"They're supposed to come from across the white desert. We'll never find out. Anyone striking out across that desert never comes back."
The officer. "On the double, men!"
"Why does it go on?"
"Who knows?"
"Will we win?"
"No one can win. The Redbirds will keep coming. We keep killing!"
"The Powers are happy though. Fifty bodies to the marts. Counting yesterday's casualties, that's over three hundred to the marts since this battle started."
"And how many since the war started?"
"Who knows? When wasn't there a war, pal? What the hell would a guy do around here if there wasn't a war on?"
Danton felt hands on his ankles and wrists. He forced limpness down his body and felt himself tossed among the dead. He was hardly noticed at all, dead or otherwise. His uniform was torn, covered with blood and dirt until it looked like any other uniform. He must look pretty bad to be taken for dead.