Andrews leaned against the outside of the building, staring up at the sky. He was trying desperately to think, to pull together a few threads of his life in this moment of respite from the nightmare. In five minutes the bugle would din in his ears, and he would be driven into the barracks. A tune came to his head that he played with eagerly for a moment, and then, as memory came to him, tried to efface with a shudder of disgust.
“There's the smile that makes you happy,
There's the smile that makes you sad.”
It was almost dark. Two men walked slowly by in front of him.
“Sarge, may I speak to you?” came a voice in a whisper.
The sergeant grunted.
“I think there's two guys trying to break loose out of here.”
“Who? If you're wrong it'll be the worse for you, remember that.”
“Surley an' Watson. I heard 'em talkin' about it behind the latrine.”
“Damn fools.”
“They was sayin' they'd rather be dead than keep up this life.”