Breaking my pledge already, Lodz thought with a guilty sigh. I'm sorry, Bruno.

Only the day before, he'd made an impulsive vow never to let the bear out of his sight again. And here he was, making a quick trip into the village while the carnival packed up to move from its nearby location. But Bruno's cage had been reinforced; he couldn't break out now. And Lodz's mission, he told himself, was meant to protect both of them. Scudder hadn't asked him to return that rifle, so he was on his way to buy a supply of bullets.

If I can find a store open. Looks like the village may decamp before the carnival does.

German forces had surrounded the place, then retreated; but they were rumored to be advancing again, in greater numbers. Most local residents had apparently decided to evacuate. A handful of Russian and Canadian soldiers were trying to help them do it in an orderly way.

It made sense. With modern communications, people couldn't be kept in ignorance of the big picture. Everyone knew the Russian Army was being routed. The Allies had dispatched a few Canadian units in hopes of keeping Russia from pulling out of the war. But they couldn't spare enough troops from the Western front to make a real difference.

As he headed for a shop he'd seen on his one previous trip into town, Lodz spotted two soldiers on the other side of the main square, absorbed in conversation. What drew his attention was the fact that they wore different armies' uniforms. One was Russian, the other Canadian--

Not just any Canadian. It was his friend Scudder!

Delighted to see him, Lodz changed course and headed across the square. He'd been half in shock the day before, and he felt he hadn't thanked Scudder properly for what he'd done. Not that any thank-you could be adequate...Scudder had put his life on the line, risked being killed by either the berserk bear or his fellow Canadians, all for the sake of a dumb animal and a "carnie" he'd just met.

I wonder if the Russian is the one who was in the trench with him? I hope so. I'd like to make sure he's all right, and apologize for Bruno's having given him such a scare.

He didn't call out to the men, didn't want to interrupt their conversation until he got close to them and could catch Scudder's eye.

That was a mistake.

They were too engrossed in whatever they were talking about to notice anything else. But as Lodz approached them, he glimpsed movement in an unlikely place: on a nearby roof.

He looked up, and froze in horror. A man in a German uniform was targeting those oblivious soldiers. He was about to throw something.

Lodz yelled a warning. Or tried to. Later, he wouldn't remember exactly what he had yelled--only that he'd lapsed into his native Polish, which neither the Canadian nor the Russian was likely to understand. Instead of ducking for cover, they turned to look blankly at him.

Lodz flashed back on Scudder's flinging himself between an aroused bear and a possible hail of bullets. We carnies have to stick together...

He made a flying leap, took Scudder down and sprawled on top of him.

It seemed something should have happened by then, but it hadn't. He made the further mistake of looking up again.

And his world exploded.
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Russian field hospital, three days later.

Lodz had known he was blind even before the brief removal of the bandages. The pain couldn't be this bad if the damage wasn't serious.

The medics kept trying to cheer him by stressing that his other wounds would heal completely. When they walked away, all he remembered was that they hadn't said anything hopeful about his eyes.

He knew he'd succeeded in protecting Scudder from serious injury; that was all anyone had been able to tell him about the consequences of the grenade attack. He wished now that he was the heroic sort, who'd have absolutely no regrets about having sacrificed himself to save someone else. But the truth was that he didn't know whether or not he regretted it. Right now he couldn't think of anything beyond the pain. And he suspected that when it let up, he wouldn't be able to think beyond his terror of blindness.

God, I don't even know whether it's day or night. The noise was constant. Patients moaned and screamed, frustrated medics snapped at each other, priests droned prayers over the dying.

"Lodz?" a voice asked tentatively. "Are you awake?"

Speaking English...

He replied in the same language, "Yes."

A hand gripped his. "Lodz, it's me, Scudder. I'm sorry I couldn't get here sooner--I've been searching for you ever since I came to. I'm sorry about everything! I'm so grateful...I'm still stunned by what you did."

Lodz forced himself to say the appropriate thing. "I took the same kind of risk for you that you'd taken for Bruno and me. It just turned out differently. What's the saying in English, 'those are the breaks'?"

"You took a much bigger risk," Scudder insisted. "I'll never forget it. How are you doing? What are the doctors saying?"

Meaning, will I be able to see when the bandages come off?

Lodz debated lying, but he felt too miserable to keep the truth to himself in order to spare Scudder. "I'm going to be permanently blind."

Scudder squeezed his hand. "Actually, I knew. I wasn't sure they'd told you."

Lodz sighed. "From the sound of it, there's so much horror around here that medics can't tell comforting lies. If they didn't stick to the truth, they wouldn't be able to remember what they'd told anyone." He gasped at a sudden stab of pain and found himself clutching at Scudder, who held him tightly. When he'd caught his breath he said, "I'm worried about Bruno--"

"There's no need to worry. He's being boarded in a zoo temporarily. They'll take good care of him till you're able to work again."

Right. That's a joke.

To get his mind off the unlikelihood of it, Lodz asked, "What happened to the Russian who was with you? Was he the same one Bruno attacked?"

"Yes, the same one," Scudder said unhappily. "He got the worst of that grenade--he's dead. Both his legs and an arm were blown off, and he bled to death before help could reach him. I'd been knocked out--minor concussion--and didn't actually see it, but I keep having nightmares about it."

Lodz shuddered. "What about the German? Was he captured?"

"No. You called him a German--are you sure of that? Was he in uniform?"

"Yes."

"Then if he had been caught, he would have qualified for POW status. His assignment was probably to try to take out some Allied soldiers, but mostly to scare the villagers so they'd get out of there faster. He didn't intend to harm any civilians."

"I suppose not."

And he wouldn't have, if I hadn't decided to play hero.

Not a role for which I'm suited.

Scudder lowered his voice. "Lodz, I didn't come just to express sympathy and say 'thank you.' There's a matter I can't discuss here, but it's very important that I see you when you get out of the hospital."

"I don't understand--" But as he spoke, Lodz realized he almost certainly did understand.

He means to offer me some kind of charity. Who knows, maybe he comes from a wealthy family! And he can't say it here for fear of being overheard and having a half-dozen other men beg for help. English is widely understood.

I suppose I'll accept what he gives me. But what I'd welcome most at this point is a bullet through the brain.

"I can't explain now," Scudder said urgently, "but it's crucial that we meet again. Here's what I want you to do..." He named a residential hotel in a nearby city, making Lodz promise to go there on his discharge from the hospital. "I'll arrange to be informed when you check in, and I'll take care of the hotel bill. I'll be there within a week or so, if I have to desert to do it."

"All right." Lodz managed a weak smile. "But don't desert! I'll wait as long as necessary."

"That's good." Scudder squeezed his hand again. "I'm leaving now--have to get back to my outfit. But this isn't over. Try to keep your spirits up. And thank you, my friend!"