Lucky woke the next morning with a revised judgment of Berlin. The city was no longer safe.  I expected to travel east, but Lucky thought that too obvious.  She decided to go to Prague.  

After a few telephone conversations, we left the hotel for the Bahnhof.  Lucky chose to walk to the Bahnhof with me in her big bag, with a few Walthers in a secret compartment below my big-bag bed. We left the hotel without luggage.  At the Bahnhof, a young woman handed Lucky a train ticket.  Less than 5 hours later we were in Prague.

Somebody had booked us into the Alchymist Grand Hotel’s Luxury Suite.   After Lucky entered the suite, she pulled me from her bag.  She took a Walther PPQ M2 from her bag, chambered it, and then kept it in her hand as she inspected the room.

  I felt alarmed when I saw the bathroom. It was immense.  It had a glassed-in shower, but also had a huge gleaming, white bathtub in the center of it. Lucky had during our acquaintance already bathed me 10 life-times worth of baths. Why have a room with this temptation in it?  I admit the rest of the suite met my standard.

Knowing I’d be hungry from the long journey. Lucky had the hotel’s Aquarius restaurant send up a platter of breakfast meats, and she order sea bass.  She also had kulajda.  She spooned the creamy soup and shared 1/2 the poach egg that was in the soup.  Yum.  The soup is built from a roux and heavy cream.  When Lucky started cutting up my sea bass, I insisted she put it into my soup bowl.  I love creamy.  A creamy sauce on a dish is a foretaste of heaven.  

By evening, some trunks arrived for Lucky.  A shipping company had transported them.  Lucky again had a full wardrobe.  She also had other lethal surprises.  I think it was about 19.00 when a knock on the door led to the entry of two, I mean it, two Mr Cleans.  If anybody was coming for Lucky in Prague, they had better be packing heavy.  

I was watching the telly when Lucky told me that her sources told her she had cleared Berlin without Lord Caligula, the Americans, the Russians or any other major players knowing where she went. We could spend a day or two enjoying Prague.  

My enjoyment was marred when the news came on with a ridiculous speech by President Trump.  Donald was spouting his customary crazed speculations about Mexican rapists and other evildoers from the south.  He was again ignoring the real problem, namely, all the Paedophile Polar Bears with their snowback pawns invading the world from the north.  Because of Don’s neglect, the bears control Holland.

Then, too, trusting Canada was insane. Canada is collection of loafing snowback dupes of the Paedophile Polar Bears.  Between Holland and Canada, I bet any queer with a lust for boy will never find an unviolated boy bum.  The bears had ruined the boys to girls of Canada and Holland. It’s not a grand accomplishment. They’re small countries. All the same, the the Canadians and Dutch all yearned to live in idle, sensuous bondage to the bears and their perverted doings.  

Prez Don was oblivious to it all.  I began to wonder if all the payoffs to allegedly molested models, actresses, waitresses, etc. etc. were Don’s beard.  I wondered if he wasn’t a lackey of the bears.  Sure, he makes a big show of being a Lothario but how true is that?   If I recall, even Stormy Daniels claimed Don required her to dress as a boy’s sailor uniform.  That’s one of the oldest Paedophile Polar Bear ruses in the book. Settle for a trim woman dressed as a sailor when no virgin boys are available.

This all pointed my mind to an explanation of the Don boy’s tolerance of nordic fascists like Putin.  But had Don entered a secret alliance with the snowbacks?  If so, the rants on Mexicans was smoke, pure smoke.

The next day, Lucky told me we would not be long in Prague.  All I could gather wasss that Lucky planned to travel to Helsinki.  From there she claimed a desire to go to Saint Petersburg.  When I asked how we would get to Finland, Lucky purred, “Perhaps dear friends at Hua Wei will help.  They never seem to lack for jets.”  I knew Lucky had no desire to make her journeys easy to track. I would not be surprised if somewhere between Prague and Helsinki, we’d do a switcheroo to a different jet.  

I had suspicions about our ultimate destination, but kept them to myself.  Instead, I telephoned Fielding when I had a chance. 

When I did call, I could tell she was watching “The Man Who Shot Liberty Valence,” a great favourite of hers.  You can blame mike for that. She asked me to hold in order to put the movie on hold. I then asked my question about my destination.  She snarled my stupidity had interrupted a confrontation between Valence and John Wayne over a steak.

Being forgiving, she answered, “I always must do the heavy thinking for you, Crocky.  Everybody knows Lord Caligula and that group of killers from Munitions Galore is heading to Arkhangelsk.  Do you imagine Lucky will rely on Cliggy to prevent an escalation in Russia?  You’re headed north to guard China’s interests.  Trust me, Lucy will want some dead Lithuanians lying about for the Russians to find.  And I think there is a change of a major push from the menace to the north.  The successes in Canada and Holland hae emboldened the Paedophile Polar Bears.  Watch out.  The ruckus those Lithuanian madmen are preparing may be the cover the bears and their lackeys need for their big push.”

