The Colonel didn’t answer. He hooked his thumbs in his belt. He turned to the Major, who was brooding upward from the field desk, cheeks propped against his hands. “I was sitting in my tent a while ago, Billy,” the Colonel said, “and I got to thinking. I got to thinking about a lot of things. I got to thinking about the Battalion. I said to myself, ‘How’s the Battalion doing?’ I mean, ‘What kind of an outfit do I have here? Is it in good combat shape? If we were to meet an Aggressor enemy tomorrow would we come out all right?’ Those were the queries I posed to myself. Then I tried to formulate an answer.” He paused, his eyes luminous and his lips twisted in a wry, contemplative smile as if he were indeed, again, struggling with the weight of the questions to which he had addressed himself. The Major was absorbed; he looked up at Templeton with an intent baby-blue gaze and parted mouth, upon which, against a pink cleft of the lower lip, there glittered a bead of saliva. “Reluctantly,” the Colonel went on slowly, “reluctantly, I came to this conclusion: the Battalion’s been doping off.” He paused again. “Doping off. Especially,” he said, turning briefly toward Mannix with a thin smile, “a certain component unit known as Headquarters and Service Company.” He leaned back on the camp stool and slowly caressed the pewter-colored surface of his hair. “I decided a little walk might be in order for tomorrow night, after we secure the problem. Instead of going back to the base on the trucks. What do you think, Billy?” “I think that’s an excellent idea, sir. An excellent idea. In fact I’ve been meaning to suggest something like that to the Colonel for quite some time. As a means of inculcating a sort of group _esprit_.” “It’s what they need, Billy.” “Full marching order, sir?” O’Leary put in seriously. “No, that’d be a little rough.” “Aaa-h,” O’Leary said, relieved. Suddenly Culver heard Mannix’s voice: “Even so--” “Even so, what?” the Colonel interrupted. Again, the voice was not hostile, only anticipatory, as if it already held the answer to whatever Mannix might ask or suggest. “Well, even so, Colonel,” Mannix went on mildly, while Culver, suddenly taut and concerned, held his breath, “even without packs thirty-six miles is a long way for anybody, much less for guys who’ve gone soft for the past five or six years. I’ll admit my company isn’t the hottest outfit in the world, but most of them are reserves--”