Lieutenant Goldman paused as he caught a glimpse of his sergeant, shooting hoops with Vinh, the Vietnamese kid that Anderson had unofficially "adopted". Myron smiled to himself, remembering the conversation he and Anderson had less than a month ago regarding the kid. The lieutenant had all but ordered Anderson to stay away from the boy, knowing how emotionally involved the sergeant always seemed to get with the kids.

"What good will ever come of it Zeke?" Myron had argued. "You’ll get transferred, the kid’s grandmother will be resettled or worse case… the kid’s village will get bombed," he had forcefully tried reasoning with the sergeant.

Anderson had given him a puzzled look. "I ain’t thinking about where it is going to end, LT. I am just being friendly with the boy is all."

"No, of course you’re not," Myron had thought then…and now.

Shaking his head in amusement, the lieutenant remembered how Anderson had not argued with him, or even tried to defend his relationship with the boy. Instead, Myron realized that his sergeant did what he always did when bombarded with unwanted advice from an officer. Anderson stood a little straighter, averted his eyes, and nodded saying, "Yes Sir," to all of Myron’s attempts at logic. This response never failed to infuriate the lieutenant and the conversation would usually go down hill from there. Goldman was insulted because he was not just another officer--he and Zeke Anderson were friends.

At first, Myron had assumed that Anderson’s pride would not allow him to take advice from a twenty three year old army brat. Later, the CO had come to appreciate that Sergeant Anderson did value his opinion, and on occasion would even seek out his counsel. The problem, the insightful lieutenant recognized, was that concern and suggestions often came out sounding more like judgments and orders. The difficulty did not rest in the strength of the friendship between the two men; it rested squarely in that complicated gray area…somewhere between friendship and rank.

Pausing to light a cigarette, Myron watched Anderson trying to teach the kid the correct technique for shooting a basketball. Taking the shot, Anderson’s ball found its mark with a swish. When the boy tried it, he missed by a considerable margin. "The basket is too high for the kid," Myron thought. "No way can he make that shot." The lieutenant admired his sergeant’s determination and the kid’s tenacity. After about ten more tries, a few coming incredibly close, Anderson picked the boy up onto his broad shoulders, and Myron watched as the kid made shot after shot.

The bond between Anderson and the youngster was obvious. "So much for my two cents," Myron conceded. Laughing at how little stock his sergeant put into his warning, the lieutenant took a few steps closer to the pair.

"Maybe I am wrong," Myron hoped. The boy, Vinh, was a great kid that everyone (including the lieutenant) had taken a liking to. They guessed him to be about eight or nine years old. His parents were both dead and the youngster lived with his grandmother, who worked on the base, cleaning and doing laundry. The child had been around Americans for most of his life and spoke fairly good English, mixed with a little Vietnamese, and on top of all that, the kid was very smart. That had impressed Anderson as well. "Why I’ll bet he is as smart as you LT," Anderson had beamed one afternoon, bragging about the boy.

Goldman was aware that Anderson would sneak Vinh and his grandmother food and supplies, but he had looked the other way, not really seeing the harm in it. The harm, in Myron’s opinion, was in getting too close. The lieutenant was much more guarded with his emotions...needing to protect himself. Plus, the platoon leader figured he had enough people to worry about without adding to the list.

Initially, Myron had been annoyed that Anderson had ignored his unsolicited advice, and taken the kid under his wing. Irritated that his friend never seemed to look too far into the future, or think much about the possible outcomes of his relationships, Myron had unsuccessfully tried lecturing him. However, after months of serving together, the lieutenant had to acknowledge that as open and accessible as Anderson was, when faced with adversity, the sergeant did seemed to recover quickly.

The opposite was true for Lieutenant Goldman. It was always hard for Myron to move on. He agonized over every man wounded or killed under his command. Every perceived mistake burned in the lieutenant’s gut and kept him awake at night. Myron had to admit that the sergeant’s makeup was very different from his own and so eventually, he decided that Anderson’s relationship with Vinh, was really none of his business.

"Hey LT," Zeke yelled, finally spotting the lieutenant and waving him over.

"You see me make basket, LT?" Vinh asked, still sitting on Anderson’s shoulders.

"Yeah I saw you," Myron answered the excited boy.

"You make basket?" Vinh asked.

