8

Billy marched on and on, through the long morning, paused for a welcome lunch, then marched on again through the long afternoon, until the order was given to set up camp. The landscape was just the same as always: no trees, soggy, grassy ground; and there still was that chill in the air. The sunlight made one no warmer when one was in it than if one were in the shade of a tent or wagon: it wasn't quite sunlight: it brought a chill like everything else. Billy still hadn't found out what direction they were marching in. But when he heard the command to halt and heard the bugle sound the "set camp" tune, he decided he would find out something else: he would find out where the men got wood for the fires. There were no trees anywhere; and perhaps once he had solved this mystery, the other mysteries would fall into line with his new discovery, and everything would begin to finally make some sense. When he saw some men from his company dragging cords of wood toward his camp, he approached. "Where did you find wood?" he said to a young man with energetic eyes and a perpetual grin. "Oh I suppose you'll find some with the 15th Company," he said. "Hey, you're in our company, aren't ye?" "Yeah," said Billy, "but there aren't any trees and . . ." "Oh well this here wood's for the whole company . . . there'll be more than enough for us all." "But there aren't any trees and I was wondering where you got it." The man stopped grinning and seemed to think Billy was playing a game with him. "We'll set you up now," he said, "don't worry; but we got to go get this distributed." The men went back to dragging the cords again with their ropes. Billy suddenly grew frustrated and said to them as they moved away, "Where the hell did you get that wood!" "I already told ye!" said the young man. Well, thought Billy, they got it from the 15th Company. He would ask the 15th Company where in hell they got it from, then.

Walking through an army just as it is setting up camp is kind of like (if you can imagine it) traveling through a beehive. There are men everywhere you look, but each seems to have his own purpose and direction. It is like watching a thousand different aims being executed at once, each completely distinct and almost solitary, and yet all working to the purpose of, and by direction of, a single vast, encompassing mind; and yet this mind is not made up of anything but those individual men each with his single purpose. The beehive is nothing without the sum of the individual bees, and is nothing but their sum; and yet none of the whole can be found in any one of the solitary parts. There was a man here stringing up a tent; another there burning kindling; another here walking about in search of his commanding officer; another there getting ready to wash clothes before dinner. And they all moved with individual and yet universal purpose, the task of the universal purpose impossible without both the autonomy and obedience of each individual. Should anyone become disobedient, and refuse orders, he will be punished; only a single man would think to do so at any one time, but if every man did so at once, it would mean the death of the army.

Billy did not want the army to die. He thought the army was beautiful. He was glad, suddenly, that this was the world he awoke from the void into; it could have been much worse.

He found the 15th Company just before dinnertime. There they were: a stack of wood cords, quickly being distributed away. He asked a sergeant, who seemed to be keeping track of who requisitioned firewood and for what company, "Excuse me, Sir," with a salute: "where did you get all these firewood cords? You see, there are no trees, and . . ." "Now hold your horses," said the sergeant, "there's plenty for everybody; what company, Private?" "Well the thing is," said Billy; "the thing is, Sir, that is, I was just curious as to how you got any firewood at all in such a place." "How we got these cords . . . ? We got it from the 21st Regiment, Blake's Division; they've got plenty . . . I expect you're with our regiment here?" "Yes," said Billy. "Well these here cords are for the whole regiment: it's from Blake's Division, and they've got plenty. Why aren't you with your company? I expect if you're not with your company you have official business to be away. What company?" "12th," said Billy; "12th Sir, I mean to say." "12th? . . . Why, we handed out over 40 cords already to the 12th, what the hell are you doing here, Private?" "I'll get going back then," said Billy, feeling ashamed of his questions. Firewood? Why was he asking about that? Everyone else took it as a matter of course that there was plenty of firewood. Was he an imbecile?

