Leaving the town there was a bare open space where the road slanted down and he could see the placid reach of the river and the low curve of the opposite bank and the whitened, sun-baked mud where the Austrians had dug. It was all very lush and over-green since he had seen it last and becoming historical had made no change in this, the lower river.
The battalion was along the bank to the left. There was a series of holes in the top of the bank with a few men in them. Nick noticed where the machine guns were posted and the signal rockets in their racks. The men in the holes in the side of the bank were sleeping. No one challenged. He went on and as he came around a turn in the mud bank a young second lieutenant with a stubble of beard and red-rimmed, very blood-shot eyes pointed a pistol at him.
“Who are you?”
Nick told him.
“How do I know this?”
Nick showed him the tessera with photograph and identification and the seal of the third army. He took hold of it.
“I will keep this.”
“You will not,” Nick said. “Give me back the card and put your gun away. There. In the holster.”
“How am I to know who you are?”
“The tessera tells you.”
“And if the tessera is false? Give me that card.”
“Don’t be a fool,” Nick said cheerfully. “Take me to your company commander.”
“I should send you to battalion headquarters.”
“All right,” said Nick. “Listen, do you know the Captain Paravicini? The tall one with the small mustache who was an architect and speaks English?”
“You know him?”
“A little.”
“What company does he command?”
“The second.”
“He is commanding the battalion.”
