"Back again, I see. I figured you would want to hear more for your little writing project. Well, come in, come in. You'll catch your death out there in the cold."
I thanked Captain Svenson and stepped inside the house. It was warm and cozy, and a fire was going. A pot of stew was cooking over the fire, and Captain Svenson's collie was curled up by the hearth.
"You look chilled to the bone, boy. Would you like a cup of coffee? It's fresh brewed."
I nodded and thanked the good Captain once again, then removed by notebook out of my waterproof pouch. I took out my lucky pen as well and chewed on the end of it for a few seconds.
The Captain quickly returned with the coffee and other assortments on a silver tray. I found it odd that a former tank commander would be so polite to someone he barely knew. I questioned him about it after my coffee had been fixed to my liking: black with two lumps of sugar.
"Well lad, after the war my wife, God rest her soul, broke me of the military mumbo jumbo. No longer was I an officer and a commander, I simply became my wife's errand boy."
He laughed at the memory, but I could see a twinge of regret in his eye. I quickly did what I do best: I asked questions.
"Mr. Svenson-"
"There's no reason to be so formal, lad. We're friends now, so you can call me Reginald."
I smiled and continued.
"Reginald, when was the next time you saw Mobius one in action?"
Reginald rubbed his leg absentmindedly, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
"If you don't want to, Reginald, I can understand…"
No lad, it's fine. Just some bad memories. Just let me get out a cigar. Let's see now… Ahh, yes, Operation Bunker Shot…