weren't Turkish or Armenian or Persian, or anything one would expect in
this country.

The old man had a pistol in his coat pocket, and Benson pulled it out
and looked at it, then did a double-take and grabbed for his own
holster, to find it empty. The pistol was his own 9.5 Colt automatic. He
looked at the dead man, with the white beard and the vivid blue
neck-scarf, and he was sure that he had never seen him before. He'd had
that pistol when he'd come down the ravine....

There was another pistol under the dead man's coat, in a
shoulder-holster; a queer thing with a thick round barrel, like an old
percussion pepper-box, and a diaphragm instead of a muzzle. Probably
projected ultrasonic waves. He holstered his own Colt and pocketed the
unknown weapon. There was a black plastileather-bound notebook. It was
full of notes. Chemical formulae, yes, and some stuff on sonics; that
tied in with the queer pistol. He pocketed that. He'd look both over,
when he had time and privacy, two scarce commodities in the Army....

* * * * *

At that moment, there was a sudden rushing overhead, and an instant
later, the barrage began falling beyond the crest of the ridge. He
looked at his watch, blinked, and looked again. That barrage was due at
0550; according to his watch, it was 0726. That was another mystery, to
go with the question of who the dead man was, where he had come from,
and how he'd gotten hold of Benson's pistol. Yes, and how that tank had
gotten blown up. Benson was sure he had used his last grenade back at
the supply-dump.