"What?" Zinc yelled.
"Olpe ... Olpe lies ahead!"
He knew exactly what lay ahead because he had seen so many ruined towns: pulped houses, streets galled and scrambled, downed trees, power plant in bits, splintered telephone poles, church sheltering a crucifix.
Ten dead lay on the road: he recognized their uniforms: he knew, as he drove past them, that some of the men had been riding motorcycles and bicycles. Their motorcycles had swastikas on their sidecars.
The sign read 7 K Olpe.
World world, went the treads.
Water dripping from a brown jar is white, he thought. Honey in a comb is thick. Goat's milk tastes strong. The desert is yellow in places, streaked, as though the mistral had ... yeah, and those fly-coated arms in the wadi...
Robinson's arms raced ahead on the autobahn, raced the tank, very white, flecked with sand...
Chuck was good at assembling an automatic rifle...
How far was it he could throw a grenade?