Josef looked down at his uniform. He suddenly felt constricted in his khaki cloth with its British decorations and insignia, trapped in someone else’s skin. He’d worn the uniform with pride for many years; now he felt like he was in disguise. His foot searched for the brake, and the jeep skidded to a stop on the side of the road. The red-orange sun was sinking into the Mediterranean. Sentimental kitsch, he thought angrily. He fished the pack of cigarettes from his chest pocket, lit up a Dunhill, and inhaled deeply.