"No, not today Vinh," Myron replied. "Zeke, we have a briefing at 1500 hours to go over this rescue mission."

The sergeant nodded, lifting Vinh off his shoulders and gently setting him on the ground, absently rubbing the kid’s hair.

"You hear me Sergeant?" Myron repeated.

"Yeah LT, I heard you. 1500 hours."

Goldman nodded, and left the sergeant and Vinh to continue their game. The lieutenant could not help thinking about Anderson and the boy…he did worry about how it would all end.

*******************

Vinh was walking behind the mess hall, kicking at the dirt, looking for scraps and trinkets, the kind that would be worthless to adults, but treasures to little boys. Hearing a commotion near the wire, the child timidly made his way over, knowing he was not allowed to get too close. Staring in horror, the youngster watched two GI’s pelting rocks at a dog. The dog was already injured, unable to move its hind legs and yelping in pain.

At eight years old, Vinh knew enough to check if the men were sergeants or officers before yelling out. They were grunts. "Hey you better cut that out," Vinh shouted in his best English. The men paused for a minute to see who had yelled. Laughing when they saw the young boy, the soldiers continued their stoning of the poor animal. Vinh covered his ears as the injured dog whimpered in agony.

Running back to Sergeant Anderson’s hootch, the boy was upset to find that the sergeant was not there. Remembering the briefing, Vinh ran to the TOC and found Zeke with two sergeants, three lieutenants, a captain and a major. He didn’t care…this was important.

"Trung Wee," Vinh practically shouted.

"Excuse me Sir," Anderson said nervously, looking at Vinh’s tear stained face, hoping the boy had not gotten himself into some big trouble. The captain nodded and the sergeant went to check on his little friend.

"Trung Wee come on, come quick," Vinh pleaded, pulling on Zeke’s arm.

"Okay, all right, calm down," Anderson answered, jogging after Vinh, who was all ready running toward the men and the dog.

"Look," Vinh pointed when they were close enough to see and hear the animal. When Anderson realized what was going on he grabbed Vinh’s arm and stopped.

"Stay here," the sergeant ordered.

Vinh started following him anyway. Zeke stopped again, this time going down on one knee, putting his hands on the boy’s shoulders, and looking him in the eye. "Now I said wait here, understand?" he said more sternly. This time Vinh stopped and nodded, tears still streaming down his face.

The sergeant approached the two young men. "What’s going on here soldiers?" he asked.

"We got orders to kill this dog, and that’s what we’re doing Sarge," one of them answered.

"Diseased or something," the other one added.

"Well now, you boys are wasting the whole day on it. Let me help you out." That said, Sergeant Anderson pulled out his revolver, stepped up to the pitiful dog, and shot it point blank in the head. "That’s how you kill an animal, got it?"

"Yes Sir," they grinned.

"Now you boys take this animal outside the wire and bury it a good five or six feet." The grunts nodded in agreement.

Zeke turned in time to see the look of shock and horror on Vinh’s face. "Now Vinh," he started to explain.

Vinh was sobbing. "Why did you do that? You killed him. You killed the dog."

"Hey, take it easy," Anderson responded, surprised by the outburst. The sergeant was also fully aware that he needed to get back to the briefing ASAP, and that leaving to kill a mangy dog was not going to fly with his superiors. "Look Vinh…that dog was pretty much dead already, I just ended his suffering that’s all."

"I did not want you to kill it," Vinh cried. "I wanted you to save it."

"We can talk about this later Boy. I got to get back to that briefing."

"I do not want to talk to you ever…I HATE YOU," Sergeant Anderson heard Vinh yell, as he hustled back to the TOC.

"Everything all right Sergeant?" the captain asked.

"Yes Sir," Anderson replied. "Sorry about that Sir," he added apologetically.

The captain continued on about the upcoming mission. Zeke was thinking about what had just happened with Vinh. Sergeant Anderson rarely listened to the briefings anyway. Lieutenant Goldman would give him the details of what his squad would be doing and that’s all he really cared about. Most of the missions seemed stupid and senseless, and he found he was happier just performing his own part, and not worrying about the logic of the overall operation.

From years of practice, the sergeant could look interested and even answer a question if pressed, while paying very little attention to what was actually being said. It was a skill he had perfected over the years. Anderson found himself doing that now, thinking about Vinh’s reaction to him shooting the dog. It had taken him totally by surprise. Zeke had assumed that was what the boy wanted him to do. Put the dog out of its misery. Vinh was eight though, and the sergeant was constantly learning about kids, how they thought and why they did the things they did.