I looked sceptical, but Fielding kept going. “How are those Paedophile Bears going to settle from boy meat from Canada and Holland alone?  They’re drunk on it.  They want to extend their supply of boys.  Russia is perfect. Plus, if a win in Russia does what the bigwig bears figure it will, they can seize the the all the Benelux countries whilst seizing Germany as well. All that fresh, scrumptious, white boy flesh.  The bears will settle for nothing less.  They’ll only stop when they start getting stocks of boys to hairy to be palatable.”  

More and more I feared a coming war.  But then Lucky came in.   She snatched me and placed me in a bag with her weapons.  We ventured into Prague where we entered the Vinohradsky Pivovar.  As we entered, Lucky told me she had instructions to go there.  I had already guessed that.  It was not the type of joint Lucky frequents; however, it was exactly that type of dive Behemoth frequents.

To my total shock, once Lucky pulled me from her bag, I found myself sitting with Lucky, Behemoth, and, most astonishing of all, Walt.  

I had last seen Walt when he took me to chez mike and Roberta after I was grievously wounded during the Battle of Martinez Creek.  Walt was among the heroes.  He established his credentials as a suprme killer of snowbacks that day.  You may recall that Fielding and Bart had stood fast in their runs up from the creek.  Body after body piled up around them as they held their ground against terrible odds. 

Walt didn’t fight that way.  Instead, he rallied his troops with Shakespeare’s promise that a happy few of them could forge the battle bonds that would link them forever as that happy few who could show their scars from the Battle of Martinez Creek to prove themselves as one of that Band of Brothers. 

As the snowbacks hooted their battle cries, Walt had pulled his cats back to a rally point. From there he launched an onslaught against the Northern foe of unprecedented fury. Not all his band kitty brothers made it to the end.  Snowball fell whilst blinding a badger. Samantha died by jumping into the creek to claw at the eyes of two bears. They raked at her with relentless claws. Sam never yielded. All three of them disappeared beneath the swirling, blood-stained waters.  Roscoe and Ralph died defending their ground to the end against an attack on their flank. Theeir ferocity purchased the delay of the enemy that allowed Walt to surround murderering snowbacks, build a blaze, and then burn hoards of northern bastards alive. 

At the creek’s edge, under the bridge where Woodland Avenue crosses the creek. Ralph and June died protecting their kittens, detonating a bomb that killed the unsheltered for a 30 foot radius.  The kittens survived. During the battle, countless cats giving gave their last measure of devotion to send the invaders scurrying back north.  

One day I expect a kitty Homer to memorialise them all.  

What I can say now is that the day I saw Walt again, I showered him with grateful kisses for saving me as his steadfast valour also brought the Northern Peril to heel at the Battle of Martinez Creek.   When Walt left the field of battle victorious, he was covered with gore and offal from head to toe. He above all of us knew from the battle’s start he would leave the field victorious or, like a true Spartan, on his shield. When the bears demanded surrender, Walt gave the warrior’s reply, “μολὼν λαβέ.”

Walt took my teary adulation all in stride.  He was lapping at a Czech Vinhdraska 12 beer, as Behemoth consumed a steady stream of Belvedere Vodka.   Lucky had the decency to order me a roasted pork tenderloin with mushroom sauce and gorgonzola.  It came with potatoes that Lucky ate. 

Of course she made a show when she pulled out her Spyderco Police–she kept it sharper than a razor–to slice paper thin sheets of pork for me.  Her order a glass of Trebbiano surprised me.  Lucky isn’t one to drink like an Irishman.  She once complained to me that drink led to picking worthless men.  

Behemoth didn’t waste time.  He told Lucky that by now she must have heard she must cancel her travel plans.  

“I heard,” volunteered Lucky.

Behemoth took another gulp of vodka, lit one of his Sherman Turkish Oval, then told her, “You’ll be going with us.  I think you’re mother told you.”  When Lucky said nothing Behemoth asked her, “Did you mother tell you or not?  You’ll answer me or” as he handed her his phone, “you can answer to her.”  

Lucky got her voice back.  “She told me, Behemoth.”

“Good.  It’s settled.  I like the company of an obedient girl.” At that, I noticed Lucky’s right nostril show a slight flare.  The inattentive would otherwise have had no clue to the intensity of her feelings.

The encounter blew my mind.  When I first met Behemoth with Lucky during the troubles in Somalia, I’d have never guessed they knew each other well.  Perhaps I was not paying attention.  After all,, they left me for dead.