There’s a new wind, a wind from the east. Thin bits of snow are flying in the cold air but it could be only from the trees or blown up off the ground. Mel’s on, waiting for me. It’s just getting dark. Next one will be two-man. I try to think up a new password. God, the whole business seems so ridiculous, like merit badge tests in the Boy Scouts. Sometimes I can’t force any sense into things; this gets to be a lifelong problem. Gordon’s waiting; his rifle slung on his shoulder. Even he looks pooped. “God, Wont, the outside of my foot where I had trench foot is killing me. It’s like somebody’s twisting a pipe reamer in there; then when I go in to the warmth, it hurts like hell.” He’s walking in a circle stamping. I hadn’t thought how this cold weather must be for his bad feet. He starts uphill. “Wait a minute, Mel.” He comes back. “Tell the rest of them the pass for tonight is ‘jingle—bells.’” “OK, ‘jingle—bells.’ Did you call me back just for that?”
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