What had Vinh said? "I didn’t want you to kill it, I wanted you to save it." Anderson knew that Vinh was not only a smart kid, but a sensitive one too.

Looking back, he realized that Vinh had never seen him kill anyone or anything before. The sergeant thought how ironic that was, since he was a soldier and that’s what he did. But Vinh had never seen him do it.

Impatient with the never-ending briefing, Zeke determined he would have to try to explain to the boy how every once in a while killing was the right thing to do…the only option. It was a concept that the sergeant was not sure an eight year old could grasp. Hell, most times he could not understand it himself. The sergeant decided he would also make it clear that the dog was diseased, and had been ordered destroyed. That should get him off the hook for killing it.

The briefing appeared to be winding down. The lieutenants started to ask questions, the sergeants stayed quiet…SOP. What Zeke could not get out of his head was Vinh yelling, "I hate you" at him. The boy was upset and the sergeant understood that he probably did not mean it. But it was the first time Vinh had said those words to him and whether he meant them or not, they still hurt. Anderson waited anxiously for the meeting to end so he could find Vinh and talk to him. "Any more questions gentleman?" The captain asked. To Zeke’s relief, there were none. "Dismissed," the major finally said.

"Sergeant?" Damn would they ever leave him alone? Anderson was relieved to see that it was his lieutenant.

"Yes Sir?" He asked.

Myron eyed his sergeant carefully; curious as to what had pulled him away from the briefing. "Everything okay Sergeant?

"Yes Sir."

"Everything okay with Vinh?" Myron pressed, knowing it would take a near catastrophe before the sergeant would ask for his help.

"Yeah, everything’s fine LT," Anderson confirmed.

"All right," the lieutenant relented, disappointed about not getting any information from his tight-lipped sergeant. "We need to go over these maps…maybe we should go over the whole mission, huh Zeke?

"Sir?"

"You weren’t paying much attention in there," Myron laughed, amused. It was only annoying when Anderson pulled that trick on him.

Anderson smiled. "We will be searching for a squad of lost soldiers from Charlie Company. They been missing three days, with no radio contact. We got grid three."

"I don’t know how you do that Anderson," Myron said, duly impressed. "1800 hours then?"

Zeke nodded relieved. That was two hours a way.

Sergeant Anderson found Vinh in his favorite place behind the supply post. It was a fairly quiet spot and there was a bench to sit on. Zeke had discovered Vinh there several times when the boy wanted to be alone to think. The sergeant thought that Vinh did a lot of thinking for an eight year old kid.

Staring at the youngster for a minute, Anderson tried to decide on what to say. Hoping the boy had calmed down a bit from this afternoon, the sergeant cleared his throat, like he did when he was nervous. "Vinh, we need to talk now Son."

"I do not wish to talk to you. You killed that dog."

"Now Vinh," Anderson said, taking a seat next to the distraught boy. "First off, that dog was sick, those men had orders to kill it." Vinh crossed his arms and turned his back on the sergeant. Zeke hated that, but decided not to make an issue of it; he wanted to get in what he had to say. "Second of all," the sergeant forged ahead. "That dog was suffering Vinh, he was in a lot of pain. I stopped that pain for him."

Vinh turned around then and looked directly at the sergeant. "No you did not," he said softly, tears welling in his dark eyes. "You did not help him, you killed him," he accused.

Not sure how much more to say to an eight year old, albeit a very smart eight year old, the sergeant decided to go one step further. "Vinh," he said gently. "Sometimes killing is helping." Vinh looked at Zeke intently, though not comprehending killing as an act of mercy.

"If I get sick…would you kill me?" the boy asked, totally sincere.

"Don’t be silly, of course not," the sergeant answered, as confidently as he could. Fully aware that many a man had been put out of their misery in the name of mercy. But that was in the jungle, out in the boonies, where death and mercy were often on a slow, painful collision course. That was not here on the base with an eight year old boy.

"Trung Wee?" Vinh asked suddenly, the anger lessening in his voice. "Did you feel sad when you shot the dog?"

