Durieux unbuttoned the right breast pocket of his parachute smock , his fingers fumbling with the stiffness of the new canvas . this is my party card , he said , holding it high , that all might see it . I am more proud of this card than of this badge . when he said this , Durieux tapped the silver-nickel badge that was pinned to the flap of his right breast pocket . the badge consisted of an opened parachute flanked by wings . cynics said the wings had been added to remind the wearer that he might one day have need of them , for parachute-packing is not an exact science , and parachute packers have been known to err . the badge meant that Durieux &apos;s parachute had six times successfully responded to his pull at the ripcord , with himself dangling from the rigging lines , fluttering to earth like an autumn leaf discarded from the military tree . is it a real party card ? asked Rossi . it &apos;s not like any party card that I ever saw . I &apos;ll bet it &apos;s a forgery . see for yourself , shouted Durieux , thrusting the card close to the Corsican &apos;s face . Rossi spat very deliberately , and very messily , upon Durieux &apos;s party card . the other paras , who had guessed what was to come , shouted with laughter . I &apos;m going to make you lick that card clean , said Durieux . he reached down for the nape of Rossi &apos;s neck with his left hand . his intention was to force the Corsican &apos;s nose into the spittle . but Rossi jerked Durieux &apos;s heels from beneath him . Durieux pitched forward , falling over Rossi . Durieux could have clutched at Rossi to save himself , but he still held on to the party card and would not let it go . the restraining hands of two paras , one at either side of Rossi , were all that saved Durieux from falling into the fire . one of the paras who held Durieux spun him roughly about , so that he stumbled away from the fire . his first concern was for the party card . it was scorched - as were the fingers that held it - and Rossi &apos;s spittle was bubbling on the cardboard . Durieux wiped the card clean , using great care , with his handkerchief . he placed the card back in his breast pocket and buttoned it beneath the parachute badge . only then did he return to Rossi , who was still lying beside the fire . now you will n&apos;t be able to make me lick it off , said Rossi . I &apos;ll do better than that , promised Durieux . get up , Rossi . enchanted by the invitation , comrade Durieux . Rossi arose with the muscular tension of a caged leopard at feeding time . Durieux almost regretted having issued the invitation . Rossi was tall , but he did not tower above Durieux ; he was broad , yet not significantly wider than Durieux ; but he was unmistakably the more aggressive . looking at Rossi , Durieux could not believe that his opponent possessed the fighting instincts of a mere man : it was as though the Corsican belonged spiritually to another species . the leopard-skin pattern upon his parachute smock might have been an outward expression of his character . yet Durieux was no coward , nor was he easily intimidated . so he fired his right fist into Rossi &apos;s face and caught the Corsican on the mouth . his knuckles made a wooden sound against Rossi &apos;s teeth . Rossi rode the blow , swaying back from the hips upon which his hands still rested , but his lips split like an over-ripe tomato . blood flowed from them and ran down his chin like wine . Rossi ran his tongue over the blood : he seemed to savour the taste ; he was smiling . then Rossi struck Durieux a terrible blow that landed midway between crutch and waist . Durieux had never been hit so hard before , though he had become an amateur boxer in his student days in order to gain popularity and engender self-confidence . but he had never even imagined that it was possible to be hit so hard . the blow took all pleasure out of anger , out of fighting , out of life itself . Durieux &apos;s head went down until it was level with his knees . he folded up so fast that Rossi &apos;s second blow - a right cross - landed on his temple . instead of breaking Durieux &apos;s jaw , as Rossi had intended it should , the blow split his scalp . he was felled to the ground as a bullock is felled by a humane killer . his head suddenly became enormous and empty : the echoes of the blow rang through his brain like the angelus bell in a church tower . he felt the blood move stickily from his split scalp and trickle down his forehead . he felt as though all feelings were at an end . then Durieux realized that he was still capable of having such primitive feeling as pain . he could still hear , despite the sounding in his ears , despite the lights behind his eyes , despite the knotted cramp of his intestines . and Durieux became intensely relieved that he could still experience these things . if he hits me like that again , thought Durieux , he will undoubtedly kill me . if by chance he does not kill me I shall be crippled for life . even if he fails to kill or cripple me I shall be permanently disfigured . none of these things is going to help propagate Marxist-Leninist doctrines . therefore , Durieux continued when he could hear himself thinking , I must somehow save myself . the best thing I can do is lie still and let him think that he has knocked me out . if everyone believes that Rossi has knocked me out they will not expect me to get up and fight him again . the fight is over . even the best boxers get themselves knocked out , especially by a lucky blow . there is no dishonour in that . I struck the first blow . I have shown them all that I am not afraid of Rossi . I was disabled by a foul blow and knocked out by a lucky blow . it was almost an accident . I have now earned my place by the fire . I believe that I really must have been knocked out . I am only just coming to my senses . that is why I am only now able to think