“Look at that!”  Deloris Squirrel stepped carefully out the “Window” of the the archaeological site.  Above them, dozens and dozens of little firework organisms floated effortlessly, and seemingly aimlessly above and all around the little group.
        “Don’t touch them or let them touch you!”  Nebraska said hastily. 
        “They don’t seem aggressive, or like they’re after us.”  Alise said.
        “They’re . . . they’re amazing!”  Maurice said.
        “It looks like we’re back in our own reality,” Mr. Rabbit commented, stepping out into the sunshine.  He wove his way through the miasma of firework organisms to the far side of the clearing.  “Our camp is here!”  He shouted, and then disappeared into the brush.  Several of the firework organisms drifted lazily after him.
        “Okay, if what Mr. Rabbit says is true, then we have found a stable way to traverse one reality to another,” the Gray Squirrel said thoughtfully.  “What we need now, is knowledge of where Crimson Hen ended up.  I would guess, and it is just a guess, that she ended up in your reality.”  He gestured to Maurice.
        “Yes, it’s certainly possible,” said Nebraska Rooster, but how do we confirm it?”
        “Guys?”  Deloris Squirrel said.
        “Yes, that’s the question.  How do we confirm where Crimson went without following in her path by touching one of the firework organisms.”
        “Guys?”  Deloris Squirrel said, again.
        “But that’s just the problem,” said Nebraska Rooster, “we can’t do any kind of test, because the moment we touch one of these things, we’ll be zapped away.”
        “GUYS!” Deloris Squirrel came over to where Nebraska Rooster and the Gray squirrel were deep in conversation.  She smacked each of them across the face.  Hard.  “Listen, you two!  Something is happening at the Window.”
        “What?” said the Gray Squirrel.
        “What?” said Nebraska Rooster.
        “Don’t ‘what’ me, come over and look!”  Deloris Squirrel grabbed them and bodily dragged them over to the Window.
        “Whoa,” said Nebraska Rooster.
        “Not good,” said the Gray Squirrel.
        “What are you all gawking at?” said Mr. Rabbit, coming up behind them. 
        “Yeah, what’s going on?”  Alise and Maurice had been absentmindedly watching the firework organisms, but came over when they hear Deloris Squirrel yelling.
        “Look!” Deloris Squirrel said.  “The glyphs on the wall, they’re shifting.”
        It was easy to see.  The carved lines were writhing and squirming on the wall.  Then, all of a sudden a little group of the glyphs seemed to lock into place, and then started to glow.  The group was speechless as they watched the glowing glyphs pulse and shimmer, and then sort of ‘Pop!’ off the wall, and become one of the firework organisms.  Alise had to duck to keep from running into it.
        “Well, at least we know where the little glowy things come from,” observed Maurice.
        “Yes, but look what happened after that thing popped off the wall,” said Deloris Squirrel, pointing down at the Window.
        “Gads,” exclaimed Nebraska Rooster, “you’re right!”  The little opening flushed fuzzy and then a little of the gap at the bottom became solid, closing off the Window by about a quarter inch.
        “The opening does seem smaller,” said Nebraska Rooster. 
        “This is not good,” said Mr. Rabbit without emotion.
        “Not good?!  This is terrible!” said Deloris Squirrel.  “This means that if Crimson is somehow in Maurice and Alise’s universe, then we have a very short time to find her and bring her back before this Window closes up altogether.”“Not necessarily,” said Mr. Rabbit. We could always use the same device we used to open it in the first place to open it farther again.”
        “Good thinking,” said the Gray Squirrel.  “I have a plan.”  Everyone leaned in to listen, like a huddle on a sports field.  The glowing firework organisms pulsed expectantly above them.  “So, here it is.  Mr. Rabbit, you stay here with . . . uh . . .” he paused, sure that someone should stay with, but unsure who the best candidate was.
        “I’ll stay,” said Maurice.
        “Okay,” said the Gray Squirrel, “you stay here with Maurice and set up your device.  Try to get the Window to stay open.”  He paused and pointed a paw at Deloris Squirrel.  “You’re going to lead a team . . . uh,”  he paused again.