Zeke hesitated. The kid sure asked some interesting questions. "Yeah sure Vinh," he lied, knowing he had felt nothing. Anderson saw no need for the poor dog to be tortured and would have stopped the soldiers, even without Vinh there. But he did not actually feel anything when he shot it. The sergeant vaguely wondered if he was supposed to feel something.

*******************

It was the sixth and final day of the search and rescue operation. Second platoon, Bravo Company had finished searching their assigned sector for the missing squad of Charlie Company. The six days had been quiet, almost boring, and Lieutenant Goldman was getting ready to radio in his final report when all hell broke loose. First, the gruesome discovery of the four, dead, desecrated bodies of the missing men, followed almost immediately by the capture of two young Viet Cong fighters.

"STOP," Myron yelled. "LOWER YOUR WEAPONS…THAT’S AN ORDER!" Percell and Taylor still had their rifles raised, aimed squarely in the faces of the two prisoners, but the authority in the lieutenant’s voice did give them a moment of pause.

"LT, you saw what they did," Danny said, his voice shaking, but his hands holding the M-16 steady--just a couple of more ounces of pressure on the trigger and it would be all over.

The two terrified prisoners knelt on the ground, their hands folded together in prayer, begging for their lives. "They don’t deserve any mercy, LT," Taylor said angrily. "They don’t deserve what you are doing for them."

Sergeant Anderson watched the scene playing out in front of him in silence. The lieutenant was desperately trying to get control of the situation and of his men. It was the sergeant’s job to support the lieutenant, but looking at the stripped, mutilated bodies of the four dead American soldiers, Zeke stayed quiet, and guiltily wished that Taylor would go ahead and pull the trigger.

"I’m not doing it for them, Marcus," the lieutenant pleaded. "I’m doing it for us."

Slowly, Percell and Taylor exhaled, and lowered their weapons slightly, effectively breaking the tension. "All right," Anderson finally joined in. "You heard the lieutenant, lets get dug in for the night. And get these two tied up," he nodded toward the prisoners. "Tie’em up good."

As darkness fell, Taylor, Percell and Ruiz discussed the day’s horrific events. "Any of you ever seen anything like that?" Taylor asked. They all shook their heads, recalling the grotesque, disfigured bodies of their fallen comrades. "I was ready to blow those animals away." Marcus continued.

"Why didn’t you?" Percell asked.

"I could have done it Danny. If the LT wouldn’t have gotten there when he did, I would have done it," Taylor declared.

"I’m glad we didn’t," Percell quietly admitted.

"You don’t think they deserved it?" Taylor demanded.

"I didn’t say they didn’t deserve it Marcus. I just said I’m glad we didn’t do it," Percell replied.

"You see that one guy had a bullet through the skull?" Ruiz joined in. "You think maybe one of the gooks felt sorry for him and put him out of his misery?"

"I doubt it," Marcus mumbled.

"Could be Rue," Percell said thoughtfully. "Could be one of the prisoners we got right now done it."

"Doesn’t make it okay," Taylor stated.

"No it doesn’t," Danny agreed. "Just something to think about Marcus."

Sergeant Anderson checked the perimeter and his men. Eventually, he came across the two prisoners being guarded by Private Marvin Johnson. "Everything okay here?" he asked.

"Yeah Sarge," Marvin answered. "They know what they did. They know how happy we would be to shoot them if they try to escape." Zeke nodded and made his way back to Lieutenant Goldman.

"Everything’s secure Sir," Anderson reported, getting himself situated for the long night ahead.

Myron studied his sergeant, trying to decide how best to broach the subject of the afternoon’s events. The men had tremendous respect for Sergeant Anderson, and the lieutenant understood that the sergeant’s silence during the first tense moments of the capture were the same as if Anderson had given his stamp of approval to the near execution. Grateful that he had been able to diffuse the situation before it had gotten totally out of control, the lieutenant knew he had to address the matter with Anderson. Although necessary, it was not a conversation the lieutenant was looking forward to.

"I got the first watch Sir," Anderson added when he noticed the lieutenant still staring at him.

"Sergeant," Myron hesitated. "I could have used your help today."

Anderson did not look up. "What do you mean Sir?"

"You know what I mean," Myron quietly reprimanded.

