Zinda didn't patrol the city in the same way Helena did. She had her spots that she visited, including the local VFW and American Legion to see the remaining troops, listened to the gossip making the rounds in all the dark places, and kept herself pretty much in a couple of different loops.
Her favorite part of the loop was a little flyboy bar near the National Guard strip. She'd been dropping in for so long that they'd stopped hitting on her and instead treated her like one of the guys. Despite her smiles, bawdy jokes and brash way of expressing herself, she had the air of a pilot who'd seen serious combat.
So when she appeared one evening looking tired and a missed streak of grease across her upper arm, a beer was automatically set on a paper napkin in front of her and a fresh bowl of pretzels slid in her direction. No questions asked.
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