        “I’ll go,” said Alise.
        “Me too, said Nebraska.
        “Okay, you go back through the tunnels to Alise and the rest’s universe.  You’re going to try to find any kind of evidence that Crimson has popped up in that Universe.  If she’s there, you’ll work with the rest of the team to get her to Lithuania and to the archaeological site.  If she’s in that Universe somewhere, no doubt she’ll be trying to get there anyhow.”
        “What will you be doing?”  asked Deloris Squirrel, taking his paw in hers in a gentle gesture.
        “I’m going to try to figure out what is causing the glyphs to become firework organisms, and if that’s reversible at all,” he said matter-of-factly.
        Deloris Squirrel nodded, then pulled him into a hug.  “Be careful!” she said, looking him in the eye.
        “You too,” he said, returning her steady gaze.  “Be quick!”  They gaped as another glyph began to glow and pulled off the wall, and, they all noticed, the Window became fractionally smaller.

        “Private Chuck-Bob!”
        “Yessir!  Right here sir.”
        “Private Chuck-Bob, we’ve got them.”
        “Sir?”
        “The chicken and its accomplices.  We’ve got them.”
        “Sir?  How do you figure sir?”
        “I’ve just been on the phone with my contacts back at HQ, private Chuck-Bob.  They got a ping this afternoon.”
        “A ping?  Sir?”
        “A hit.  Private-Chuck Bob.  A hit.”
        “Ah, a hit.  Uh, what kind of hit, sir?”
        “The kind that means we’ve got them, Private Chuck-Bob.”
        “Right, we’ve got them.  Sir.  Uh, sir?  If we’ve got them, where are they sir?”
        “Don’t ask questions!  Private Chuck-Bob, do you realize how important this might be?”
        “Sir!  Yessir!  I understand, sir.  No questions.  Sir.”
        “Pull the Jeep around, Private Chuck-Bob.”
        “Yessir!  Uh, sir.  Where are we going?  Sir?”
        “I’ll tell you on the way, Private Chuck-Bob.  Just get the Jeep.”
        “Yessir.”
        “Now we’ll finally have that chicken.  Now the world will be safe again.  Now HQ will recognize my true genius as a military leader . . . ah, Private Chuck-Bob, that was quick.  Well done, Private Chuck-Bob.”
        “Thank you sir.  Hop in, sir.”
        “Colonels don’t ‘hop in’ Private Chuck-Bob, we enter vehicles with dignified grace.  Like so.”
        “Wow, sir, that was dignified.  And graceful, sir.  So.  Sir?  Where are we headed.”
        “To the Baltimore Shipping Port, Private Chuck-Bob.”
        “Roger that . . . uh if I may, sir?”
        “You may, Private Chuck-Bob.  You may.”
        “Thank you sir, but why are we going there, sir?”
        “Because, Private Chuck-Bob, that’s where the ping came from.”
        “Ping.  Right, sir.  The ping.  How do you know it’s real?  Sir?”
        “Well, I was hoping you’d ask that – there!  Take that exit!  That was close, Private Chuck-Bob, we almost ended up in Washington.”
        “Sir?”
        “Ah, yes, where was I?  The ping.  The ping came from a private security guard at the Port.  He claims to have stopped a young man and a young woman.”
        “But we’re looking for a  young man and a chicken.  Sir.”
        “Correct!  Private Chuck-Bob.  Correct.  But this young woman was carrying a bowling ball case!”
        “Sir?  I’m not sure I follow, sir.  It sounds like a young couple who like bowling.”
        “Think!  Private Chuck-Bob.  Think for just a moment.  What would fit nicely into a bowling ball bag?”
        “Uh . . . a  . . . a, uh bowling ball?”
        “Yes, yes, Private Chuck-Bob, a bowling ball would fit into a bowling ball bag.  But something more . . . sinister . . . could fit into that bowling ball bag . . .”   
        “Uh, sir?  Like a toaster?  Sir?  I’ve never trusted toasters. Maybe it’s one that’s on the fritz like and when you plugged it in it . . .”