"I do know what he means," Anderson acknowledged, not quite sure himself what had happened out there. Glancing up at the lieutenant, the sergeant quickly turned away, unable to maintain eye contact with his CO. Embarrassed that he had let the lieutenant down, the sergeant continued, "If you’re talking about Taylor and Percell Sir, I think they just got a little worked up is all."

"I’m talking about you Zeke. Did you agree with them?" Myron pressed, needing a reason for his normally reliable sergeant’s silent lack of support.

"I go by your decision, LT. You know that." Anderson uncomfortably declared. For a brief moment, Zeke thought he would apologize to the kid, but his pride would not allow it. Instead, he stared off into the distance.

"That’s not what I asked you," Myron persisted, not letting his sergeant off the hook that easily. "Did you agree with what Taylor and Percell wanted to do?" He repeated.

"Well, I guess I wouldn’t have lost any sleep over it LT," Zeke answered as honestly as he could. Voicing that sentiment out loud, and realizing the truth of it, made Anderson wince. "When did that happen?" He wondered.

"Maybe not," Myron agreed. "Not now anyway. But Zeke, did you ever consider that maybe someday, when this war ends…maybe we will be losing sleep over a whole lot of things we did? I just don’t want to add any more to it than we need to."

Anderson nodded thoughtfully, and taking the first shift, turned his attention to the jungle. Thinking about the lieutenant’s words, Zeke found himself examining his three tours. Although relieved that he could not come up with a single instance of shooting an unarmed civilian, or soldier for that matter, the sergeant marveled at his eagerness for it to happen today. "What the hell is the matter with me?" He wondered. Staring off into the foliage, Zeke unexpectedly thought of his little friend, Vinh …"Did you feel sad when you shot the dog?"

*******************

The next morning second platoon was airlifted back to the base and the prisoners were turned over to command. The men and their sergeant decided to go into town and attempt to drink away the unsettling effects of the mission.

"Hey Rue," Danny asked. "Did you ever shoot anyone to… you know put them out of their misery?"

"Now when would I have done that Percell, huh?" Rue asked annoyed. "Tell me that. We have been here the exact same number of days. Don’t you think you would know if I did something like that?" That drew a few laughs from the guys.

Not willing to let it go, Danny persisted. "How about you Marcus, you ever had to shoot someone like that?"

"No man," Taylor replied. "And don’t ever do one of those mercy killings on me either. You know like… like Taft did on Short Round. You hear that? I want to hang on to life to the last possible second, you all got that?"

"Not me," Percell disagreed. "If I am suffering and dying, you all feel free to put a round in me."

"What did the lieutenant mean when he said he was doing it for us?" Johnson wondered out loud.

Ignoring Johnson, Percell continued, "Seriously though, I don’t think you would feel bad about it, like you would a regular killing. I mean you would actually be doing the guy a favor, right?" No one seemed to know the answer to that question.

"What do you think Sarge?" Danny asked.

Zeke had been listening intently to the conversation, trying to sort out his own feelings on the subject. He did not understand Percell’s line of reasoning. "You would be killing an American," the sergeant pointed out. "I reckon you’d feel pretty bad… I mean Taft did try to kill himself after that," he gently reminded them.

"Yeah, but they were good friends," Danny argued. "What about the LT? He shot that kid…can’t think of that newbie’s name right now, but you know the one."

"Jimmy Greene," Zeke said quietly.

"Yeah, Jimmy Greene. LT shot him and he’s okay with it."

"How do you know he’s okay with it?" The sergeant asked, remembering Myron’s anguish over writing the deceased private’s mother.

"Danny’s got a point Sarge," Taylor jumped in. "The LT ain’t suicidal over it."

"How about you Sarge?" Taylor prodded. You ever shoot anyone in the name of mercy?"

"Shot a dog the other day," Zeke admitted, thinking of Vinh.

The guys laughed. "Really, a dog? What did that feel like Sarge?" they joked, not really expecting an answer.

"Nothin’," the sergeant responded abruptly. "It didn’t feel like nothin’." The room got suddenly quiet.

"Was just a dog Sarge," Danny finally answered, patting his NCO on the back.

"Yeah Percell, was just a dog," Anderson repeated, throwing some money on the table and leaving his men staring after him.

Confused, Sergeant Anderson sat at his desk and poured himself a drink, quickly followed by another. "It was just a dog," Percell had said. True enough, but what about the prisoners…they were just gooks. And Private Jimmy Greene…he was just going to die anyway; the lieutenant was doing him a favor.

