A crewman from their Corps, a corporal named Jim Moore, ran up, flopping his hands and jerking his head crazily.
"What the hell's the matter with you?" Dennison shouted.
Moore could not hear him, and yelled:
"Mine!"
"What?"
"Mine ... minefield."
"Yeah ... sure ... we know. That's why we're here, Jim. Have an apple!" Jim shuffled over, flopping his arms, coughing, lurching, eyes glazed.
"He's nuts!" Landel said.
His apple was wormy and he threw it down and tried another. Apples ... apples ... we stand around eating apples ... there's some way out of this ...
Biting and sucking the apple, he circled his tank, trying to get a lay of the land, looking for other GI's who might have information, instructions. Dennison had climbed inside, and was radioing: perhaps information was being broadcast. By now six machines had lined up along the woodland, some of them using foliage for camouflage.