid this will be a dry voice, gentlemen. What shall I do with these boxes, sir? We'll tow them out of the way until we make port again. Where's the sleeping cube, sir? Acknowledge, will you please, Mr. Gilliam? Yes, sir. Now what kind of trouble do you suppose Trittle's run into? Coming along easily? Might as well. Can't think too much of the gangarys. I'll be glad to know. Reckoning up a bit? I shall be on the beam end before morning. Yes, Mr. Trittle? Thought you ought to see this, sir. What? Look there on our starboard quarter, it's tiny night. Yes, I see it. Here, take a look through the night glasses. Flashing on and off. That's right, and according to my reckoning, we're off the mouth of Beezer River. Now, if you look at this chart, you'll see that there are no lighthouses along this stretch of coast, yet there is a flashing light where no light ought to be. Perhaps it's a signal of some sort, sir. Undoubtedly, but who is? Well, the Germans can't have been bombed so far. How can you be sure, Mr. Engineer? Wait a minute. That light's flashing a message in North Code. Huh? G-R-O-G. G-R-O-G. Quartermaster. Aye, sir. Change course to 110. Change course to 110, aye, sir. Now, steering 110. What are you going to do, sir? Take a closer look. But, sir, this might be a trap. Yes, it might. But don't you recognize the code word grog, Mr. Trittle? No, sir. You were never a midshipman in the wild, were you, Mr. Trittle? No, sir. My apprenticeship was in the merchant service. Then, of course, grog wouldn't mean anything to you. I don't understand, sir. Well, Mr. Trittle, G-R-O-G is a midshipman's joke. It means good rum on goose days. Ah, I don't understand, sir. When is goose day? That's the joke, Mr. Trittle. Goose day never comes. And you, now, I'll admit, are fascinatingly esoteric when you're 14 years old. Why would anybody be sending a midshipman's code word from the coast of Belgium in the middle of a war? That, Mr. Ainsley, is what they're going to find out. Be good enough to check off a landing party. Aye, sir. Number two can all launch. We shall go ashore in ten minutes. But, Captain. You have your orders, Mr. Ainsley. Aye, sir. You, you can't be serious, Captain. I am, Mr. Trittle. But this might be a trap. We have no way of knowing whether the Germans have advanced beyond this point or not. Yes, it might be a trap. Or it might be some poor beggar trying to escape the advance. It's worth looking into. But suppose it is a trap. Now, don't you worry, Mr. Trittle. I'm not asking you to go ashore. I'm leading the landing party myself. It is not a matter of peer, sir. Naturally. One of caution. Of course. House speed ahead. House speed ahead. The fleet orders clearly state. I'm quite aware of the content of the fleet orders. And they state that elements of the Royal Navy are to give all possible aid and assistance to shore positions. They also limit such aid to ships of the class of the Mercy and the Seven. Very true, Mr. Trittle. We'll stretch the limits of that portion of the order a little, shall we? Furthermore, we are under specific orders to rendezvous with the flagship at dawn. Then we may be a little late. Sir, I propose. Mr. Trittle. Apparently things are different on the merchant's service. But in his menace in fighting ships, an executive officer does not protest to his commander. He will heave to and drop anchor. If I have no return within an hour, he will proceed to the fleet rendezvous. Is that clear? Yes, sir. Carry on. I'd say we're about half a mile down the beach from the light now, sir. Very well. Bring wind, Sean. Aye, sir. That light is getting dimmer and dimmer. Oh, it will be a pocket torch. The battery's running out. All right, men. Your attention, please. Aye, sir. Aye, sir. When we hit the beach, we'll spread out 10 feet apart and proceed toward that light. Keep well down and walk with the utmost quiet. If you encounter a sentry, try to knock him out before he challenges you. Use your arms only as a last resort. We're not here to get into a battle. We're only to investigate that light. We should be engaged by the enemy. I will fire three rapid shots with a signal to return to the boat. Hopper and Sturgeon will remain with the boat. And Hopper. Yes, sir. If we have to retreat in a hurry, wait until the last possible moment before you shove off. Yes, sir. Any questions? No, sir. All very clear, sir. I'll break this hill. Glad for coming into the surf. Now, men, over the side and hold your rifles high. With a hum of the heart, the bloody bandit will encounter the villain sentry. He's a cheap poor beggar. As soon as he figures no one will be around this time of the year, he's in the middle of a night's theme and down to the tannys. He's sitting on the ground, he's kicking off his boots. There is no one to stop him. He's sitting on the ground, he's kicking off his boots. There is his aching feet in the cream sand. I'm afraid he wasn't the very fit for the job that the German mentor machine that meant. But with no trouble at all, Mr. Hensley and I crept up on him. He had him bound on the edge before he was quite awake. There we are. I don't think he'll give us any trouble now, sir. I do think not. Now, my friend, drive into the ruin and even there, if you can hear him. We'll take him along the same way. Aye, aye, sir. Margit. Yes? Put on Mr. O's pike helmet and remain at his post. If a relief sentry