clearly . I was knocked out , but I bear Rossi no ill-will . the fight is finished . he &apos;s shamming , said Rossi . he &apos;s shagged , said someone . balls , said Rossi . I was playing with him . I only used my fists . I want to have some fun out of this fight . it &apos;s a long time since I fought a Viet . he is n&apos;t a Viet , said someone else . he &apos;s only a commie . Viet or commie , said Rossi , I &apos;m going to beat the crap out of him . I &apos;ll teach the depot to send us commies . they probably did n&apos;t know he was a commie , said someone else . you know how the bastards infiltrate . they &apos;ll know he &apos;s a commie when I &apos;ve finished with him , said Rossi . Durieux felt a sudden pain in his side ; and he was flung over on his back . the kick had landed sickeningly just below his ribs . Durieux was relieved that Rossi was wearing rubber-soled jumping boots and not the steel-tipped infantry issue . do n&apos;t kick him , said a voice , Marechal &apos;s voice . he &apos;s a subversive , said Rossi . I could kick him to death and get congratulated for it . I caught him encouraging us to read left-wing journals , did n&apos;t I ? was n&apos;t he about to encourage us lads to desert ? that &apos;s a load of bull , said Marechal . you needled him until he produced his party card . I knew he was a commie , said Rossi . I can smell the bastards out as surely as I can smell the bogs . perhaps he &apos;s an ex-commie now , said someone . it looks as though you did him in . he &apos;s firing at the flank , said Rossi . he &apos;s been shamming for a long time then , said someone else . not everyone has a head as thick as yours , Rossi . I &apos;ll hold a light under his mug and see if he moves , said Rossi . Durieux could smell the brand from the fire as Rossi approached him . it was so close that he inhaled the sweet smoke , and felt the heat glow against his eyelids . he decided that it was time to groan as a preliminary to feigning a return to consciousness . Rossi kicked him again , but mildly this time , an exploratory kick . Durieux raised his head slightly , let it loll back , and opened his eyes . Rossi threw the blazing brand back into the fire . Durieux groaned again . he rolled his eyes and raised himself on one elbow . the recovery , he decided , must be very gradual ; otherwise Rossi might take it as an invitation to renew the fight . he groaned and sank back again . commies , said Rossi . I could crap a better commie . Marechal stood up and walked over to where Durieux lay . he was carrying his canteen and he offered it to Durieux . drink this , said Marechal . he does n&apos;t drink , said Rossi in a mincing voice . and it &apos;s quite possible that he does n&apos;t poke either . he &apos;ll learn to do both , said Marechal . and to fight . he &apos;s got a lot to learn . Durieux took the canteen , not because he wanted to drink , but because to lie there drinking would prolong the period before he must rise . so he drank slowly . he found that he was drinking neat pastis . the liquorice taste was unmistakable even though he had not tasted it before . he spluttered and coughed as the liquid ran down his throat and surged into his stomach . but he suddenly felt a great deal better . this stuff is liquid fire , thought Durieux . it &apos;s like napalm . what do you know of napalm ? he asked himself out of journalistic habit . nothing , he admitted , or very little , but I &apos;d like to have some for Rossi , he told himself . I &apos;d like to see that bastard burn . go easy with that stuff , man , if you are n&apos;t used to it , he heard Marechal warning him . it will do him good , said Rossi . it may even put some guts into the miserable little sod . accepting this as encouragement , Durieux took another long drink from the canteen before returning it to Marechal . then he looked directly at Rossi . Durieux forced himself to be no longer afraid of Rossi . shut your dirty trap , Rossi , or I &apos;ll shut it for you , he announced . want some more ? I &apos;ll smash your mug in , said Durieux . he lurched to his feet and as suddenly sat down again , for the ground appeared to rise with him . he got to his knees and became conscious of pain where Rossi had struck the blow . Durieux fell forward and was violently sick in the fire : yellow bile that bubbled and spluttered . everything tasted and stank of aniseed . but when he had wiped his mouth with the back of his hand , Durieux felt much better . now I &apos;ll finish him off , said Rossi . shut up , said Marechal . he &apos;s beaten up already . leave the poor bastard be . what &apos;s the matter with you , man ? can n&apos;t you find anyone of your own weight to fight ? are you looking for a boy beneath your blanket ? asked Rossi . you know me , said Marechal . why else should anyone want to protect a commie from what &apos;s coming to him ? asked Rossi . Durieux had at last succeeded in staying on his feet . the stars of the African night were duplicated in his head . the pastis had entered his blood stream . I &apos;m going to have your guts for a tie , he told Rossi . he &apos;s as pissed as a Pole , said Marechal . I can lick any man in this stick , announced Rossi . except me , Marechal reminded him . I can lick you in a stand up and smash down fight , shouted Rossi . who cares about wrestling ? I care , man , said Marechal . I like to wrestle sometimes . I &apos;m going to do you both , announced Durieux , approaching them at a stagger . I &apos;m going to do the whole world . you &apos;re too ambitious , said Marechal . has anyone got some black coffee ? someone handed over a mug of black coffee and Marechal gave it to Durieux . Durieux spilled some of the coffee down the front of his uniform ; it mingled with the stains of his blood , now drying out brown , and merged well with the dapple-camouflage pattern . 