Night was just falling. He looked up at the evening stars and smiled at them. He knew them like old friends. He looked around. Everyone, he thought, no matter what awful things they'd seen, no matter what facade they chose to wear in the daytime—everyone slept like they were innocent.

Cpl. Hess slept like a schoolboy. He leaned dramatically on his gun, his eyebrows were raised in a comical way, as if he was asking "et, tu?" of somebody. Ssgt. Bayer was slumped in his seat, snoring gently. He was using his kit as a pillow.

They reached the cove by midnight. To anybody else, the high blue cliffs on either side of the little boat would have seemed desolate, and inhospitable—but to these men, they were as familiar and as comfortable as the walls of their mothers womb.

As they approached the docks, several men stood up at the edge of the carrier, looking for anyone to greet them.

But the docks were empty. As the boat moved in, some men jumped onto the dark wooden jetty. They slung the boat to the dock; someone set the gangplank down.

The men crept off. They were very quiet. Most had just woken up.

At the end of the jetty, Cpt. Naylor called everyone together. "Everybody listen up." He paused to take a draw on his cigarette. "It doesn't look like there's anybody here. That's a little unexpected—" some of the men began to laugh, and you could hear him smile. "—but it's not completely outside the realm of possibilities. The nearest town is Vichy." He paused. Even with the little orange cigarette in his mouth, the darkness was so great that it was hard to read his expression. "Like the soup."

John went first. The only way out of the canyon was through a narrow pass about a mile east. He walked for a little while, then he saw something blocking his path. He turned on his flashlight. There were a few hyenas sitting in the middle of the road. They had dark brown fur with black spots. They were very calm; one licked itself languidly. John was more excited than frightened. He clapped his hands together, loudly, and picked up his trenchcoat to try to make him seem bigger than he really was. He started hooting, woofing, and making other strange noises.

He heard the faint sound of someone shouting, down the road, behind him. "Pvt. Irons, what the hell are you doing?" He turned back to call to them to come and see the animals he'd found, but by that time one of the Hyenas had crept forward and taken his left hand in its powerful jaws. He heard himself cry out in pain before he even felt it. The animal's incisor pierced his skin; the idiotic drooling lips were so slick with spit that they seemed to anoint the wound. He fell to the ground, beating the Hyena's head with his other hand. The fur was smooth—it was almost well-groomed—and the skin beneath it was firm and sure. He began to kick at the monsters head, and it finally released its grip for a moment—long enough for him to pull his bloody hand from the horrible jaws. The teeth tore against him as he pulled his hand out. He ran back down the road, crying for help. His hand was bleeding badly; his whole right side was drenched with blood. Hess was the first to see him. His eyes widened. "Jesus, Irons, what the hell happened?" Naylor took his rifle from the sling on his shoulders. Irons clutched his bleeding hand. He could barely talk. "Hyena. Hyena bit me."

Cpt. Naylor worked through the little crowd that had gathered around John. "Alright, listen, listen—everybody, shut up." He clapped his hands, and there was silence. He turned to Irons. "What the hell happened to you?" John took his flashlight and shone it on his wound. It gleamed; a few men cursed. Hess came forward. "You gotta get that patched up, Irons."

"Wait, now," said Captain Naylor. "Irons, answer me. What happened?"

"Nothing—I just walked up to one and it, it bit me." His voice was shaking.

Naylor wiped his forehead. "Is that all? Was it cornered, or something?"

"No, no, it was just in the middle of the road." He took a shaky breath. "There were a few more around it, but they didn't do anything."

"Did they chase you?"

"I don't think so, it was too dark to see, and—" He stopped talking. Naylor was shining his flashlight down the road. About a hundred yards away, some yellow irises were glimmering in the dark. Naylor turned his flashlight off.

"Ok. Hess, treat Pvt. Iron's cut. Just wrap it up. We're going to stay close together from now on, understand?"

After a few minutes, they started again.

Iron led the group. Naylor patted him on the shoulder. "You still wanna take point?"

He was angry.

"I didn't come here to make friends."