to death." He hugged his battered bag lovingly. "Since then, my friend, I have learned my lesson. See this tear? I ripped the bag open here so that I can get at the things quickly and without delay." He pulled a rubber pipe, which served as a tourniquet, out through the gap. "But in an emergency I don’t need the bag at all. I carry this tourniquet on my body. A movement of my hand, and I am ready to use it. And in my trouser pockets I have a pair of scissors and some bandages. In difficult cases I just leave the bag and the Sten behind me and crawl quickly and unencumbered to the wounded man ..."

I really like him at this moment. He is one of us, I think full of pride. One of the veterans who has learned the right thing not from training courses but from combat experience. Each one has his methods, each his own peculiarities. These veterans are individual-ists. Their experience is beyond price.

We sit there and tell stories. About brave medics and those who did not distinguish themselves with bravery, about cases of wound-ing that we have seen, about how to treat a comrade in shock and what the "best" method is to die quickly.

At last we are called. We distribute the tasks, urge the men on, sup-port them, swear, join in with the work to set an example, praise, and admonish. We make slow progress. The men are discontented. They have not yet learned to suffer and continue smiling. Toward morn-ing we arrive back. We are all dog tired. No one notices that Jack is not with us. At the last moment he decided to stay at the forward position.

It is only in the afternoon that we remember him. The report comes in over the field telephone that he was running to a lightly wounded man when an Egyptian sniper shot him.

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