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They
stood
in
the
mouth
of
the
cave
and
watched
them
.
The
bombers
were
high
now
in
fast
,
ugly
arrow
-
heads
beating
the
sky
apart
with
the
noise
of
their
motors
.
They
are
shaped
like
sharks
,
Robert
Jordan
thought
,
the
wide
-
finned
,
sharp
-
nosed
sharks
of
the
Gulf
Stream
.
But
these
,
wide
-
finned
in
silver
,
roaring
,
the
light
mist
of
their
propellers
in
the
sun
,
these
do
not
move
like
sharks
.
They
move
like
no
thing
there
has
ever
been
.
They
move
like
mechanized
doom
.
You
ought
to
write
,
he
told
himself
.
Maybe
you
will
again
some
time
.
He
felt
Maria
holding
to
his
arm
.
She
was
looking
up
and
he
said
to
her
,
"
What
do
they
look
like
to
you
,
guapa
?
"
"
I
don
’
t
know
,
"
she
said
.
"
Death
,
I
think
.
"
"
They
look
like
planes
to
me
,
"
the
woman
of
Pablo
said
.
"
Where
are
the
little
ones
?
"
"
They
may
be
crossing
at
another
part
,
"
Robert
Jordan
said
.
"
Those
bombers
are
too
fast
to
have
to
wait
for
them
and
have
come
back
alone
.
We
never
follow
them
across
the
lines
to
fight
.
There
aren
’
t
enough
planes
to
risk
it
.
"
Just
then
three
Heinkel
fighters
in
V
formation
came
low
over
the
clearing
coming
toward
them
,
just
over
the
tree
tops
,
like
clattering
,
wing
-
tilting
,
pinch
-
nosed
ugly
toys
,
to
enlarge
suddenly
,
fearfully
to
their
actual
size
;
pouring
past
in
a
whining
roar
.
They
were
so
low
that
from
the
cave
mouth
all
of
them
could
see
the
pilots
,
helmeted
,
goggled
,
a
scarf
blowing
back
from
behind
the
patrol
leader
’
s
head
.
"
Those
can
see
the
horses
,
"
Pablo
said
.
"
Those
can
see
thy
cigarette
butts
,
"
the
woman
said
.
"
Let
fall
the
blanket
.
"
No
more
planes
came
over
.
The
others
must
have
crossed
farther
up
the
range
and
when
the
droning
was
gone
they
went
out
of
the
cave
into
the
open
.
The
sky
was
empty
now
and
high
and
blue
and
clear
.
