"Oh ... excuse me, sir...."
"Skip it. How many men you got, and what are they?"
"Seven, sir. We brought in a wire from Inf...."
"A wire! Hellanddamnation, why haven't you got it with you, then? Get it!"
The crestfallen officer disappeared; the general turned to Kinnison and the sergeant.
"Have you got any ammunition, sergeant?"
"Yes, sir. About thirty belts."
"Thank God! We can use it, and you. As for you, Captain, I don't know...."
The wire came up. The general seized the instrument and cranked.
"Get me Spearmint ... Spearmint? Slayton—give me Weatherby.... This is Slayton ... yes, but ... No, but I want ... Hellanddamnation, Weatherby, shut up and let me talk—don't you know that this wire's apt to be cut any second? We're on top of Hill Fo-wer, Ni-yun, Sev-en—that's right—about two hundred men; maybe three. Composite—somebody, apparently, from half the outfits in France. Too fast and too far—both flanks wide open—cut off ... Hello! Hello! Hello!" He dropped the instrument and turned to Kinnison. "You want to go back, Captain, and I need a runner—bad. Want to try to get through?"