He read it and passed it to Dennison.
Head West. No minefields.
"I hope they know what they're doin'!" Dennison yelled.
West ... he consulted the compass.
Dennison warmed the motor and chewed an apple and swung 9 west, west across dry ground, climbing gradually. The treads beat down a hedgerow. The cab was getting hotter so they stripped and climbed and wormed 9 and filed through a woodland and crossed a field. The battle swept around them. Battle without immediate barrage. For Dennison driving became a matter of mechanical movement, goading of muscle, endurance of heat, tolerance of gasoline stink, smell of oil and gun powder ...
Dennison was amazed to see a flock of sparrows in a hedgerow.
At the top of a slope he saw Jeannette's face.
What are you doing there?
9 was working toward the port side.
He braked.