242 | John W. Warner IV and pistachio trees dotted the landscape, the soft smell of them lingering in the breeze. In the distance a large town revealed itself from the mornings mist, peaceful, tranquil. A lone French truck, an antique from before the last war, packed with sheep, slowly passed and ignored them; it had been two days since they had seen another; a boy waved. Most of the traffic had been friendly and helpful local people on foot or donkey, the war far away. Shepherds, no worries. Bernie then caught everyone up. He spread out a map on his saddle. Lets head north, Nasim, get off the main road. I want to camp well north ofYasuj. If the Germans are up here and sniffing around, even in town buying goats milk or lamb shanks, I dont want them getting a whiff or gander at us. Nasim, short, thin, and wiry, replied: Nem sayidi. A difficult trail. Steep, narrow. Looking over everyone, Bea panted under her black headscarf. Well, were not exactly First Skinners Horse, thats for sure. So did Alice, her scarf white with roses. Nor an East India Company misadventure.Stunning view though. Pretty.They all moved along. Bea unslung her canteen. Rodgers Queens Own Rangers on the prowl. Need a sippy. You look like youve lost a hunnerd and found a sixpence. Look old thing, go… just go and walk with him. Bend yourself to it. Kiss his falcon and make nice. Bea saddled her canteen and led her mule. Fine. My gunpowder lights easily I suppose. The canteen bit was overwrought. Shortish, she went astride the six-foot-three Yank colossus. Lovely day for a highland stroll. Hows your stamina? Bernie asked. Good. You? He grimaced. What do you want? She rubbed the mules neck. The night before we pinched the Tiger, I fell asleep and had a dream. Thats nice. He said it indifferently, coldly. She pushed him slightly. After I kick you in the plums, kindly go fuck yourself down a corpse-poisoned well. You never listen to me, not really, not attentively, but you will now by Zeus. She related her story of the night before the tank battle. Lutzs in my head a lot helping me. Drives me bonkers, my deepest insecurities made manifest. He puffed. Lutz? Why are you telling me this weird horseshit? My weird horseshit? What about all yours, Butch? Train robbers and airships,