"Advanced Headquarters, Section 47, East of Ginchy. Is that the Wing H.Q., Royal Flying Corps?"
"Yes. What is the matter, that you ring a poor chap up for the twentieth time in half an hour?"
"Matter enough, Grenfell, old fellow! Seven aeroplanes have just crossed our lines from the direction of Morval and Lesboeufs. They are flying in your direction, west by west-sou'-west. Can you hear me?"
"Yes, yes, but I say, Ginchy. Hullo! Were they enemy 'planes?"
"Our sentries couldn't make out their nationality; it was too dark. That's why the O.C. wanted me to 'phone you, lest it should be another raiding party coming to bomb you, as they did the other morning at dawn. He wants you to take 'Air Raid Action' at once. Got me, old fellow?"
"All right, Ginchy. We'll be ready for the blighters this time. S'long! Remember me to Crawford when you run across him."
"Can't, old man."
"How so?"
"He got a packet in the knapper this morning, and he's already on his way to Blighty."
"Lucky beggar! Good-bye!"