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By Root 8961 0

smoldered inside with an almost unbearable frustration. Lately, he had begun to step out; this afternoon he had been flip with Dalleson, and that was an indication of something else, something not so pleasing. If he remained here he was likely to dissipate himself in a series of insignificant rebellions that would end only in further humiliation. The thing to do was to move out, be transferred, but Cummings would not let him. And the rage he had kept tightly throttled all week was surging again. If only he could go up to Cummings and ask for a front-line platoon, but that would be fatal. Cummings would give him anything but that.

The phone rang, and Hearn picked it up. The voice at the other end spluttered at him. "This is Paragon Red, negative report from 0030 to 0130."

"Okay." Hearn hung up, and stared at the message he had scribbled on a pad. It was a completely automatic report which was phoned in every hour from every battalion. On an ordinary night fifty such reports would come in. He picked up his pencil, about to mark it in the Journal, when Dalleson stepped into the tent. Stacey, the clerk, who had been drowsing over his magazine, straightened up. Dalleson's hair had been been quickly combed, and his heavy face was reddened from sleep; he looked inquiringly about the tent, his eyes blinking from the light. "Everything okay?" he asked.

"Yes," Hearn said. He realized suddenly that Dalleson had awakened worrying about the campaign and it amused him.

"I heard the phone ringing," Dalleson said.

"It was Paragon Red, negative report, that's all."

"Did you record it yet?"

"No, sir."

"Well, then do it, man." Dalleson yawned.

Hearn had recorded few reports in the Journal and he looked at the preceding one to check on the form. Then he copied it.

Dalleson walked toward him, and examined the Journal, fingering the spring clip on the beaverboard. "Let's do it more neatly next time."

He'd be damned if Dalleson would lecture him like a child. "I'll do my best, Major," he murmured sarcastically.

Dalleson ran his thick index finger under the notation. "What time is this report for?" he asked abruptly.

"0030 to 0130."

"Then whyinhell can't you put it down like that? Goddammit, man, you've got it for 2330 to 0030. Can't you even read? Don't you know what the hell time it is?"

He had even copied the time on the preceding report. "Sorry," Hearn muttered, furious with himself for the error.

"What else you gonna do with this report?"

"Damn if I know. This isn't the work I've been doing."

"Well, now, I'll tell you," Dalleson said with relish. "If you'll get the cobwebs off your brain you'll know that this is a Combat Report, so after you mark it in the Journal and on the map, you put it in the file for my Periodic Report, and when I'm done with it, which'll be tomorrow, you empty the file of the previous day, and put it in the Historical File, and you have one of the clerks make a copy and put it in the Journal File. Nothing too hard about that for a man with a college education, is there, Hearn?"

Hearn shrugged. "Since the report doesn't say anything, why go to all that bother?" He grinned, enjoying the opportunity to lash back. "It doesn't make much sense to me."

Dalleson was enraged. He glowered at Hearn, his jowls darkening, his mouth pressed thin by the powerful clamps of his jaws. A first trickle of sweat slid past his eye and outlined his cheek. "It doesn't make sense to you, eh," he repeated, "it doesn't make sense to you." Like a shot-put hurler hopping on one foot to increase his momentum, Dalleson turned to Stacey and said, "It doesn't make sense to Lieutenant Hearn." Stacey tittered uncomfortably, while Dalleson balanced on an infuriated sarcasm. "Well, now, I'll tell you, Lieutenant, maybe there's a lot of things that don't make sense, maybe it don't make sense for me to be a soldier," he sneered, "maybe it ain't natural for you to be an officer, maybe it don't make sense," he said, repeating the original phrase. "Maybe I'd rather be anything else than a soldier, maybe, Lieutenant, I'd rather be a. . .