The soldiers were exhausted.

Some of them were struggling just to get their tents up; quite a few weren't even bothering with that, they'd just spread their bedrolls on the ground and had practically collapsed on top of them. Their captain walked among them, looking down at them, and shook his head. The battle was going to continue tomorrow, there wasn't a question of that, and his men were not going to be in the best possible shape for it. They had done well today against overwhelming odds and against a relentless enemy, an enemy who just kept coming no matter what was thrown at them. Tomorrow they were going to face fresh fighters, and they had no fresh troops to send against them.

On the ground nearby, a sergeant sat with his legs crossed, his arms across his knees, staring into space. His assault rifle, a bloody bayonet still fixed in place, lay by his side. The captain stopped and asked him if he'd been wounded.

"Wounded?" the sergeant asked. "No..." He shook his head as if to clear it, then saluted belatedly and started to get to his feet.

"As you were, Sergeant," the captain said.

"Yes, sir, thank you, sir," the man replied. "No, sir, I was not wounded. I don't understand it, sir. They just don't stop. I must have shot a dozen. Then I killed at least six more with my bayonet. It doesn't matter. There's always more. They just come on, and on, and on."

"Yes," the captain agreed. "They do."

"I couldn't load my weapon," the sergeant went on. "No time, no time to reach for a clip. All I could do was use the bayonet." He raised his arms; his hands trembled from fatigue. "I had to fall back. I didn't have anything left."

"Saw a lot of that today," the captain said.

"We can't hold them, captain. We just can't. And now... now that we're hearing that the reinforcements aren't going to be coming..."

"We're going to have to hold them, soldier," the captain said, trying to project more confidence than he actually felt. "We'll be relieved sooner or later, you can count on it. Until then, we're going to have to find a way. Those are our orders." He sighed and looked out over the encampment. "We're the United States Army," he muttered. "We're not going to lose to an untrained bunch of riff-raff. It's not going to happen."

His attention was distracted by a small commotion; he turned to see a group of six or so soldiers coming toward him. In the middle of them was a smaller figure, not in uniform. The sergeant looked up as well, and together they watched the soldiers approach.

"We have a prisoner, sir," one of them said.

The captain gazed at the captive for a moment. The prisoner was a young woman, naked except for sneakers and a backpack. She was slim and rather pretty; her dark brown hair was cut short. She appeared to be perhaps twenty. Two of the soldiers held her by her upper arms, and she was still struggling with them.

"Good work, men," the captain said. "We've seen very few prisoners today. How did you manage to capture her?"

"Sir, I'm not quite sure," one of the soldiers said. "We were retreating, and suddenly there she was, among our troops. She shot Private Ryan, and then someone hit her with a rifle. We were able to secure her weapon and take her captive."

"Have you searched the backpack?"

"Yes, sir. No weapons, sir. Just rations and a water bottle and a few personal items, sir. There were some clips of ammo but we confiscated those."

He looked at the girl. "Who are you?"

She glared back. "My name is Katie Brown," she said. "I'm not going to tell you anything else."

"You are supposed to give your name, rank, and serial number," one of the soldiers said.

The girl laughed without humor. "I have no rank. Are you nuts?" She jerked against the soldiers holding her. "Why am I still alive?" she demanded. "Why haven't you just killed me?"

"We are soldiers in the United States Army," the captain said. "We do not summarily execute prisoners."

"We heard you had 'take-no-prisoners' orders."

"No. We do not." He rubbed his chin. "We've taken few, though, because your people do not surrender, even when their situation is hopeless."

She grinned. "Our situation is not hopeless. Yours is."

"I would appreciate it," he went on, as if she hadn't spoken, "if you could explain to me why your people behave as they do. What orders do you have? Are you being told to hurl yourselves into situations where you cannot hope to survive?"

"I am not," the girl replied firmly, "going to tell you what our orders are. No matter what you do to me."

The captain sighed. "Well, we are not going to torture you for information." He looked up at the soldiers. "Take her to the rear," he ordered. "Have her tied and placed in one of the trucks. Post a guard."

"Yes, sir," one of the soldiers replied. They started to turn away; the girl turned with them, more passive now--probably because, the captain thought, she had been told that they had no plans to execute her or torture her.

But, as soon as they started walking, she gave a sudden and unexpected jerk with her right arm. It came free; she spun to her left and sank her teeth into the wrist of the man holding her left arm. Yelling, he let go. The other soldier tried to grab her again, but she lunged past him, apparently headed for the sergeant--or for the rifle lying on the ground beside him.

He wasn't caught unawares, though. He snatched up the rifle and brought it around. "Stop!" he yelled. "Stop where--"

But it was too late, and her momentum carried her right onto the fixed bayonet. It sank in below her navel and buried itself. Her mouth open, a startled look in her eyes, and her arms waving, she came to an abrupt halt. The sergeant yanked the bayonet out; the girl, blood spilling freely from her lower belly, crumpled to the ground.

The captain knelt beside her. "Why did you do that?" he demanded. "You had to know it was hopeless! There wasn't any way for you to escape, even it you'd gotten hold of the rifle!"

Holding her abdomen with both hands, she looked up at him. "If I could have... taken two or three of you with me... it would have... been worth it..." She ground her teeth and squirmed as blood poured from between her fingers. "Give up," she advised. "You can't... win..." She shuddered violently; her torso arched, and she drew her legs up hard. Then, suddenly, she went limp. Blood trickled from her mouth.

The sergeant stared at her, blinking. "I think," he murmured, "that she's right."

"Put a lid on that, sergeant," the captain barked. "We'll have no talk like that. We are the US Army, Airborne Division. We do not lose! We will not lose!"

No one said anything else. The captain, glaring at them, found himself wishing he could believe his own words.