PART ONE: MAKING THE MOULD

I

The company stood at attention, each man looking straight before
him at the empty parade ground, where the cinder piles showed
purple with evening. On the wind that smelt of barracks and
disinfectant there was a faint greasiness of food cooking. At the
other side of the wide field long lines of men shuffled slowly
into the narrow wooden shanty that was the mess hall. Chins down,
chests out, legs twitching and tired from the afternoon's
drilling, the company stood at attention. Each man stared straight
in front of him, some vacantly with resignation, some trying to
amuse themselves by noting minutely every object in their field of
vision,--the cinder piles, the long shadows of the barracks and
mess halls where they could see men standing about, spitting,
smoking, leaning against clapboard walls. Some of the men in line
could hear their watches ticking in their pockets.

Someone moved, his feet making a crunching noise in the cinders.

The sergeant's voice snarled out: "You men are at attention. Quit
yer wrigglin' there, you!"

The men nearest the offender looked at him out of the corners of
their eyes.

Two officers, far out on the parade ground, were coming towards
them. By their gestures and the way they walked, the men at
attention could see that they were chatting about something that