        “No!  Private Chuck-Bob!  I. Am. Not. Talking. About. A. Toaster!  I’m talking, Private Chuck-Bob, about a certain brown colored avian threat to national security.  A certain probably-a-terrorist fowl, Private Chuck-Bob.  I’m talking . . . about a chicken!”

        “Yes, I’m talking to you,” shouted Sally. She was at the main gangway to the cargo transport, yelling across the gap at a security guard, who clearly didn’t speak any English.
        “Waht you say?!” He shouted back.
        “Well this is going nowhere quick,” she said to no one in particular, then stepped over the chain and walked out onto the gangplank. Speechless, and unable to lie, Will followed silently behind her, and up to the security guard. He was a short, quiet-looking man wearing a black uniform with a LITHUANIAN CARGO logo emblazoned on the front with his name “Jonas” embroidered just beneath. He did not seem like he appreciated that Sally took it upon herself to climb over the chain across the gang-plank.
        “I said, Jonas,” she said the name as she read it on his lapel, “we’d like a job on your ship.”
        “You,” said the security guard, pointing his finger at her for emphasis. “Vant job?”
        Sally smiled her most ingratiating smile. “Yes,” she said, “We’d like a job, in exchange for passage to Lithuania.”
        The man seemed confused and it was clear he didn’t quite catch all that. “You vant job, go Lithuania?”
        “Yes,” said Sally firmly. Will nodded vigorously.
        The man tipped his head back and laughed. “You vant go Lithuania, go get plane. Fly, fly!” He made little flapping motions with his arm. “Like birdie – fly, fly!”
        Sally took a deep breath. “A simple “no” would have been sufficient,” she said to Will. Sally didn’t really think the man would give them a job, they were just stalling so Crimson Hen could get into position, distracting the security guard in the process. Crimson had climbed along the thick ropes that were mooring the cargo vessel to the port. It was an easy task, and soon she was standing directly behind the security guard.
        “Well,” said Sally to the man when he had finally stopped laughing at them, “you’ll just have to meet our ‘little friend’ here. Maybe she can convince you. The man pulled a confused look again like he didn’t quite understand.
        “Leetle friend?” He repeated absently.
        Sally pointed down at Crimson Hen.
        The man slowly turned his head around, then looked down. After a moment he laughed again. “Leetle Friend!” he said, pointing and laughing.
        But a moment later, the laugh got caught in his throat as he watched in shocked horror as Crimson Hen made an enormous leap up to his eye level, shouting in plain Lithuanian: “Prasua pajudeti!” and laying down some kung-fu moves that were so powerful and rapid that Sally and Will couldn’t follow what she was doing. A moment later the security guard was on the deck, unconscious, a flurry of Crimson colored feathers falling gently around him.
        “Wow, Crimson,” was all Will could say.
        “You go, girl!” Sally said as she hastily picked up fallen feathers and tossed them overboard. “That was incredible!”
        Crimson Hen smoothed out ruffled feathers and walked around the downed security guard. “He will probably be out for quite a little while. If we can avoid security cameras,” she pointed up to a camera that luckily was pointed just a little to their side, “we ought to be able to find a hiding place on board.”
        “And no one will believe his story of a fighting, speaking chicken who took him down,” Sally said. “He might not believe it himself when he wakes up.”
        “Where did you learn Lithuanian, Crimson?” asked Will as they hurried down the gangway and down a flight of stairs to the lower decks.
        “I picked up a little when I was in Lithuania for our archaeological dig,” Crimson answered quietly. They crept down the stairwell and down another hallway.
        “We should try and get into the cargo area, and get ourselves safely tucked away into the cargo containers,” Sally said.
        Crimson Hen and Will nodded their silent assent.
        “It’d be nice if we could read the signs,” said Will. There were signs everywhere, but they were all in Lithuanian, and interestingly also in French and Spanish, but not English.
        “I wish I’d paid attention in French class,” said Sally.
        “I know a little French, and also a little Spanish,” said Crimson Hen, “here, I think this sign is pointing this way to the cargo area.”
        A moment later they were outside a door to the main lower cargo area. Will peaked through the little glass window in the door. “There’s at least three of them in there,” he said.
