"Where?"
Nobody had a chance to hear that directive: a shell exploded: Zinc dropped his apple, picked it up, and cleaned it warily. Landel and Dennison settled onto their seats; the heat clamped around them: leaving the turret open had not cooled the bus.
Dennison had stuffed apples into his pockets ... what were they expecting, a signal? Landel unfolded his map, he munched an apple carefully, read his wristwatch, and wiped his face with the back of his hand. Grease streaked his jaw. He thought it must be blood till he stared at his fingernails. Sagged in his seat, Dennison saw him bite the apple, saw him dig grease from under his nails, welcoming this respite.
It wasn't so long ago Mother and I strolled about Heidelberg ... we had spent two or three weeks there, boating, climbing, sampling pastries, sight-seeing.
Munching his apple he began to despise the tank, began to fling his mind: Landel ... look at him, chewing away on his apple! Damn ass!
In Heidelberg they had strolled along the Neckar, boats and bridges, chinks of river between trees and houses.
She had sketched a castle that had a heraldic glove chiselled above the door.
A girl had waited on him in a shop, a slender girl, very blonde, very blue-eyed: a woman to lie with ...
Dreams ...
A GI brought Landel a message.