the Chinese soldier was saying. “Boom! Right through the eye.” Feng shook his head. “But he gets me with cleaver first. That’s how I get this one.” Feng gestured at the scar across one forearm.“So that was Almaty?” Nakamura asked.“Yeah,” Feng replied. “In ’37. You there?”Nakamura nodded, rolled up one pant leg, showed the scar below his knee.Feng peered at it and frowned. “Sniper?” he asked.Nakamura laughed. “Farmer. With a pitchfork.”“Pitchfork!” Feng laughed in return. “You see action at Astana too?”Nakamura shook his head. “Not me. But I had friends who were there.” He cocked his head. “Were you at Mashadd, in ’35? Or what about Maymana, back in ’26?”Feng’s expression turned puzzled. “In ’26… I was eight.”Nakamura frowned.“You old, man,” Feng said.Nakamura glared at the pup, then snorted and turned back to the sub’s controls. Two more days to Apyar Kyun.Two hundred miles off the coast of the southeastern United States, Zoe raged.