        “How are we going to get in there and get hidden with those men in there?” asked Sally, but Crimson Hen was clearly already thinking it through.
        “If we use the same strategy as before, I could probably take them all, but . . .”
        Will cut her off, “You could take three security guards down by yourself?”
        “Well, I did say ‘probably’,” she replied a little testily for having been cut off midsentance. “One might get lucky and get away before I could take him down, but . . .”
        “But their story would match old Jonas’ story and they would do a shipwide search for a chicken who can do kung-fu, as crazy as it sounds,” finished Sally.
        “Right,” said Crimson Hen. “We’ll need a different plan.”
        Just then a voice came over the loudspeaker, fuzzy and warm, but utterly unintelligible. “Wha wha wha whoon wha whoon whoon wha whoon whoon wha,” was all that Sally and Will heard, but Crimson caught a few words here and there.
        “It said something about ‘dinner’ I think,” she said.
        “Oh crap!” Will was the first to understand the danger they were suddenly in. “If those guys have just been called to dinner, they’ll be coming this way!”
        The trio looked desperately around the corridor they were in. The sound of jovial Lithuanian voices could be heard on the other side of the door to the cargo area. There was only one side door, and Will ran to it desperately pulling on the handle. It opened in to a tiny janitorial closet.
        “Quick,” he whisper-shouted, “in here!”
        The two humans and a chicken shoved themselves into the dark and cramped janitorial closet and closed the door just as the three men from the cargo area came into the hallway laughing and chattering.
        “Can you understand what they’re saying?” whispered Sally, “I thought I heard one of them say Jonas’ name.
        “Yes, a little,” replied Crimson Hen, “I think he was saying something about Jonas sleeping on the job.” She chuckled to herself. “I bet that poor fellow isn’t going to have great marks at his next performance review.”
        The sounds of the men retreated and soon it was silent again. Slowly, carefully, they opened the little closet door and spilled out into the hallway. Carefully, they crept into the cargo area. Crimson pointed to all the security cameras in the area, and they wove through the space to avoid showing up on any of the screens. Soon, they were lost in a sea of shipping containers.
        “What do we do now?” asked Will as they took a break in the middle of the cargo containers.
        “Well, it’s going to be a several day journey . . .,” she stopped and looked to be making a mental calculation. “Assume 20 knots, around 4000 miles . . . something like eight or nine days.”
        Sally and Will stared at her. Then looked at each other. Will shrugged, and Sally nodded. That seemed to be just something Crimson Hen would know.
        “So what are we going to do for eight days?” Will asked.
        “Well,” said Crimson, “we’ll have to find a cargo container with some food in it.”
        They started checking cargo containers. It took both Sally and Will to force open the difficult handle mechanisms. Many of the containers were old and rusty, and some had locks on them. After looking at containers full of bicycles, and small electronics, they came to one that was packed to the gills with boxes of cereal.
        “Bingo!” said Will.
        “Great,” said Sally. “Eight days aboard a ship with nothing more to eat than cereal.”
        “Well,” said Crimson Hen, with equal distaste, “at least we won’t starve.

        “There!  Turn there Private Chuck-Bob.”
        “Yessir.  Here we are sir.  The Balt-e-more Port.  Sir.”
        “Now, Private Chuck-Bob, we need to find the ship setting sail for Lithuania, is what the security guard said.”
        “Lithu – what? Sir?”
        “Lithuania.  Private Chuck-Bob, Lithuania.  It’s a country on the Baltic sea in Northern Europe.”
        “Right.  Wow, sir, you really know your geography.  Sir.”
        “I looked it up on the internet while you were driving, Private Chuck-Bob.”
        “Right.  Sir.  Of course, sir.  That makes sense, sir.”
        “Turn in there, Private Chuck-Bob.  Park here.  That’s it.  Now, we must hurry.  If we could flag down a security guard, that would be excellent.”
        “Roger that, sir, a security guard.  I’ll be on the look out sir.”
        “As will I, Private Chuck-Bob, as will I.”
        “Sir?”
        “Yes Private Chuck-Bob.”
