The headlights pulled off the road. Joe wanted to look at Carter but didn't want to give him the
satisfaction.
A large truck and two SUV's parked, and men got out of the truck and started pulling out tables
and coolers. They summoned the men from the bus and started lining them up. Two fat men greeted
the ex-prisoners with warm smiles. One of them handed out a red cup to each and the other poured
beer from a pitcher into it while others set up the mobile stoves.
"I told you there'd be food," Carter said.
*
*
*
They ate sausages and bread, cheese and apples and tarts, all fresh, all from farms, and they
had some more beer and the silence among them melted away and they made small jokes about the
food in the camps and they exchanged bits of news about what was going on in the world. Gradually as
those in captivity longest and shortest met in the middle, a clear picture of the collapse of the United
States of America into the War of the Six Nations emerged, and the lines on the map as they stood a
few short years ago were connected with how they began. They talked about these events over their
beers and sausages like amateur historians dispassionately organizing facts distant from their lives.
And then, one by one, they went into the tent for processing.
They asked the questions while a team of doctors examined him for signs of lice, lesions,
scurvy, or anything else. They did not find anything but slight malnourishment and some minor injuries,
including a cracked tooth that had been partially pulled. Name. DOB. Home. Profession before the war.
Rank and serial number. Unit. Place of capture. The tone was calm and friendly, with none of the
menace or threat of punishment that accompanied the same chat with the Director. Joe got the sense