He didn't hurry. Everything he was carrying made sure he couldn't very well hurry, but he wouldn't have even if he could. The Germans might be falling back. They hadn't given up. They rarely did. They skirmished, yielded a few hundred meters, set up their mortars and machine guns, and skirmished some more. Vaclav had no doubt that they dealt out more casualties than they took.

Whenever one of their MG-34s started firing, he hit the dirt. He might have been a dog, salivating at the sound of a bell. But he wasn't the only one who did. The Germans who manned those vicious machine guns might have thought they worked even more slaughter than they did in truth. They didn't even have to point their weapon at a man to get him to fall over. But if they didn't, he was liable to get up again and go on trying to kill them.

"Yes, you just can't trust us, can you?" Sergeant Halevy said when Vaclav remarked on that as they sprawled in a shell hole. "We do keep fighting."

"Every now and then. When we can." Vaclav remembered his dreary weeks in the Polish internment camp. If he'd stayed there, he would have ended up a German prisoner of war after Marshal Smigly-Ridz jumped into bed with Hitler.

"Enough to make the German generals sick of us," Halevy said. "That's how it looks to me, anyhow."

"Too bad they didn't do what they set out to do," Vaclav answered. "Trust a German to do things right most of the time and fuck it up when it really matters."

"True. No Nazis in Paris," the Jew agreed.

"I didn't mean that."

"I know. It's still true, though."

A French tank clattered past them. Several soldiers trotted behind it almost in Indian file, using its steel bulk to shield them from the slings and arrows of outrageous MG-34s. As machine gunners often did, the one in front of them concentrated on the tank. Bullets spanged off the armor one after another. They chipped its camouflage paint but did it no other harm.

"That's a fool," Halevy said. "There-you see? The Germans can screw up the ordinary stuff, too."

"I only wish the cocksuckers would do it more often," Jezek answered.

No sooner were the words out of his mouth than a 37mm armor-piercing round from an antitank gun slammed into the French machine. That made the 13mm slugs Vaclav fired seemed door-knockers by comparison. The tank slewed to a stop, smoke and fire spurting from every hatch. Inside the doomed machine, ammunition started cooking off. Nobody got out.

That left the men who'd followed the tank in a horrible spot. If they pushed on, the machine-gun bullets that had hit armor plate would go after their soft flesh instead. If they stayed where they were, they might as well have been out of the fight. They were no more thrilled about taking chances than Vaclav would have been. They started digging foxholes behind the burning tank carcass.

"Some sergeant will come along in a while and make them get moving, poor saps," Benjamin Halevy said.

"You're a sergeant. What about you?" Vaclav asked.

"Nah." Halevy shook his head. "I saw why they're holing up. And I know that goddamn gun is waiting for them to show themselves. Some other sergeant who comes along in a couple of hours won't care. And by that time the machine gunners will be thinking about something else, so these guys should be able to go forward again."

"Huh," Vaclav said. "You better be careful, or people will start thinking you're a human being or something."

"Don't be dumber than you can help, Jezek. I'm a sergeant, and I'm a Jew. How can I be a human being with all that shit piled on my shoulders?"

"Sergeant's a problem, yeah. I didn't say anything about you being a Jew," Vaclav answered uncomfortably.

"No, but you were thinking it," Halevy said without rancor, putting a finger on why the Czech felt uncomfortable. "If it weren't for the fucking Nazis, you wouldn't want anything to do with me."

"Of course I wouldn't. You are a sergeant," Vaclav said, which made Benjamin Halevy laugh. But it wasn't as if the Jew were lying. Back before Vaclav got drafted, he'd had little use for Jews. Czechs didn't despise them as thoroughly as, say, Poles did, but all the same… Even after he got drafted, he'd preferred Jews to Slovaks or Ruthenians only because they were more likely to stay loyal to Prague and fight the Germans.

"Well, you're a corporal yourself," Halevy said.

"A Czech corporal in France! That's worth a lot," Jezek returned.

He still couldn't get a rise out of the Jew. "If Czechoslovakia hadn't gone to pieces, you'd be a sergeant for sure. They aren't exactly equipped to promote people here."

"If I hadn't got out, I'd be a dead man by now, or else wounded, or sitting in a POW camp somewhere-I was just thinking about that a minute ago," Vaclav said. "And those all sound better than being a goddamn sergeant. What do you think of that?"

"I felt the same way till they promoted me," Halevy answered easily. "Now I see that sergeants are the salt of the earth. It's the officers who're silly clots."

"Shows what you know." Vaclav dug a grubby pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. Benjamin Halevy looked hopeful. The Czech gave him one. It wasn't as if he hadn't bummed butts from the Jew.

After a while, Vaclav cautiously peered over the lip of the shell hole. There in the distance, between a couple of tree trunks… Was that the painted shield on the Germans' antitank gun? Something-no, somebody-moved behind it. Yes, the son of a bitch wore Feldgrau. Grunting, Vaclav heaved his heavy piece up onto the dirt lip. He flipped off the safety and stared down the sights. The Nazi had crouched down again. Maybe Vaclav could put a round through the shield; it wasn't made to stop anything more than ordinary ammo. But he might get a better target if he waited.

And he did. The German stood up and looked out through field glasses to try to spot the trouble heading his way. The worst troubles, though, were the ones you didn't see. Vaclav exhaled slowly to steady himself. He pulled the trigger. The antitank rifle slammed his shoulder. The German threw his hands in the air and fell over.

Vaclav worked the bolt as fast as he could, chambering a fresh round. As he'd guessed, another German jumped up to find out what had happened to his buddy. Vaclav fired again. The second Fritz's head exploded into red mist.

"Two?" Halevy asked.

"Two," Vaclav agreed. "One dead for sure. The other I don't know about." Any hit from the antitank rifle might kill. Rubbing, he added, "They ought to requisition me a new shoulder, too."

"Talk to the French quartermasters," the Jew said.

"Fuck 'em," Jezek replied with great sincerity. "Maybe the Germans have a supply dump in Laon. If we can chase 'em out of there, I'll go through it and see."

"If we can chase them out of Laon, we really are doing something," Halevy said. "They took it early on. Maybe we can push on up to the coast and cut them off."

"Maybe we'll get out of this shell hole in a while," Vaclav said. "One goddamn thing at a time." Halevy nodded and scrounged another smoke.