He wanted to change something and didn't know how to do it.

He hopped on one leg; he took the megaphone from his mouth to curse; he waved it like a banner and yelled at some opposite number on the other flank.
And then his patience forsook him and he skipped down the ladder, dropping his megaphone, past the camera-men, on to the battlefield.
That was his undoing.

He got in the way of the second wave and was swallowed up like a leaf in a torrent.

For a moment I saw a red face and a loud-checked suit, and the rest was silence.

He was carried on over the hill, or rolled into an enemy trench, but anyhow he was lost to my ken.
I bagged his megaphone and hopped up the steps to the platform.