Excerpt from Cities of Refuge: A Novel

Three soldiers were talking - between long silences behind one of the baggage wagons of an army in retreat. They were Russians. Behind them and in front were men like themselves, marching out of step, and other wagons, and guns, and ambulances, and farm carts with wounded men lying in the straw. There was the shuf¿e of tired feet, a jingle of harness, a creaking Of wheels, the shrill squeak Of unoiled axles. In the soft air Of the Crimea was the sharp sour smell of thousands Of unwashed bodies and sweaty horses. It was the stench Of a broken army.

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