Naemanson, an Uzi submachine gun in each hand, strode through the compound. The enemy poured fire on him from doors and windows but he casually picked them off one by one or in droves. Finally the dust and smoke parted as he defeated the renegade chieftain. The women were free. They crowded around him to congratulate and thank him, pressing up against him to....

Naemanson woke up. Hours must have passed and Davinia had not returned. The compound had once again settled down. Naemanson got to his feet, picked up his psaltery case and walked down to the end of the alley in which he hid. The parachute strings dragged behind him. He peered out to see the results of the night time activities. A wall had collapsed and the green stains around the fire seemed to indicate that something caustic had been splashed liberally around. His stomach grumbled.

His parachute was draped over one wall and he could hear sounds coming out from under it. Someone, no, two someones were in there and they were either in pain or having a very good time. He chose not to look.

There was no movement that he could see though he assumed someone was keeping watch. He frowned. This was certainly nothing like what the travel agent had promised. His frown deepened. What was it about that travel agent?

He shrugged off the thought. He had been promised beautiful valleys, majestic mountains, and lovely willing young women. He was fairly certain there had been no mention of the machine guns and screaming confusion he had seen that night. What to do?

As he saw it he could continue to hide or he could find the local office of that travel agency and lodge a firm complaint. From where he stood there was only one door that looked official. Taking a deep breath he stepped out of the alley...