The sergeant had found Gayle to be in a good humor now, no longer immersed in melancholy for the death of the four militants. Regardless, however, the respectful attention shown him before by her was not shown any longer. Prior to this she had figured the sergeant knew his way back, that it was an accomplished fact, now, because of his mistake, he had brought death to four men that might have lived. She even questioned, if it was for his personal entertainment if he killed the last one. As they pushed their way through the darkening of the jungle, their wrists, necks, faces and ankles, exposed skin areas, received a multitude of scratches. Sergeant Evens had stripped the four men of their weapons, and what he couldn't carry, he buried so the VC could not use them against them, now he had to allow the AK47 rifles, three he had taken, lay, gathered together in a pile by a great stack of limbs and branches, and twigs and grasses of the jungle, he could no longer carry them. And when night fell they lit a light fire, which held a dual purpose, as a fire against the crawling beasts, to protect them, and a gruesome light for the spooky night: And there was enough wood to burn during the full night, as the Sergeant feed it accordingly. The flames jumped here and there, high and low, shot out against the foliage, against the trunks of the trees. And the shadows of the fire ushered in more shadows of darkness-grays mixed with flickers of flames that looked like red eyes. And the silence, and the mystery inverted, by the flames, created ghostly inhuman like figures, and then consumed by smoke, they disappeared, and then the sergeant fell into a complete dead sleep.

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