Four men in shapeless spotted coats walked silently through the fern undergrowth of a sparse pine forest. Somewhere ahead of them, were the partisans. Five kilometers behinds them, too far to be of much help, was their boss. He wanted them to patrol the woods and maybe catch some guerrillas. They wanted him to catch something incurable for jerking them out of bed so early in the morning.
The lead NCO reflected unhappily on the weapon he held. This damn machine pistol! he thought It won't shoot through even the saplings. Besides, they won't get close enough for me to hit them. If only I had a rifle...
Behind him, a soldier kept the muzzle a long rifle from digging into the damp, springy moss. He, too, had unkind thoughts of this tool of trade. In the eye of his worried mind, he saw himself missing the first shot and getting killed before he could work the stiff bolt. He looked at the next fellow, the man whose belts be carried around his own neck. That one had it good, with a solid machine gun to keep all troubles at bay.
The machine gunner knew grumbling did no good. But he longed to tell about his back, presently being warped out of order by twenty pounds of sharp stamped metal. He hated his job. It was all fine for everyone else to run around them woods with their light, comfortable arms. When fights happened, he was the one attracting all the fire and all the grenades. In this modern war of maneuver, he was the one stuck behind the gun too heavy to move and too hot to even touch half them time. He glanced briefly at the Lieutenant next to him. Now that was the job he could do with a spring in his step!
The officer did not see his man's glance. Deep in his own thoughts, he contemplated on the unhappy prospect of running into the locals. His little pistol, so warmly comforting in the close quarters of the village bar or a whorehouse, seemed worthless out in the ominous woods. He doubted if he aim would be good enough to hit a barn at ten meters, but the obligations of rank demanded this utterly impractical little toy. What would he not give to be back at the HQ, safe, warm and in control on duty by the radio.
In front of the battalion radio, a weary man shifted painfully on an unpadded bench. This desk job, he thought will cost me my health yet.
