Edgar Wallace

“ The divisional general stood by the table taking in the situation which the map revealed, and his face was grave. A whole line of trenches had been lost; in some cases the second line was gone and the enemy attack was developing in fury.
Milton was an automaton, working out the combinations exactly, precisely, cold-bloodedly. The general frowned, and yet his chief of staff was doing nothing to which exception might be taken. He was playing the game correctly.
"Hullo, 19! What has happened? But you must take it! Try again. I know, I know. How many men have you left?" ”

“ Destruction was essential to creation, and so on and so forth.
At the Staff College they called him the "man of blood." His wife called him Jacky, and when her friends told her how pleased she must be that her husband was now in his element (for he was in the hottest part of the Flanders battle line) , she looked at them strangely and said that perhaps it would be better if he were at home. They wondered at this, but there was no occasion for their bewilderment. A stained gray car dropped him at headquarters, and his interview with the divisional general was short. ”

“ He was a broad red man with a high forehead, a bald head, and an untidy mustache, and he spoke with a certain jovial slowness which suggested that he had not made up his mind whether to be amused or very angry indeed. ”

“ There's a battery to our right front giving us hell! The Canadians are getting it ... they've signaled their wire is cut by shrapnel ... no, no ... phone line. I mean ... see what you can do with those guns, my dear chap."
Some of the voices were calm, almost jocular; some conveyed their tense mood; some were frankly nerve-ragged; 17 was imperious; 45, under heavy fire and losing heavily, drawled an insulting inquiry as to the health of Battery 29.
"For God's sake, send him to see an oculist—he's shelling everything except the Bosches."
Milton put in his plug.
"Hullo, 29! ”

“ He nosed distinction—and deservedly so. He was husky with the tremendous consciousness of his act. "No. 17435, Driver G. Gold, 104th Battery, R. F. H., sir—me an' Driver Percer; we've bin workin' one gun for half an hour. ”