“Yes, Captain.”
A group of six men, split into pairs, slung their ancient rifles over their backs and rapped on unwelcoming doors. I watched them for a moment until my attention became distracted by a young girl of six or seven who skipped her way along between the twisted houses with the sublime unconsciousness of a spirit lost in a fairy tale. I rubbed my grizzled face and smelt my own stink rising through my uniform. We must look like medieval marauders, who would blame anyone for being frightened? As she skipped by the church, the door opened and a younger man dressed in a cassock stepped out. He was bareheaded and tanned. He had a muscular walk and carried a book, a bible probably, in his left hand. A handsome man, for a priest. Sergeant Popov drew abreast. He too looked at the pries
