the marks of rank quickly enough to save our lives. Later on, if we have to explain this to our own side, we will have to think of something.
After we had begun to carry the things around with us, we realized that they could be useful in much less dangerous situations. Dressed as an officer, it is much easier to stop a vehicle. Every asshole who roars past ordinary soldiers regards it as an honor to stop for a captain or senior lieutenant and to be allowed to give them a lift.
But once, we made the mistake of stopping the brigade comman-der’s car. We recognized his face too late. He must have been puzzled to see two officers suddenly turning round and disappearing down the next side road at a sprint.
"Do you happen to have a cigarette?" the girl asks.
The cigarettes are in my pocket. But I can’t reach them with the young girl sitting on my leg.
"Can you move a bit to the right" I ask her, and she lands on Jamus’s lap. I get the cigarettes out of my pocket and hand out three. "And now," I turn to Jamus, "can you please give us a light." He swal-lows a curse, pushes the girl onto my lap, and searches his pockets.
We arrive at the crossing of Beit Dagon. Nehemia, who must have been jealous of our company, has been driving like the devil himself.
"Maybe you could take me to Sarafand?" asks the girl. Jamus looks at me. We would certainly like to spend another quarter of an hour in this position. But the men are standing in the open truck, shivering in their wet clothes.
"Unfortunately we won’t be able to," Jamus regrets. "We are due on an important patrol. But we can take you as far as Rishon."
"No, thanks! " say the girl angrily. She is clearly used to soldiers fill-filling her wishes. It could also be that she thinks she has a right to it, after she sat on our laps. Jamus, the gentleman, helps her out.
We drive on.
Half-way to Rishon the motor starts coughing and the truck stops. Nehemia curses, gets out, opens the hood, checks some things, and shakes his head. The truck has broken down. That’s what happens with military vehicles. The drivers don’t care about them and just push them until they break.
The Moroccans are sitting up there like frozen herrings. Janek claims to know something about trucks and starts working on the