“Is General Ballardyce here?”
“No, sir.”
“Who are you?”
“Siege,” said the officer, and gave his number. “We’ve got two six-inch Hows. in the farm.”
“Haven’t seen an Infantry General anywhere about?”
“No, sir.”
“All right. I’ll try down the road.”
“Have a drink before you go, sir?”
“No, thanks.”
They clambered back into the darkness; set off, between the moaning forms, down the road; found a great gloomy gateway. Here, the wounded lay in hundreds. Shapes stood over them; lifted them; loaded them into the shelves of hooded cars. The cars chugged away. Other cars chugged up. . . .