He will eventually, at any rate. Harry turns away and ducks his head. It would seem too conspicuous, he thinks, to put his helmet back on, so as he falls into step with the procession into the village, he just keeps his head lowered. And as he walks, so slowly and smoothly he hardly notices at all, the ranks of men around him seem to thin, the trees begin to change, the mud begins to dry-- and when he looks up, he is in France no longer.