"It's loping around Sarge."

  He'd placed the backpack radio on the sidewalk, knelt like a knight being knighted, and put up the antennae.  A sailor all in white.  One man had picked up the little folding cafe table and another had removed the spitoon.  "Siddown."  One General ordered.  Another put his bracleted wrists out of his dark green suit coat, showed both palms and backs of hands, then reached towards to sleepy man's shoulders.  The bullish man put up hands to fend his face but the Army man clutched his hands in his own.  It looked like they were praying together, then the man was pressed down into the chair.  He put his face in his now handcuffed hands and sobbed.

  The sailor on knee unpocketed a manual, a folded string of flags, and spoke coordinates into the machine.  We heard it before we could see it.  Guzzling and gunning sounds.  Whoosh.  It went by silently.  No more people could be seen.