THREE:"Damn it," he said tightly, "a line. Form a straight line."
THREE:"There's likely to be from 100 to 150 in there," said the Lieutenant, after a moment's consideration. "We've got 27 or 28. We'll jump them, though, if they're a thousand. Corporal Elliott, you go forward and make your way inside, if you can, and see what they are doing. If you can get inside, stay 10 or 15 minutes, and come out and report. If you can't get out, or you think they are ripe for jumping, whistle, and we'll pile in. Sergeant Klegg, you hold your squad together and move down as near the door as you can without being seen and be ready for a rush. Find a rail or a log to smash the door in if they try to hold it against us. Sergeant Ramsey, deploy your men quietly around to the rear there to cut off retreat, but be ready to rally again and help Sergeant Klegg out if he strikes a big snag. You make the circuit of the house and post yourself where you can see what's going on, and signal your men. Everybody keep under the shadow of the trees and make no noise. Go on to the house, Corporal."
THREE:"Stop that! You musn't talk that way," said the Sergeant, going over to Shorty, and shaking him roughly, while he whispered, "Don't make a blamed fool o' yourself. Keep quiet."Hooray for the Old Battery. 231
TWO:Being an excerpt from a conversation between Mrs. Fellacia Gordon, (Citizen, white female, age thirty-eight, occupation housewife, residence 701-45 West 305 Street, New York, U. S. A., Earth) and Mrs. Gwen Brandon (Citizen, oriental female, age thirty-six, occupation housewife, residence 701-21 West 313 Street, New York, U. S. A., Earth) on a Minimart bench midway between the two homes, in the year of the Confederation two hundred and ten, on May sixteenth, afternoon."Sun's going down," Albin offered.
TWO: