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Updated: May 29, 2025
Joe said, only half interested, "For proletarians, Party members, or what?" Max said, "Well, gee, I guess it's most proletarians, but in these little places, like, you can see almost anybody. Couple of nights ago when I took off I even seen a Russkie field marshal there. And was he drenched." Joe was at loose ends. Besides, this was a facet of Budapest life he had yet to investigate.
The cavalryman, though, was of sterner stuff. In the back of his mind, Joe was thinking, even as the other seized a bottle by its long neck and broke off the base on the edge of the table, Now this one's from the Pink Army, an old pro, and a Russkie, sure as Zen made green apples. The major came up, kicking a chair to one side.
Joe stepped forward quickly, precisely, and his right chopped down and to the side of the other's prominent jawbone. The Russkie, if Russkie he was, went suddenly glazed of eye. His doubling forward, originally but an attempt to regain balance, continued and he fell flat on his face. Joe spun around. "Come on, Max, let's get out of here. I doubt if we're welcome."
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