He started to walk back to his company, feeling hungry, and made it thirty paces before he stopped. There were no trees. Where did Blake's Division get wood? No army can carry with it all the wood that is burned every night. His own company would burn 40 cords tonight alone, and this was the third night of the march. He turned and began walking the other way, keeping clear of that sergeant, then asked a private where he could find Blake's Division. The private didn't know. He walked on past all the boys eating their dinners and the cooks scooping out the meals. He kept walking, now all the more exhausted since he had done nothing but walk all day. At some point, he tried to get a meal; but when the company cook didn't recognize him and grew suspicious, he left and moved on hungry. He wandered on, asking every private he saw who did not seem engaged in some engrossing task where Blake's Division was. With these directions, he was able to get a picture of the general direction of Blake's Division, though he wasn't sure how far it was. He kept clear of the officers. He was hungry, exhausted; his feet were wet and freezing cold.

He walked on and on until someone asked him if he were lost. This was a private, a pimply, flushed youth. "What way is Blake's Division?" Billy asked him. "This is Blake's Division right here," said the young private. By now the fires were roaring and the men were laughing about their circumferences, playing cards, making obscene jokes, chewing or smoking tobacco, playing guitars or fiddles, singing. He was covered in cold sweat. There was a palpable void in his gut. But none of this made sense; and the more he wandered on, the more determined he was to find out what was going on here, whose army this was, what they were doing here and what was the mission, what direction they were marching in, and now, right now, where the army procured firewood. He moved on and asked every private he came close to where the 21st Regiment could be found. He now seemed to be on the front lines of the army. He saw pickets stationed here and there in the distance, but he was still within army lines. He knew should he wander astray of the army, he would have a hell of a time getting back past the pickets without being shot as an enemy spy.

Finally, in the dim midnight sun, he came across a campfire about which three men sat awake, two others dozing by the glowing embers. "Excuse me," he said to the men in a low voice, "can you tell me where is the 21st Regiment, Blake's Division?" "Are ye on official business?" said the man with the pipe. "Well," said Billy, and then, hitting on a lie, "I'm just looking for my company." "What company would that be?" said the one with the short, grizzled hairs poking out from his dimpled chin. "10th Company," said Billy, then, after a nervous throat clearing, "21st Regiment, Blake's Division." "Well," said the man with the pipe, "yer in the right place. Ye see, this here's the 18th Company, 21st Regiment. Blake's Division. What do you say we take ye on back to yer company?" He paused a moment. "And see if anyone there knows ye at all? I suppose you won't object to our escort, seeing that you're lost and all." Billy realized he was in trouble. The men thought he was a spy or deserter. In any case, they were suspicious. He grew very ashamed. They were right, after all, to be suspicious; he wasn't who he said he was. What was worse, he was neither a spy nor deserter: he was a man who crept about asking people silly, abstract questions. To own up to this fact was impossible for him. It wasn't only that the men would never believe him. It was that it was such a silly, absurd reason to lie to them that he was too ashamed to own up to the lie. "Oh that's all right," he said, backing up; "I think I saw my campfire a few paces back. Yep: I think I saw my good friends William, Richard & Al back there; yep: I think I'll just make my way on back," by now he was walking away. The men nearly let him go--or so it seemed to Billy--as he was by now a dozen yards off when he heard them cry in a body, "Get the bastard! Don't let him off!" at which point he broke into a run. He didn't look back, and heard footsteps overtaking him just before he felt arms come down around him, taking him to the ground. Now he was facedown on the tundra helpless against the three sets of hands that held him. He noticed there was a crowd gathering about his body, as he stopped struggling, and looked up to see a small circle of faces peering down at him, recently woken from their sleep by the commotion. He felt like a young man caught shoplifting condoms: stealing them merely because he was too embarrassed to buy them; and yet getting caught in his theft, with the attention of the entire store now on him, is so much worse. How would he explain that he came all the way over here because he couldn't conceive where the army got firewood? Now, he wouldn't have to explain it to a sergeant or captain or private, but to a court martial, who would be very disinclined to believe him. It would have been so much better had he really been a deserter, and would have only had to deal with the firing squad, dying bravely and with his dignity, rather than with the shame entailed in an imbecilic curiosity.