@@@@@"Ah swear, Red, Ah'm jus' shot to hell 113
@@@@@"Ah swear, Red, Ah'm jus' shot to hell insideWhen Ah get back Ah'm gonna have that op-per-rationAh ain't good for a fuggin thing without it
"Ah mean it, Red, Ah'm jus' holdin' back the whole platoon"You think we're in a hurry?"
"Naw, but Ah cain't help frettin' over itWhat ifen we fall into somethin' when we're goin' through the passMan' Ah've plumb forgot what a tight ass-hole feels like"Aaah, you just take it easy, boy He was unwilling to involve himself with Wilson's troubleNothin' I can do, he told himselfThey went on eating slowly
In a few minutes Hearn gave the order to move again, and the platoon filed out of the grove, and trudged forward in the sunAlthough the rain had halted, the hills were mucky, and steam arose from themThe men marched with drooping bodies, the line of hills extending endlessly before themSlowly, strung out in a file almost a hundred yards long, they weaved through the grass, absorbed in the varied aches and sores of their bodiesTheir feet were burning, and their thighs quivered with fatigueAbout them the hills shimmered in the noon heat, and a boundless nodding silence had settled over everythingThe whirring of the insects was steady and not unpleasantTo Croft and Ridges, even to Wilson, it brewed vague warm images of farm lands in summer heat, quiet and bountiful, stirring only in the fragile traceries a butterfly might make against the skyThey drifted through a train of memories, idly, as if they were sauntering down a country road, seeing again the fertile roll of the fields, smelling in the musty damp germination of this earth after the rain the ancient redolent odors of plowed land and sweating horses
The sunlight, the heat, was everywhere, dazzling
For an hour they marched uphill almost constantly, and then halted at a stream to fill their canteensThey rested for fifteen minutes and went on againTheir clothing had been wet at least a dozen times, from the ocean spray, from the river, their sweat, from sleeping on the ground, and each time it dried it left its stainsTheir shirts were streaked with white lines of salt, and under their armpits, beneath their belts, the cloth was beginning to rot
