BTBF3: Overland Reminiscence

"So what did you do for Church and country, Hern Valman?" Luka asked, mockingly using the old honorific. They'd walked in relative silence for several hours and stopped for a look at the moldy bread.

"Lost, same as you, dummy." Valman peeled back the crust but the mold ran in deep veins. He sank a finger into a vein, tore out a hunk, and tossed it to Luka.

"Na, I carried a hand cannon at first, preferred the spear, and ended up at the rear end of the cannons raining hell from relative safety." Valman narrowed his eyes and flicked some mold away. "An' I'm maybe five years older'n you, so stuff Hern."

"Sure, sure." Luka tossed the bread back and inspected his own chunk. "I drove a crawler. Well, more like forty of em. Kept gettin knocked out."

Valman grunted. "So, not a great driver."

Luka shrugged, nonplussed. "Who was? At least I lived."