The camp had been a village, and I wondered where the villagers were. We had been shipped north by truck, some of the trucks open and the men freezing again, hunched and huddled again, too cold for tears. Again we had arrived by night, so that I never knew through what gate, beneath what sign of doom or welcome, I had entered upon a new life; and we were herded into huts, again regaled with millet and boiling water. In the morning we saw that our huts were houses, homes once, thatched, mud walls, two or three rooms. After more millet and hot water I took a turn about the grounds, checking my men in three of the huts and repulsed by guards here and there until I knew my perimeter. I could see the river and dozens of huts and decided that this would be home for some time. Back in my own hut I attempted cheer. “They going to give us food?” Bewley asked. Bewley was a slim black Pfc. and a Christian. “I hope so. Happy Valentine’s Day.” Trezevant said, “No stoves, Lieutenant. But there’s a crazy kind of basement, a hole in the ground and some kind of tunnel.”
