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“Unfortunately they can’t get the boats anywhere near the river by truck, so we have to carry them from a drop-off”

“How far?” Coelho asks

“About a half mile, I reckon”

“What the hell?”

“That’s right,” Cole says, raising his voice just a little to quiet the din of outrage “We’re carrying the boats across open country in full view of Kraut artillery, although it’s dark enough and we’ll have smoke Then we put ’em in the water and cross the river” He spreads his hands “That’s my orders No one’s happy about it”

“It’s fugging suicide,” Sergeant Alvarez says “You know goddamn well this is FUBAR”

“This entire goddaodda a glory hog as Patton, but only half as smart”

No one jueneral, who is seen as h the streets like some Roman emperor of old than in the lives of his soldiers Cole lets the anger burn down to glowing coals before adding, “Yeah, and just so you know exactly how FUBAR this is, our flanks will be hanging in et across—”

There’s a bitter snort

“Once we get across, we’ve got a series of objectives A series of hills—”

Rio almost smiles Cole always pronounces it “OB-jectives”

“Better and better,” Alvarez says “Cross this flooded field in the freezing rain, through minefields, paddle across to reach barbed wire and oddamned inch of it under Kraut shells”

“Well, Alvy, you’ve explained it perfectly,” Cole says dryly

This earns bitter, cynical laughter

Rio says, “What’s the terrain like?”