Carter
It sure would be nice if people believed me once in a while. Like when I told them I was a Boy Scout, or that Grandpa fought with Sitting Bull. I know stuff.
For one thing, I can always smell a patrol coming. We don't use our sense of smell enough, but Grandpa taught me to check the wind, like a deer or a bear. Pay attention and you can notice stuff too.
Like, Kraut soldiers reek of sauerkraut after lunchtime.
And they smell of cigarettes all day, like Newkirk. Their Turkish Regie cigarettes stink and turn their fingers orange.
XXX
I told the guys anyone can learn to walk silently. I don't mean quietly. I mean making no noise at all.
Newkirk's got a head start, because he's … well, you know. He's got certain skills. He's like a cat.
You'd think LeBeau's size would help him, noise-wise. But he's real stubborn. He laughed when I showed him how to take small steps and move toe to heel. That way, your toes will feel a twig under the leaves before you put your heel down, and you can adjust before it makes a sound. This is kid stuff to Lakotas.
Newkirk
Actually, I do listen to Carter.
You don't learn on London streets how to pick the right tree to climb. Carter taught me that.
Spruce trees are everywhere in Krautland, but he says if you climb one you'll get poked all the way up, and you'll be a sticky mess of sap when you climb down.
Pine trees? A bit better but not much.
Steer clear of the larch, he says. They're all needles.
Beech trees? Common but sparse. Not enough foliage to hide in.
Nope, it's a sturdy oak for Carter and me, or a cedar, in a pinch.
XXX
It was a bit reckless of me to bolt off into the woods, but I knew I could scamper up that oak tree and not get caught.
Soldiers on patrol are like coppers. They have a tendency to search horizontally. They never look up or down.
My brothers taught me that when someone gives chase, you've got to keep to the shadows. If you're moving, stay low. Then stop moving at your first opportunity and just listen.
'Course, they gave me plenty of practice. I spent years running from them bastards. I'm used to rooftops, but treetops do smell sweeter.