"McClintock," said he, "I don't wish to send you to any special hazard, and, so far as that goes, we're all going to get more or less of a dusting, but I want to put that machine gun which has been giving us so much trouble out of action."
I knew very well the machine gun he meant, it was in a concrete emplacement, walled and roofed, and the devils in charge of it seemed to be descendants of William Tell and the prophet Isaiah. They always know what was coming and had their gun accurately trained on it before it came.
"If you are willing," said Major Lewis, "I wish you to select twenty-five from the company and go after that gun the minute the order comes to advance. Use your own judgment about the men and the plan for taking the gun position. Will you go?"
"I sure will," I answered, and pick out the men right away. I think we can make those fellows shut up shop over there."
"Good boy!" he said. "You'll try, all right."
I started away. He called me back. "This is going to be a bit hot, McClintock," he said, taking my hand. "I wish you luck, old fellow—you and the rest of them." In the trenches they always wish you the best of luck when they hand you a particularly tough job.
I thanked him and wished him the never saw him again. He killed in action within two hours.
"I'll go back."  "This is going to be a bit hot, McClintock."
After our conversation, both lie and my pal Macfarlane were shot down dead that morning. 