“I checked out the farmers’ market,” Roland lied. “I’ll tell you what some, uh, some good freakin’ cucumbers up in there. That’s where I was. Cucumbers.”

Sasha’s odd look deepened. Manny brought a hand up to the bridge of his nose and kneaded his brow in frustration.

“We should head back to the buses. I’ll see you tomorrow Sasha, yes?”

“Yes, of course!” Sasha replied with a genuine smile.

If this was a sane world, the two of them might… Roland shook his head. This was the Heavenly Kingdom, they were surrounded by extremist militants and Sasha probably wasn’t even allowed to look at condoms. Also, she’s one of those militants, Roland reminded himself.

He let the kids say their goodbyes and then walked back to the bus with Manny. The kid seemed unsettled.

“I feel like I’m making a real dumb decision,” he said.

“What?” Roland asked.

“Talking with that girl,” Manny shrugged. “She’s told me all she knows about those prisoners already. But we’re supposed to meet at the one shitty cafe in this town tomorrow. I know it’s stupid. But I kinda wanna make that meeting.”

“Why’s it stupid?” Roland asked. They had to drop their voices a little as they drew closer to the line for the buses.

“Because,” Manny said, “we’re not going to be here long. Sasha confirmed our people are in the jail. And you scouted it out today, right?”

“Yep.”

“So we’re confirmed twice over. It’s time to do this thing and get out. I don’t have time to eat shitty food with a pretty girl.”

Roland turned and fixed his eyes on Manny’s. He leaned in, until their noses were almost touching. And then he poked the boy’s chest with his index finger, for emphasis, while he spoke.

“Emmanuel Sanchez, listen to me: there is always time to eat shitty food with a pretty girl. Fuck the war, fuck what’s a ‘good idea.’ Go eat some garbage and stare into her eyes. Do something human in this inhuman place. Late night will be a better time for the rescue anyway.”

Manny was silent for several long seconds. Then he said, “OK.”

The next day started with more PT, as usual. Then it rolled right into an extra-long trip to the firing range and three more hours of close assault drills. Roland found himself disgusted by the Kingdom’s tactics. Their go-to was to dump heavy artillery on any embedded resistance. No heed was paid to the civilian cost. They were fine having untrained kids lob mortars into crowded neighborhoods.

“The Lord will recognize his own,” Martyr Carruthers said, over and over again.