Page "fiction" Paragraph 51

Soon they were picking their way along the edge of the stream which glowed in the night.

On their right rose the embankment covered with brush and trees.

If a branch extended out too far, each man held it back for the next, and if they met a low overhang, each warned the other.

Thus, stealthily they advanced upstream ; ;

then they turned to the right, climbed the embankment, and walked into the valley again.

There was no cover here, only grass sighing against pant-legs.

And with each sigh, like a whip in the hand of an expert, the grass stripped something from Warren.

The gentle whir of each footstep left him more naked than before, until he felt his unprotected flesh tremble, chilled by each new sound.

The shapes of the men ahead of him lacked solidity, as if the whip had stripped them of their very flesh.

The dark forms moved like mourners on some nocturnal pilgrimage, their dirge unsung for want of vocal chords.

The warped, broken trees in the valley assumed wraith-like shapes.

Clumps of brush that they passed were so many enchained demons straining in anger to tear and gnaw on his bones.

Looming over all, Papa-san leered down at him, threatening a hundred hidden malevolencies.

Off in the distance a searchlight flashed on, its beam slashing the sky.

The sharp ray was absorbed by a cloud, then reflected to the earth in a softer, diffused radiance.

Somewhere over there another patrol had need of light.

Warren thought of all the men out that night who, like himself, had left their protective ridge and -- fear working at their guts -- picked their way into the area beyond.

From the east to the west coast of the Korean peninsula was a strip of land in which fear-filled men were at that same moment furtively crawling through the night, sitting in sweaty anticipation of any movement or sound, or shouting amidst confused rifle flashes and muzzle blasts.

White's arm went up and Warren raised his own.

The patrol was stopping.