        “Sir, when we find the chicken, what are . . . uh, what are we going to do with it?”
        “A good question Private Chuck-Bob, an excellent question.  We will, Private Chuck-Bob, interrogate it.”
         “Right, sir.  That’s a great plan, sir.  Interrogate.  That sounds great.  Sir.  Uh, sir?”
        “Yes Private Chuck-Bob.”
        “How do you expect to interrogate a chicken sir?”
        “Private Chuck-Bob, there are things you may not be fully briefed on, given your insufficient security clearance.  I, however, have devastating knowledge.”
        “Devastating?  Sir?”
        “Above your security clearance, Private Chuck-Bob.  Above your clearance.”
        “Right sir.  I get that.  Sir.”
        “Look there!  Private Chuck-Bob!  Flag down those security guards.”
         “Sir?”
         “Over there, in that golf cart.  Perfect Private Chuck-Bob.  Information and transportation.  Flag them down!”
        “Right away sir!  Hey you!  Over here!”
        “What seems to be the problem gentlemen?”
        “Are you the security guards who called in the suspicious looking young people with a certain, peculiar bowling ball case?”
        “Roger that, are you . . . are you from the Military?”
         “Indeed we are, son, indeed we are.  Here’s my identification.”
        “Wow, a colonel!  I’m glad I called that in, it must be important.”
         “Can you, two fine gentlemen take myself and my trusty assistant to the cargo ship bound for Lithuania?  I believe we’ll find our quarry attempting to board that ship.”
        “Right away, gentlemen, hop in.”
        “Do you remember which slip that cargo ship was in?”
        “I, ur, grr, do not.”
        “I’ll just radio up the office and find out.”
        “No – don’t – urg.”
        “Two four niner, two four niner, this is Johnny and the Appleseed, come in two four niner . . . over.”
        “Johnny and the Appleseed, roger that – we read you.  Over.”
        “Roger that two four niner, can you remind us where that ship bound for Lithuania is berthed?“
        “Roger that Johnny, slip 325, outbound any minute.”
        “Roger that two four niner, and thanks!  Over and out.”
        “Slip 325.”
        “I heard them, Johnny.”
        “Ahem, can you please step on it?”
        “I can, Colonel.”
        “I mean, by step on it, go faster.”
        “Roger that sir.  I am stepping on it as we speak.”
         “Is this as fast as it goes?”
        “This is it, Colonel.”
        “I see.  Is it far?”
         “It’s not far, sir.  Just around … yes, there it is.”
         “Excellent!  The ship is still here.  Private Chuck-Bob, run over to the ship and stop them!”
        “Yes sir!”
         “Gentlemen, the entire US Military thanks you for your service.  You may continue on your rounds.  Keep these ports safe!”
        “Shoot, thanks colonel.”
         “Good luck!”
        “Oh, I won’t need luck.  I have it now.  I have it…Private Chuck-Bob!”
        “Yessir!” “Did you find a member of the crew who can help us?”
         “Uh, maybe, sir.  This here fellow seems to be on duty, though it looks like maybe he’s just waking up from a nap, sir.”
         “You there.  Have you seen a young couple with a chicken?  Private Chuck-Bob, why is he running away? And what’s that he’s yelling about?”
        “I . . . I don’t know, sir, maybe he is afraid.”
        “Of what could he be afraid of, Private Chuck-Bob?”
        “I don’t know, sir, but you mentioned ‘chicken’ and he just plain lost it.  Sir.”
        “That seals it, Private Chuck-Bob, they’ve been here for sure.  Come, we must find the captain and . . . yes, here come a group of men, they must know what . . .hey . . . hey . . . get your hands off me!  I’m a colonel in the US Military, you can’t just pick me up and drag me around like this, I will see your captain!  I will, arrgh!”

         “Sir?”
        “Yes Private Chuck-Bob.”
        “Those Lithuanians really didn’t want us on their ship.  Sir.”
        “That’s very true, Private Chuck-Bob.  Help me out of this barrel, God knows whatever was in it before me stank to high heaven.”
         “Yessir, I’ll be right there, right after I get out of this pile of pallets I seem to be stuck in.”
