Chapter XII: Part FOUR: Rust I (4)

“It makes you mad, though, to have something like that put over on ye.... Think of them guys in Paris, havin' a hell of a time with wine an' women, an' we stay out here an' clean our guns an' drill.... God, I'd like to get even with some of them guys.”

The whistle blew. The patch of grass became unbroken green again as the men lined up along the side of the road.

“Fall in!” called the Sergeant.

“Atten-shun!”

“Right dress!”

“Front! God, you guys haven't got no snap in yer.... Stick yer belly in, you. You know better than to stand like that.”

“Squads, right! March! Hep, hep, hep!”

The Company tramped off along the muddy road. Their steps were all the same length. Their arms swung in the same rhythm. Their faces were cowed into the same expression, their thoughts were the same. The tramp, tramp of their steps died away along the road.

Birds were singing among the budding trees. The young grass by the roadside kept the marks of the soldiers' bodies.