But then, nothing was ever fair, really. Rota probably received twice Del’s pay every week, and he had never fought, never faced the slightest danger. And then Del received far more than poor pathetic Porter, and far more than the poor bastards who were being blasted off mountainsides in Italy, right this minute. And then there were the Russians—who knew whether they were even fed, much less paid; and Del had heard that their officers would shoot their own men, right there on the battlefield, if they tried to retreat.
The compartment door opened, interrupting Del’s thoughts. A woman stood in front of him, dressed in a smart hat and scarf and long grey coat. She stopped at the doorway, and Del realised it was because he was staring at her. He lowered his eyes and coughed slightly, and stra
