They looked around. The dirty, once-white buildings rose close on either side. There was no moon. There was no sound. The darkness and the silence could have been cut with a knife.
The Lieutenant grinned. He didn't feel much like grinning. He spoke. He didn't feel much like talking, either.
"This darkness is thick," he said. "You could cut it with a knife. Wish I had a knife."
He got a knife. The men had just started to laugh when the Lieutenant got it.
Between his shoulder blades.
As the Lieutenant toppled forward, the Centurion dodged close against the dirty stone wall and yelled "Spread out!"
They killed a lot of the shadowy, green-clad attackers, but there were only six of them and they were cornered. When the enemy drove a tank into the alley and sprayed them with its mounted gun they died.
"Take their weapons," said a quiet voice.
The half-track rolled to a stop.