        “Never mind, Private Chuck-Bob, I can get myself – great gorillas, the ship is leaving!  Private Chuck-Bob we . . . we need air support, we need the marines, the coast guard, anyone!  Private Chuck-Bob, get on the radio.  This is an emergency!”
        “Sir?  I’m stuck in a pile of pallets, and our nearest radio is a long walk back to the Jeep. Sir.”
        “Well, that, Private Chuck-Bob, was faulty planning.  Make sure you always have a radio with you, Private Chuck-Bob.”
        “Sir?  I’m not sure we could have stopped them anyhow.  They, urg, they seemed very intent on casting of and getting underway, sir.”
        “Yes, Private Chuck-Bob, they certainly did.”
        “So, uh, sir?”
        “Yes Private Chuck-Bob?”
        “What do we do now?  They got away, sir.”
         “Oh, Private Chuck-Bob, they most certainly did not.  They are in as much of a prison now as if they were in our very own brig.”
        “Sir?  How’s that sir?  It looks like they’re on a boat to Lithuania, sir.”
         “That they are, Private Chuck-Bob.  That they are.”
        “So . . . uh sir?  Am I missing something here sir?”
         “You are, my dear Private Chuck-Bob.  You are.”
         “Uh, well, ok, sir, but uh, could you maybe fill me in?”
        “It’s simple, Private Chuck-Bob.  They’re on a boat headed for a place we know they’re going.  All we have to do is get on a plane, beat them to port, and wait for them to get off the boat.  When they do – we’ll nab them!”
         “Wow, sir.  What a great plan!  Sir.  Brilliant.  Sir.”
        “Of course it’s brilliant, Private Chuck-Bob.  Of course it’s brilliant.”
         “Sir?”
        “What is it now, Private Chuck-Bob?”
         ”Uh, sir, I’m really stuck here.  Sir.”
         “Private Chuck-Bob, we have days and days to get to Lithuania, you just take all the time you need to extricate yourself.”
        “Uh, yessir.”
        “Think of it, Private Chuck-Bob.  In little more than a week from now, we’ll have the culprit in our clutches.  And then we’ll see who’s really in charge.”
         “Uh, sir?  Isn’t General Rogers in charge?”
        “Private Chuck-Bob!  That was a figure of speech.  We’ll head back to the base and get our passports.  You may have to take some leave, but Private Chuck-Bob, we’ll have them!”
         “Uh, sir?  I’ll need to take leave sir?”
         “Yes Private Chuck-Bob, our victory is all but ensured.  Now, please go get the Jeep and then come and pick me up.”
         “Sir, uh, yes sir?  Uh, sir, I’m still stuck in the pile of pallets.  Sir.”
        “Just think, Private Chuck-Bob, they’re almost ours.”
         “Sir.  Yes sir.  Uh sir, can you help me out here?”
        “You just hang tight, Private Chuck-Bob.  I’ll go get help.”
        “Uh, sir?  I . . . okay, sir.  Thank you sir.”

        “Dr. McCleese?”
        “Yes, Denise?”
        “The campfire was a good idea.”
        “Oh? Oh, yes, thank you, Denise. It’s been a long day, and we’ve had quite a few shocks. Anything we can do to reduce our stress response and calm down, we should do.”
        “Right, it’s been very stressful. Uh, Professor?”
        “Yes, Denise?”
        “Could we, uh, could we cook some s’mores?”
        “S’mores?”
        “Yes, professor, you know, toast some marshmallows?”
        “Ah, of course, S’mores! A traditional campfire activity. A capital idea. I think we have some marshmallows here somewhere – maybe in that crate over there?”
        “Yes! Here they are – and look, someone has packed little bars of chocolate and some graham crackers. How thoughtful.”
        “Indeed – I suspect that would be our Alise, always thinking of others she is. Bring all that over here by the fire, I’ll just cut this little branch here and sharpen the point. Yes, that’s it. Now, hand me a marshmallow. Lovely!”
        “Professor!”
        “Yes, Denise?”
        “Your marshmallow is on fire!”
