"Radio ... the radio," the sergeant shouted.
"Ok," Landel yelled, reading his lips.
Dennison took over the transmitter.
They had stopped near a woodland; other tanks grouped around them; the barrage had lifted.
It was chilly: the autumn air nipped their nakedness: they huddled behind their machines, talking, urinating, smoking: as soon as they could they donned shirts and jackets: the earth, they discovered, was peppered with apples, exploded from nearby trees--part of the woodland.
Zinc picked up a red-yellow apple, bit it, and smiled.
Dennison grinned as he bit one.
"Come on, Captain, have one!" Zinc said.
"Worms."
But he picked up an apple and found it delicious.