Maybe it was all true, all justifiable, but when had the killing become so routine…so emotionless? The sergeant could not pinpoint the moment when death had ceased to raise some sort of inner response. With all these exemptions, Zeke began to wonder just who would have to die before his mind and body would be capable of some sort of reaction. Before he ran out of excuses for his recent… indifference.

*******************

Danny Percell burst through the doorway. "Sarge, come quick," he yelled.

"Calm down Percell, what is it?"

"It’s Vinh, they just brought him in." Anderson dropped the weapon he had been cleaning. "Show me," he ordered.

"Doesn’t look good, Sarge," Danny added grimly. "Land mine."

Alone with the boy, Sergeant Anderson pulled his chair closer to Vinh’s bed and gently rubbed the child’s hair. Anderson trembled as he remembered Vinh’s question, "If I get sick…would you kill me?" The burly sergeant took the boy’s small hand and watched it disappear into his own. "No baby no. I would never, ever do that," he assured the sleeping child.

"Trung Wee," the weak little voice whispered, interrupting the sergeant’s uneasy thoughts.

"Hey Buddy," Zeke said forcing a smile, still holding the boy’s hand. "You’re going to be okay. You just rest now."

"I have to tell you something," the boy insisted in a barely audible whisper. The sergeant leaned closer.

"When you shot the sick dog…I said, I hate you…I really do not hate you."

"Well," Zeke said reassuringly. "I really didn’t think you hated me anyway. Don’t worry about that okay?" The sergeant unconsciously kissed the boy’s forehead.

"Trung Wee," Vinh whispered. "Really I love you the best…number one,"

Squeezing the boy’s hand, the sergeant’s eyes blurred with tears as he struggled to maintain his composure. "Yeah, me too… number one," he whispered back. "Thank you Vinh," Anderson said softly, grateful for the feelings the child had evoked, despite the pain that threatened to overwhelm him. "Thank you," he repeated, flooded with relief at his own tears, grateful that he was still Zeke; he had not completely turned into his army self …the sergeant …the killer …the remorseless soldier.

*********************

Lieutenant Goldman was trying to finish up his report, but was having trouble concentrating. Taylor had knocked on his door an hour earlier to inform the lieutenant of Vinh’s horrific accident. "Looks bad LT," Taylor had added, when Myron made no attempt to get up from his desk. "Thanks Taylor," the lieutenant dismissed him. "I’ll try to get over there as soon as I can."

An unwanted flash of anger shot through the lieutenant as he thought of the boy and Sergeant Anderson. "Dammit Zeke," Myron suddenly yelled, pounding his fist on the desk. "Damn you." I didn’t want this. I don’t want to look at that torn up kid…or you. Needing to let go of this resentment before facing Anderson, Myron grabbed the whiskey and drank a shot straight from the bottle.

While the lieutenant was still contemplating the situation, his sergeant showed up at the door. One look at Anderson, and Myron knew that the boy was dead. "How is he?" he managed awkwardly. Anderson confirmed what the lieutenant already knew. "You okay?" Myron asked, avoiding the sergeant’s eyes.

Collapsing into a chair, Anderson could not seem to find the words to explain his emotions. Myron waited. "You know LT," Zeke finally began. "That boy taught me something. He got me thinking about a lot of things. It hurts like hell, but at least it hurts." Anderson paused looking up at his lieutenant. "You know what I mean LT?"

Staring at Anderson, the lieutenant had to admit that he was not exactly sure what anything meant, but the pain on his sergeant’s face made Myron ashamed that his first thought had been, "I told you so." And yet, he found he was still fighting the urge to point that out.

"Look Sergeant," the LT began his predictable response. "We are in a war zone, stuff just happens it’s…"

"Myron," Zeke interrupted. That got the CO’s attention...it was rare for Anderson to address the officer by his given name. "I don’t need a lieutenant," he continued quietly. "I need a friend."

The initial anger disappeared as Myron got up and poured Anderson a drink. After refilling his own glass, the lieutenant pulled up a chair, and set it directly across from Anderson. "Okay, Zeke," he said, resting a hand on his friend’s shoulder. "Why don’t you tell me about Vinh."

Myron listened intently to his sergeant’s story and found himself wondering if the reward was ever worth the pain.