"Yes, sir," Grant saluted and wheeled, grinding his molars.
With dubious explanations, Grant managed to steer Lieutenant Ashley toward the Officers' Club. What excuses he gave her evidently had some effect; after the first fifty yards across the drill ground she steered easily, though still under vocal protest.
A drink, and Grant felt he could face the future. They sat in a plastiweave booth, one against the far wall that overlooked through a curved window the blasting circle.
So wrapped up with his own feelings, Grant had been unaware of his companion's. Her face had paled, and she stirred her drink absently. The reflections in her eyes were over-bright with moisture.
Offered Grant: "The general has a lot on his mind."
"Yeah," she choked.
"The losses have upset him pretty bad."
"I notice. Me, too."
"Take a drink."