I got my trusty Walther P-38 in hand and listened hard. No sounds of motion, whoever took a potshot at us remained in place. I fired twice in the general direction of the rifle round. Someone took off through the underbrush. We had crossed some perimeter most likely and a lone sentry had cranked a round at the sound of marching feet. A polite warning as these things go. But we had been found out, the road was not our friend. I had followed my OPC instructions to the letter so far but I wasn’t going to march Captain Dragomir’s men into an ambush just to prove they could follow orders. I would do it my way from here on. Dragomir climbed to his feet. His men followed suit a moment later. He dusted himself off furiously, his dignity offended. I told him in a whisper that he was to take his men back to the little fort, that I would slog through the underbrush to the Romanian Army encampment with a guide of his choosing. The Captain responded with something no red-blooded American wants to hear.
