“You have no medic?”

“Had. Got in the way of some mortar shrapnel two weeks ago. Name was Vet,” she says, yawning again. “Vet,” she repeats, and puts her arms behind her head, as though in surrender (her gaudy jacket falls open and, within her army shirt, the lieutenant's breasts press briefly out; I suspect they might be, like her, quite firm). “Not because he was long serving. Still, you take what you can get, you know?”

“So, at the end of this, what ought we to call you?” I ask, thinking to break her out of such dreadful sentimentality.

“You really want to know?”

I nod.

“Loot,” she tells me, passing bashful. Another shrug. “After a while, you become your function, Abel. I am the lieutenant, so they call me Loot. I have become Loot. It is what I answer to.”

“Lute, with a U?”

She smiles. “No.”

“And before that?”

“Before?”

“What were you called before?”

She shakes her head, snorts. “Easy.”

“Easy?”

“Yes. I used to say, "Easy, now," a lot. It got shortened.” She inspects her nails. “I'll thank you not to use it.”

“Indeed; the jibes that suggest themselves would be… eponymous.”

She regards me, narrow eyed for a moment, then says, “Just so.” She yawns, then rises. “And now I'm going to sleep,” she announces, stretching her arms. She stoops to gather up her boots. “I thought we might the three of us take a walk, later on; into the hills,” she says. “Maybe do some hunting, this afternoon.” She passes me by and pats me on the shoulder. “You two make yourselves at home.”

Chapter 4

I regret I am impressed with our lieutenant, if mildly. She has a sort of uncut grace, and I find her lack of beauty (as she does, not unthinking) beyond the point. I do not like people who make me notice what they fall to find impressive in themselves.