A hot summer sun. Interminable heat.
Gray smoke, from raging fires of burning farmsteads, lifting into the air.
He grinned and ran an oil-stained hand through his curly hair. Standing up, straddling the heavy German motorcycle, he half turned and stared at the burning bridge and the wide canal it once spanned. A wide canal cutting through the flat Belgium countryside. A piece of serendipity if he ever saw one.
Perfect.
If he could get across himself.
Blipping the throttle of the cycle nervously he turned again and looked over his right shoulder. A mile away the ghost-like apparition of a company of German cavalry. A Hussars company wearing the incredibly large, furred hat called a colback and dressed in field gray with bright yellow braided loops around their right epaulets, caused hi
