, like strands of soldier ants, 
seventy-five men, at combat readiness, assemble on the edge of a 
sweltering wilderness.

It is dusk. The mood is lazy, soporific. Members of one platoon huddle 
close to the ground smoking a joint.
	
				JERRY
		Strong stuff.

				ROD
			(to JACOB, a soldier
			squatting several yards
			away)
		Hey, Professor, how many times can
		you shit in an hour?

				GEORGE
		Don't bug 'im.

				DOUG
		Where are those gooks already?

				FRANK
		So