what he was planning. Then in a long, detailed letter he explained the steps he had taken to be with him again.

Howard's reply reached him in the Philippines. It was his briefest letter. I LOVE YOU.

HOWARD.

That was the first time he had ever put it into words. Ronnie read it many times and kept it in his wallet.

It was warm and peaceful, the day he reported in. He went across the field to Howard's platoon and found his platoon sergeant. Ronnie recognized him immediately. Howard would often write of the patrols they went out on together, describing them as if they were no more than games played with the Viet Cong.

The sergeant was outside his barracks, cleaning his rifle.

"Hello!" Ronnie called, walking up to him. "I'm Ronnie Edwards. Howard's written to me all about you two Eagle Scouts."

He looked up, his face vacant. his face vacant. His eyes searching Ronnie's. He said nothing.

"Is Falk around?" Ronnie continoed, destroying the heavy silence. Without interrupting his work, but looking into Ronnie's eyes, he slowly recited: "Lance Corporal Falk was killed in an ambush, night before last." A slight choke ending his narration.

Ronnie's mouth and throat went dry, as if packed with cotton. He stood an eternity, looking into the sergeant's eyes, then turning, he blindly walked back to his barracks.

He was on his belly in a ditch. They had run into a Communist patrol and he had lost contact with the squad leader, but didn't really care.

Scanning aimlessly, Ronnie saw one of his men crouching behind a tree several yards before him; and like an Olympian God watching a battle in the Trojan War, Ronnie lay and watched the drama before him, unattached to it.

The other Marine was cut off from visual contact with any of the other members of his unit, and was beginning to panic. He glanced around like a cornered rabbit and suddenly began running blindly, back the way they had come. He was running past Ronnie without seeing him.

Without realizing he was doing it, Ronnie jumped up and grabbed the boy, pulling him down on his knees beside him.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Ronnie's voice shouted above the sporadic gunfire. "Going over the hill, huh? What's-a-matter? Can't take it?" Ronnie stopped. A sob choked in his throat.

The boy, shocked out of his panic, looked into Ronnie's reassuring face for support.

"It's O.K.!" He found himself saying. "Come-on. We've got a job to do, boy," he added arrogantly.

"Yes, sir." The boy stammered, absorbing confidence from the Marine before him.

"You have to take that step sometime," a voice was saying within him, as he led the boy back into the brush.

"Edwards!" The squad leader shouted, finding him. "Take that man and circle in from the left about fifty yards; Viet Cong at 11 o'clock.

16

"Come-on!" Ronnie barked, and led the way into the thicket.