The Subadar sat cross-legged on the floor of the dugout. The Germans had spent twenty-three of the last twenty-four hours lobbing shells at our trenches, and the sudden cessation made Captain Floyd nervous enough to send a scouting party into no man’s land to see what was up. The rest of us waited.
I was the only American in the division, the Subadar the only Indian. We spent a lot of time together. He would tell me comforting stories. My favorite story was Vimana, the castle in the sky where the gods lived, grinding out our fates with their millstones.