appears, take care of him. But no shooting is absolutely necessary. Yes, sir. Let's do the move on, men. The German mentor machine. Get the robin, sir. McCrae, I thought I heard voices. Lightning halt. There's people in the finish. They're allies. So we must be certain. Take two of the men and come up on them from the rear. Aye, aye, sir. I'll approach from the side. I'll do the talking. If you trap our visit, you'll be required. After one bullet, break for it. And long live the rule of the long ship. Yes, sir. Heavens, send me some remains. Wilton, Rodman north. Aye, sir. Follow me quietly. Yes, sir. My friend, we've been told... Not yet, my friend, not yet. Hello. What are you doing here? What are you doing here? Attention. What? Attention? Who's there? Your friends. Engrais. Ah, I. Finally. You're here. What did he say, sir? He said to approach. They're Belgians or French. Come on, men. Hello, my friends. Did you speak English? Oh, my God. Who told him all that? Oh, glory. I'll just say your English is better than my French. May I introduce myself? I'm Commander Bradman, who is headed this ship fire brigade. I can't tell you how glad I am to meet you, Commander. I am Major de l'Essence of the South Belgian Dragoon. You see, he has no chapotin. Nice to meet you, Mr. Commandant. And here's one of my officers, Lieutenant Engrais. Good evening, sir. And who is this? Bound and gagged. Oh, an enemy sent to be picked up on the way. You can have him. Thank you. We saw your light from the ship. Whatever made you flash the word grog. Ah, I thought a Royal Navy man might really be a hero. A Royal Navy man might respond more quickly to grog than S.O.S. It was an inspiration, but where did you learn it? Oh, I used to sail in the regattas at college when I was younger. One of my best friends was Albert Hollister. He was a midshipman on your sail. Percy Hollister. I know him well. He's sniper now. Young Rear-Baton, the result. Now we can join the death another time. What's the reason for your signal, Major? Simply this, Commander. We are in trouble. We are in very serious trouble. We have been pushed back day after day until our men are completely exhausted. Our orders are to make a stand here at the Iser River, long enough to give the suppers time to blow the dikes. Once the dikes are broken, the river should stop the enemy. How long will it take to blow the dikes? We must hold the line until sundown, roughly 18 hours. And you can't do that? I seriously doubt it, Commander. We have appealed to your army for help, but it is completely engaged on our right and can send us no reinforcement. The French are too far south and they have their hands full, too. Now, it was my suggestion that tonight's staff meeting to seek help from the sea. That is our last chance. Well, what do you want us to do? Stand by us and bring your guns to bear on the enemies at hand. But we are only a destroyer, Major. We haven't enough firepower to do any good whatsoever. And we haven't the means for offshore bombardment. Then we are finished. So is the war. There is nothing between Van Klook and Paris but us. I'm sorry, Major. Ecoutez, they are starting the barrage early this morning. I suppose they know this is the last day. You stood there listening to the angry boom of the big guns, each man alone with his troop of soldiers. My gaze wandered as a helpless German sentry lying where we had dumped him in the sand. His eyes were wide open with fear. He looked like a schoolboy victim of some upper-class ragging. His bare legs were shooting skin-arrived in his rolled-up trousers. Bare legs? Mr. Ainslayer. Sir. The Kilt. The Kilt, sir? Yes. You can put a company of Cameron Highlanders into the Belgian line. I'm sorry, sir. I didn't quite follow. Major, we can help you. Oh, it's a long, long shot, but it might work. What might work? Come on, man. Somebody made a botch back in Plymouth and loaded us with cases of Scotch uniforms instead of Scotch whiskey. There are nearly 200 complete uniforms of the first Cameron Highlanders aboard. Yes, but I don't... We'll give them to you. Put them on the company of your men. Let them show themselves in the front line when the attack begins this morning. And perhaps, perhaps the Germans will take the British of Russian attractivism to be enforcing. Yes, yes, it might work. We can let you have up new Lewis guns, too, but there won't be much help unless the uniform is in the trick. Well, it is, as you say, a long shot, but let's try, sir. Very well. The same thing, sir. Go back to the ship at once and fetch those cases of uniforms and four cases of Lewis guns and ammunition. Aye, aye, sir. I'll remain here with the Major and help him to get his men lined up. And in they... Sir, should Mr. Tweddle inquire, you might tell him I'll be detained a little while longer, winning the war. Aye, aye, sir. The fight at the Melopogne. Two hundred men following the changing of their battle-dirty green uniforms for the gay kilts and sarcoms in the pale light of a fitting moon. The living towns were happy with the best of the country. The fusing of the black pad put new energy as well as hope in the battle-weary Belgians. They look like the real thing, don't they? Yes, certainly do. Do you know I believe it can work? I'm sure it will. Oh, I nearly forgot, sir. What, A.B.? Mr. Tweddle asked me to tell you the flagship has been trying to reach you on