"It is just a rumor, isn't it?" the sergeant said. His voice was almost pleading. "We just freeze them for—for the duration, don't we? Don't we, lieutenant? Because I couldn't go on if they were really dead. Nobody could."
The lieutenant spoke sharply. "Snap out of it, sergeant! It's just propaganda. I'm surprised at an old hand like you falling for it."
"I'm not, sir. We couldn't really kill them, could we? It'd be suicide, wouldn't it? It's not total war, is it?"
"Not total, no. There'll be an end to it one day, and then a beginning again. I know it's hard, but it's the only way."
The last of the big trucks had rumbled in from the battlefield. The sergeant watched the gate close in the fading light. Beloved enemy, he thought.
"Three hundred today," he said aloud. "And one was my personal contribution. My platoon was strung out behind me, and she came up over the hill—"
"Sergeant!"
"She was mine. I got her personally. I aimed slow and held the sight on her. Then I let go. It was almost like—"
"Sergeant!" The lieutenant was trembling. "The third person singular is prohibited! You know that, sergeant!"