Hubbard, L. Ron by Final Blackout

a dozen years lay an ancient tank, its gun silently covering the clouds which scurried south.
    The men were not in any recognizable formation of march, but there was a plan of sorts despite the appearance of straggling. Loosely they formed a circle two hundred yards in diameter, a formation which would allow both a swift withdrawal into a compact defense unit from any angle of attack and would permit a swift enveloping of any obstacle met, the foremost point merely opening out and closing around. But the movements of the men themselves were quite independent of the organization, for they marched as the pilot of an ailing plane had once flown-not from field to field, but from cover to cover. All open spaces were either traversed at top speed, completely skirted, or else crawled through. The equidistant posts were very flexible of position according to the greatest danger of the terrain; these, too, were loose circles save for the rear guard, which was a long line, the better to pick up any willful stragglers or extricate any which had been trapped in the pits with which all this land abounded-pits which had the appearance of solid ground, built to impede troops and used now by peasants who found a need for clothing and equipment.
    The one officer, if such he could be called, who had latitude of movement for his small group was Bulger Bayonet thrust naked and ready in his belt, helmet pulled threateningly down over one eye, filthy warm flapping against his heels, he roved purposefully and thoroughly, rumbling from flank to flank and beyond, appearing magically inside and outside the circle of march. He would overrun the vanguard, inspect the ground ahead and then go rambling off with two or three scarecrows at his heels to poke into some suspicioned rise of ground and, sometimes, send a runner back to change the whole route of march to roll over the place and pick up cached supplies. After a good day Bulger would begin the evening meal by pulling birds, onions, old cans of beef from an unheard-of time, moldy loaves and wild potatoes from that warm which seemed to have the capacity of a full transport; for while the main discoveries had been shared around, Bulger took a joy in personal collection which outrivaled, if possible, his lieutenant's love of victory without casualty! These choice bits ¯ and scarce enough they were ¯ made first, the lieutenant's board and, second, the noncoms' fare. The brigade said of Bulger that he could hear a potato growing at the distance of four kilometers and could smell a can of beef at five.
     
    The brigade flitted swiftly over an exposed chain of embankments,, which had been a railroad, long ago shelled out of existence and then robbed of its rails for bomb-proof beams. Bulger alone paused at the to his hairy nostrils quivering avidly. He broke his trance and sped forward, presently lumbering past the vanguard. Weasel's narrow face popped alertly from beyond a bush.
    "I don't hear anything," complained Weasel.
    Bulger touched his nose pridefully and swept on, vanishing into the undergrowth ahead. As this was the mid portion of the valley, the only difference of level was a stream. This was revengefully eating away at an old mill dam, having already toppled the shell-bursted mill down the bank. But there was no ocular evidence whatever of anything unusual.
    Telepathically quiet, the word skimmed through the brigade and the route of march shifted. Gian's artillery, which had been annoying its motive power by forbidding their taking the best cover, was balked by the stream until Gian, scurrying up and down the bank, found a shallow bar which had been built up by the downfall of an old bridge.
    Bulger and his two scarecrows flickered beyond a screen of willows and vanished afield; one of the men, as runner, reappeared as a signpost and was scooped up by the advancing Weasel.
    Presently the first sign of habitation was noted by the lieutenant. A rabbit snare flicked at his foot and sprang free. A