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Show Flying - 220 Somewhere down the long line of soldiers, in the direction of Headquarters Company, Freneau is strolling through the ranks, looking at the troops with his old nan's eyes, stopping now and then to say an encouraging word. The fog is gone, the sun is high over the nountains. John Henry stands warn and conf or table in line on the trampled grass and waits for the General to cone to him. The battalion is drawn up facing south and the softly lit yellow hills are friendly in the norning sun. Overhead the buzzard still turns and glides, black against the blue-white sky, in no hurry to descend. John Henry looks up and would wave if he wasn't held at attention. Enjoy those cool breezes, friend, and if I should stunble and die you're welcone to all you can eat. And the rest of ne will sink into the soil and feed this long and yellow grass; ny bones will whiten in the western sun until they too dissolve and run off with the winter rains. And I will be gone. A rustle of anticipation in the second platoon warns of Freneau's approach. John Henry can see hin now. by looking out of the corner of his eyes. He nears the second platoon, exchanges salutes with the platoon leader, and, leaning heavily on his cane, hobbles along in front of frightened privates who look straight ahead and hope the General will |
