Prevot came up ``Take that spot over there,'' he whispered, pointing to a small clump of blackness. ``Give me your machine gun ammo.'' Warren handed him the metal box and Prevot quietly disappeared down the line.

Lying in the grass behind the brush clump, Warren looked about. The others likewise had hidden themselves in the grass and the brush. Over his shoulder he could see Prevot with the machine gun crew. Even at this short distance they were only vague shapes, setting up the machine gun on a small knoll so that it could fire above the heads of the rest of the patrol.

Warren eased his rifle's safety off and gently, slowly sneaked another clip of ammunition from one of the cloth bandoleers that marked the upper part of his body with an X. This he placed within quick reach. The walk and his fears had served to overheat him and his sweaty armpits cooled at the touch of the night air. Although the armored vest fitted the upper part of his body snugly, he felt no security. Figures seemed to crouch in the surrounding dark; in the distance he saw a band of men who seemed to advance and retreat even as he watched. Certain this menace was only imaginary, he yet stared in fascinated horror, his hand sticky against the stock of his weapon. He was aware of insistent inner beatings, as if prisoners within sought release from his rigid body.

Above, the glowing ivory baton of their searchlight pointed at the clouds, diluting the valley's dark to a pallid light. Then the figures which held his attention became a group of shattered trees, standing like the grotesques of a medieval damnation scene. Even so, he could not ease the tension of his body; the rough surface of the earth itself seemed to resist every attempt on his part to relax. Sensing the unseen presence of the other men in the patrol, he felt mutely united to these nine near strangers sharing this pinpoint of being with him. He sensed something precious in the perilous moment, something akin to the knowledge gained on his bicycle trip through the French countryside, a knowledge imprisoned in speechlessness.