He went back to where the rest of the men stood awaiting orders, and divided them up into groups to go out and attend to the trouble. He remained there in constant communication with the men on the test pole, waiting for the results of the repair work. Until all the lines were repaired he had to stay there, but at least it was indoors. A charcoal fire burned cheerfully.
V
Soroku, in charge of two skilled men and three cauuals, was assigned the lower part of the M 1 Tokyo No. 6 telephone line. From the test pole, the wire going towards Tokyo was called the upper and the one in the opposite direction the lower. They knew it was the lower part that was damaged from the report of the men up the pole.
Shining their gas lamp along the road they trudged through the outskirts of the town, out north along the highway. Twenty-five miles ahead lay the next post office. There, too, there’d be an emergency muster, for sure, and a squad might be sent out in their direction. In that case the two squads would meet. But, if not, Soroku’s squad might have to walk the whole twenty-five miles.
The storm showed no signs of abating. It was 3.30 a.m., still some time to dawn. You couldn’t keep your eyes open in that gale. Snow flashes danced in the light of the gas lamp.
“It’s cold. Damned cold.”
You couldn’t work in overcoats, so under their
