By RICHARD WILSON
It was a totally new kind of war,
and yet not really a new war at all.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Infinity October 1957.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
At dusk the sergeant leaned over the parapet, weary, looking southtoward the enemy lines. For him this was the worst part of the day. Thefighting was done until tomorrow and the enemy casualties were beingbrought in through the gate below. Their bodies were piled in awfulabandon on the big flat-bed trucks.
A phrase from another war came to his mind. Walking wounded. There wereno walking wounded in this war. They came in on the trucks, still andtangled, or they didn't come in at all.
He couldn't have merely wounded one of the enemy, as soldiers usedto. The thought of inflicting such an injury, in the old conventionalway, was obscene. To strike through the breast into the heart....He shuddered with a trembling that came up through the thighs andcontracted his stomach.
The lieutenant had come to stand beside him.
"You shouldn't watch, if it bothers you," the lieutenant said.
"It's all right, sir," the sergeant said. He looked down again.
"We had a good day. Three hundred, the colonel said."
"That's good." The sergeant laughed sardonically. "Are we winning?"
"It's hard to say. We're not losing."
"Aren't we, sir?" The sergeant spoke bitterly. "Aren't they? Aren't weall?"
"Look, sergeant—" the lieutenant began. Then he shrugged. The sergeantwas older than he was by seven or eight years. There was no need togive him an orientation lecture. He reached in his pocket and took outa fresh pack of cigarettes. He opened it. "Have one. A shipment justgot in."
"Thanks." The sergeant took a cigarette. He stared at it and thefingers holding it trembled. "Look at it," he said hollowly. "Look atthe freakin' thing!"
The lieutenant looked at it, then at the front of the pack. Ruby tipsto match your lips, it said under the brand name.
"What are they doing to us?" the sergeant said. He crumpled thecigarette in his fist and threw it down and ground it under his boot."Isn't it hard enough?"
"It must be a mistake," the lieutenant said. He sounded shaken, too."Because of the shortage, maybe. Unless it's a fifth column trick. Likethe rumor about them not going to wake up again."
"It is just a rumor, isn't it?" the sergeant said. His voice was almostpleading. "We just freeze them for—for the duration, don't we? Don'twe, lieutenant? Because I couldn't go on if they were really dead.Nobody could."
The lieutenant spoke sharply. "Snap out of it, sergeant! It's justpropaganda. I'm surprised at an old hand like you falling for it."
"I'm not, sir. We couldn't really kill them, could we? It'd be suicide,wouldn't it? It's not total war, is it?"
"Not total, no. There'll be an end to it one day, and then a beginningagain. I know it's hard, but it's the only way."
The last of the big trucks had rumbled in from the battlefield. Thesergeant watched the gate close in the fading light. Beloved enemy, hethought.
"Three hundred today," he said aloud. "And one was my personalcontribution. My platoon was strung out behind me, and she came up overthe hill—"
"Sergeant!"
"She was mine. I got her personally. I aimed slow and held the sight onher. Then I let go. It was almost like—"
"Sergeant!" The lieutenant was trembling. "The third person singular isprohibited! You know that, sergeant!"
The sergeant was calm. "Yes, sir." He looked at the