Dimitri half smiled. “Better a fiasco than a tragedy. But why, Sergeant Logan?”

“Captain, because we’re sending one long column up one thin road toward Berlin. It can be blocked or ambushed at any place or at any time. Didn’t the British get their asses all chewed up trying to do something similar near Arnhem a while ago? Worse, it looks like someone got armor and mounted infantry all mixed up together, although at least the lead infantry are in half-tracks, which will provide some protection against small arms if they’re shot at. Unfortunately, the rest of us have to ride in trucks, and canvas sides won’t stop a peashooter. Frankly, sir, I’d rather walk.”

“Can’t,” said Dimitri. “We wouldn’t be able to keep up with the high-speed convoy that will soon be racing down those excellent German roads toward Berlin.”

Both Logan and Singer caught the note of sarcasm in the captain’s voice. Nobody was going to race. The move forward would be slow and cautious. “At least,” Singer said, “we won’t be in the lead group, where the action will likely take place.”

Captain Dimitri rose to leave and shouldered his carbine. “Tell him, Sergeant Logan,” he said as he walked on.

“Tell me what?” Singer asked as the captain departed. He had the terrible feeling that the captain and the sergeant, who went back a ways together, were laughing at him. Somehow, he didn’t really mind it. They were the experienced soldiers and not he, and, despite Logan’s protestations, the sergeant was a solid and respected soldier.

“Sir,” said Logan, “if you were a German unit setting up an ambush, which would you prefer to attack, the heavily armored and protected head of the column, or those soft, fat, and dumb trucks?”

Singer shook his head sadly. “You go for the trucks. Then the head of the column would have to hold up and wait until things got sorted out. Damn. Maybe we should volunteer for point. I promised my wife’s parents that I’d keep her as a JAP, and I’d like a chance to keep that promise.”