“We’ve got to leave soon. The first guys are already in the square. Now don’t laugh!”

I fought hard. The fluffy chintz dress wasn’t really him. Nor had shaving his hairy legs made much of an improvement. But the foam-stuffed bra helped, as did the wig. From a distance, sure, but close up the effect was a little disconcerting.

“I think a touch of lipstick is needed.”

“Yeah! Well let’s see how great you look. Get changing!” I did. .The cute little pleated skirt was green so went nicely with my redhair.“l looked into the mirror and sighed. “Jim—you never looked better.”

We parted, thanking our hosts again for their hospitality. Hoping that we would meet again—after the war. Stimer, as stout a biker as he was a hiker, would be our guide. He set off at a good clip and we girls had to push hard to keep up.

Mark Forer Square was a scene of gay abandon. Or maybe that is not the right word. Better, perhaps, to say that everyone had been dragged there. As we pedaled up the first thing we saw was the Bellegarrique Girls’ Cycle Club. Just like on television, but infinitely more attractive in the flesh. Flesh—some very strange flesh. Because beyond the girls were other girls. Lantern of jaw, thick of thigh, scowling of mien. Our escaping draftees. Some of them hadn’t been on a bike in years and were wobbling about the square, occasionally falling in a flurry of skirts and guttural oaths.

“Attention!” I shouted, then again until there was a modicum of silence. “Firstly, knock off the cursing. These kind people are risking their lives to help you deserters,

se be nice to them. Secondly—if anyone falls offwhen we go past the roadblock we all have had it. Some threewheelers are on the way, plus some bicycles built for two. Sort yourselves out and mount up. We are on schedule.”

“Where are we going?” one of them called out.

“You’ll be told when you get there. Now timing is important. When I say go—we go. And anyone left behind is in the cagal. And cursing is a privilege of rank,” I added at their cries of protest. “I’m in charge so I’ll curse for all of us until we get clear. Mount up.”

I led the deserter-girls around the square two or three times until they closed up and got it together. Only then did I signal the real girls’ club to go into action. They were beautiful. With a swoop they came down upon us, breaking into two ranks that swept by on both sides, closed up around us. The leader carried the flag and we followed her with passion. Down the road, smoothly and swiftly.

Toward the roadblock at the junction ahead.

Then around the corner, cutting in front of us girls,

came the Veterans’ Cycle Club. Every head gray, or if not gray as bald as a billiard ball. Knotty gnarled legs pumped, ancient tickers ticked. Ahead of us they swooped—and on to the barriers that had been set up across the road. Some went around them, others dismounted and pulled them aside. The sergeants and officers shouted back, struggled feebly, but an opening appeared. Just as we did. And just wide enough to get through.

Some of our outriding girls peeled off and helped the ancients make the opening wider. Some of them laughed and kissed the officers. Confusion reigned—and through the confusion, and the opening in the barrier, I led my girls. Silent and sweating and pumping for all they were worth. Through the barrier and down the road and around the bend.

“Keep going!” I shouted hoarsely. “We’re not out of the cagal yet. No one stops until we get to the woods. Go! Go! Last one there is a cagal-kopfl”

We went. Pedaling and cursing and sweating and wobbling—but we went. Down the road and into the forest, off into the lanes to skid and fall and crash and roll;

on the soft green grass.

“Can we not—do that again!” Morton gasped, lying on his back and moaning.

“I don’t know, Mort, I thought it was kind of fun. You ought to get more exercise.”

He sat up and looked where I was looking, and stopped m moaning. The real girls’ club had arrived, a symphony oi lovely flesh and flowing movements, tossed hair, flashing eyes. And picnic baskets.

When the first beer was held high a ragged cheer broke out. The army was only a bad memory; freedom was bliss. This was the first day of the rest of their new lives and if it stayed like this—why paradise was here around us.

I joined in the revelry but my heart wasn’t really in it, my smile false. Through some native perversion, an inability to enjoy pure happiness, all I could think of was Zennor and what repulsive,tricks he would be up to when he discovered that about half of his army had vanished for good.

There were groans and cries of protest when I ordered my bevy of enchanting beauties to their feet.

“Knock it offl” I commanded sternly. “We’re still on schedule and if you want to get out of this alive you will obey orders. When I say frog you will jump.” I waited until the chorus of croaking, and other froghke imitations, had died down before I spoke again.

“We have about another half hour of riding to go. And before you groan remember that these sweet young girls, who have risked their lives to save us, must ride with us—then circle all the way back to the city by another road. And lest we forget, let’s hear it for the girls!” The chorus of yells, thanks, cheers—and not a few kisses rolled out. I had to whistle for attention before it died down.

“Here is the drill. We are now going to go to a factory that has a railroad siding. A freight train from the north will be arriving when we do. We board and we’re away. There will be no stops until we are far from the city. Now—mount up! Forward—H.o-o!”

There was silence during the ride, because my gallant bikers were feeling the strain. There was some panic when a chopper came swooping up, but I ordered male heads down—girls to wave and smile. It worked fine and there were no more alarms after this. As we rounded the last bend to approach the kakalaka factory we heard the wail of the train’s horn. The line of freight cars was just clattering into the siding when we appeared.

“Open the doors!” I ordered. “Get in before another chopper shows up. Take your bikes—they’ll be debited from your future accounts—wave bye-bye and blow lasses because we are off in one minute.”

I turned to thank Neebe, the gorgeous, brown-limbed redhead who was president of the cycling club, but she was just passing on the club flag to her second-in-command. Then she wheeled her bik"e toward me, smiling a smile that melted my bike handles.

“May I be very forward, ofiworlder James diGriz, and force my presence upon you? You have but to say no and I will go.”

“Glug …I”

“I assume that means yes.” She entered the freight car, propped her bicycle against mine, and sat down daintily upon a bale of hay. “You are very kind. Up until today I have been attending school here in Bellegarrique but now, like everyone else, I am leaving. My home is on a farm in the north in a hamlet named Ling. I have talked with my father and mother,, brothers and sisters, and grandmother, and they would all be honored if you would stay with us for as long as you wished.”

I knew that Morton had been listening because his face went completely green and he began to pout. “I would be honored, honored. What a wonderful idea!” She smiled, then her expression changed to one of shock when she saw Morton’s face. “Is your friend ill?’

“No.” I sighed with generosity. “It is just that he has no place to go and is hoping that you will invite him too.”

“Of course!”

The green tint vanished instantly and he smiled sheepishly. “I accept with gratitude. But just for a short time. Until I can get in touch with a friend of mine named Sharia.”

“Oh, you do remember her,” I said sweetly, and he glared at me as soon as Neebe had turned away.