The moment came when one of the Americans at the next table pulled out a tourist map, looked around to orientate it and placed it on the table. “Well, we’re obviously in Freedom Square,” said one of the group, with a marked Texan accent.

It was what Vronsky had been waiting for. “Where are you heading?” he asked, in faultless, American-accented English.

Surprised, the American turned and looked at him. “Hey, you speak pretty good English . . . you ever been to the States?”

“Sure.” Vronsky smiled. “I was at the University of Texas in San Antonio for a couple of years.”

“You don’t say . . . that’s where I’m from!” was the delighted response from the American.

“Hey, you don’t say. Is the River Walk still the place for a beer?”

“Sure . . . the best.”

“We’d better celebrate then. I can’t offer you an Alamo, but let me buy you one of our local beers. Have you ever tried a white beer? Perfect on a sunny evening.”

“Well . . .” the American hesitated. “I guess one won’t do any harm. By the way, I’m Scott Trapnell.”

“Anatoly Nikolayevich Vronsky,” he responded and they shook hands. “I lecture in English at the University of Kharkiv. What are you guys doing here?”

“Great to meet you, Anatoly,” enthused the friendly American. “We’re US military. 1st Battalion, 15th Field Artillery, US Army. Here to train your army in how to use the AN/TPQ-36 weapon-locating radar. That’s the mobile radar system our government has given your guys to help track incoming artillery and rocket fire. I’m Master Sergeant Scott Trapnell and these guys are my training team.”

“You don’t say, Scott. That’s amazing. We owe you guys so much! Without you here, well . . .” Vronsky’s voice trailed off. Both men knew that it was only the presence of the American trainers that was stopping Russia from overrunning this part of pro-Western Ukraine.

“So, where are you based?” Allegiances confirmed, Vronsky picked up the conversation again.

“We’ve been out at Chaguyev training camp, east of Kharkiv, for the past couple of months . . . We’re in town today for some R and R.”

“I suspect you need it,” Vronsky commiserated. “Being stuck out there must be boring and uncomfortable.”

“Well, you know what it’s like.” Trapnell caught himself, not wanting to complain in front of a friendly local, but Vronsky was right. That was pretty much all they did in private: complain at the conditions and count the days till they got back Stateside.

“I do. I did military service too and those old Soviet barracks were dumps.”