“What is it?” Pamela said. “Take a look.” Pamela saw through the big eyepieces of the spotter’s instrument a column of machines coming out of the woods. “Tanks?” “Some are trucks and armored personnel cars. But yes, it’s a tank unit.” Victor Henry, glasses to his eyes, talked as though he were watching a parade. “Aren’t they Russians?” “No.” “But that’s the direction we came from.” “Yes.”