the wireless. What did he want? Mr. Tweddle has been saying... No, they'll have to wait till the service is finished. Mr. Tweddle said he'd reply, sir. Oh, very well then. Well, Commander, that's the last of them. A thousand thanks, sir. Not at all. God's guilt the precious little news to a ship full of sailors. But they may do a turn for you this morning. I feel sure of I will. Well, we must be on our way. Less than an hour till daybreak. Goodbye, Major. Goodbye, Commander. You must look me up after the war. Always reach with the Navy, Clapston James at square. Thank you, sir. I'll do that. Au revoir. Au revoir, Major. Bonne chance. And all the rest of the day. Hello, Mr. Tweddle. I think we can get underway now. Finished with your visitor, sir. It's just your social call, Mr. Tweddle. I think it may have been of some help to our allies this morning. Of course, sir. The flagship's been trying to reach you, sir. Oh, yes, Mr. Ainsley said something. I signaled them that you'd be coming to the ship. I'm sorry, Mr. Tweddle. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Mr. Ainsley. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Mr. Tweddle. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Mr. Tweddle. I'm sorry. I said something. I signaled them that you'd gone ashore. Oh, you did? That must have been a dream, then. Well, I shouldn't say they were pleased. I just received this reply from them. As Senior Officer President of the Board, you're ordered to take command of fire break and proceed to feet rendezvous immediately. Well, that's a neat double cost, Mr. Tweddle. I'm sorry, Mr. Bradman, but my responsibility is to the ship on which I serve. Yes, I can see that it is. However, since you are once more aboard... Oh, no, no, no, Mr. Tweddle. You have your orders from the flag. Follow them. Meddling rulebook sailor, his capsules wire-ripped netted and made an unnecessary embarrassment for me. I had no doubt that my explanation of the night's work would fully satisfy the Admiral. Sir, let Mr. Tweddle have his little moment of triumph at command. I stood up in the starboard bridge wing as it flew away from the building coast. And through my binoculars in the gray dawn, I thought I saw the flashing red and yellow of the tremor and fad as the last day of the first battle of Saunders began. Then I expected the Admiral made a thorough investigation of the matter, and a few days later I faced him in his quarters aboard the flagship. Commander Bradman, your little adventure of a few nights ago involved some very serious breaches of discipline. You disposed of war material without authorization. You left your ship without authorization. You deliberately violated the fleet orders regarding assistance to land forces. And I managed to stop the German advance dead in its tracks. We know that the German advance had been stopped, Commander, but it was stopped by opening the dikes of the Issa River, a plan which has been part of the Belgian and French grand strategy for years. The dikes would never have been opened if the Belgian line hadn't held that last day of the battle. And they held because the German attack would slow down. And it would slow down because the Germans thought the Belgians were reinforced by the first Cameron Highlanders. I have given your story the benefit of every doubt, Commander. I've even queried the Belgian General's staff to try to substantiate it. I have the reply. They have no record of any unit being outfitted in Highlander's uniforms. This was not a general's half-matter. It was on a regimental level. I may say there is even some doubt on the part of the members of your crew, whether or not the men who received the uniforms were Belgians. What? Yes. Sister Twettle said... Sister Twettle, that meddling fool from the cargo ship... That's enough, Commander. It is the decision of the Fleet Inquiry Board that you be relieved of your command, placed in iron, and be returned to house to face court-martial. Well, that's about all there is to tell, Herr Becton. The court-martial at Fowler sustained the Board of Inquiry's decision. I spent the rest of the war in prison. Afterwards, I naturally had two meetings. Wherever I went, no later. Vancouver, Singapore, Melbourne. The story, their story, followed me. Sooner or later, some ex-neighbor man would turn up to recognize me, and I would have to move on. And that's the way it's been said. Moving. Moving, always moving. Until at last I was compelled to return to this very spot where it all happened. Why, I don't know. I know. You do? Yes. To find someone who believes you are the man who won the war. Do you believe it? Yes. You see, I too have been compelled to return here tonight. You? Why? Because I am the man who lost the war. Lost? Yes. I am the German sentry you found asleep at his post. Then there was nothing more to say. Nothing to say. The German walked slowly back along the beach toward the sleeping town. I suppose the truth is lonely listening on Earth. Suspense. In which Herbert Marshall starred in William M. Rogerson's production of The Man Who Won the War, written by Robert Buckner and dramatized for suspense by Mr. Rogerson. Brit Marshall and The Man Who Won the War were Abraham Sofea, Ramsey Hill, Ben Wright, Ted D'Courcier, and Barney Phillips. Listen again next week when we return with another tale, well calculated, to keep you in suspense.