        “No, it most certainly – ack! My marshmallow is on fire. Whwhwhwhwh, pfew! Well, it’s only a little charred – achhgg!”
        “Oh Dr. McCleese, that marshmallow looks pretty sticky there on your shirt. I do hope it doesn’t stain.”
        “Yes, Denise. I hope so too. Do we have any rags? I’ll need water and . . . yes, there. That’s better. Perhaps you’ll have better luck. Here’s the stick.”
        “You know, Dr. McCleese, this reminds me of being a kid. I was a girl scout you know.”
        “I was unaware of that fact, Denise.”
        “Yes, we went camping quite a lot. If I didn’t know better, this little campfire and the marshmallow are all so comfortably familiar that I wouldn’t believe we spoke with talking animals that came out of an ancient archaeological site.”
        “Yes, that does sound funny when you say it that way, Denise. Here you are, one graham cracker topped with a small bar of chocolate. And another to top it. Perfect! That was a lovely browned marshmallow, Denise.”
        “Thank you Professor. Have you thought about what you’ll tell your colleagues when you get back to the university?”
        “What do you mean, Denise?”
        “Well, you can’t very well tell them that you met talking animals, now can you. You’ll be laughed out of the whole university.”
        “Hmm, yes, I see your point, Denise. That is a problem.”
        “I mean, take this evening, this fire, us talking. There’s nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing would point to the fact that we met talking animals this afternoon.”
        “Quite right, Denise.”
        “In fact, I almost don’t believe myself, saying that now, saying those words right now around this fire, enjoying this delicious snack, a staple of my youth, a symbol of comfort and continuity. I almost don’t believe it.”
        “Why, Denise, but there’s evidence that . . . “
        “What evidence? Do you have any evidence? I don’t have any evidence? There are some animal tracks out here, but we’re in the countryside, almost the wilderness, of course there are animal tracks out here.”
        “And the camera, it has nothing on it, as I recall.”
        “Too true. Nothing on it. Hmm . . .”
        “You seem lost in thought, Professor.”
        “If we have no evidence of this experience, which we are both questioning, then how can we be sure we did, in fact talk with animals this afternoon?”
        “Well, Maurice and Alise are both gone away with them.”
        “Not conclusive evidence of talking animals.”
        “No, I suppose not, Dr. McCleese. Would you like to try another marshmallow, Professor?”
        “Yes. Yes I would. Thank you. There. That’s much better. Yes, a nice roasting brown color, swelling – lovely, just lovely. Achkk!”
        “Oh, professor, you lost your marshmallow into the fire!”
        “Yes, Denise, it would seem I have.”
        “So, maybe we didn’t talk with animals this afternoon after all.”
        “What? Oh, yes, maybe not, Denise. Maybe not. It does seem most implausible. Most implausible indeed.”
        “You’re right, it is implausible. Just the right word, here would you pass me that stick, I’d like to try again.”
        “Yes, of course, here you are my dear.”
        “Thank you, there, perfect. I think you’re right. I think talking with animals is imaginary, we imagined it. A silly dream we shared.”
        “Ah, a dream, a shared dream, perhaps. Perhaps you’re right.”
        “I mean think about it, what’s a simpler explanation? That we talked with chickens and rabbits this afternoon, or that we had a little shared dream experience?”
        “You’re right, Occam’s Razor they call that, whatever is the simplest explanation is likely the correct explanation. My that’s a lovely marshmallow – here, here’s another graham cracker and piece of chocolate . . . just so – perfect. My dear, you seem to be an expert at this.”
        “Like I said, Girl Scouts.”
        “Of course. Yes, I believe you’re onto something there. I think we can just as easily chalk our experience today up to a little shared hallucination. It’s extremely improbably, impossible really, that we were having conversations with squirrels earlier.”
        “Oh, professor, your certainty about that brings me such happiness! I was so consternated about this whole talking animal thing, and you’ve solved it.”
        “Yes, my dear, I believe I have solved it.”
        “You’re so – so . . . wise, professor.”
        “Thank you my dear, and you, I must say, you are talented and savvy. You’ll make an excellent archaeologist.”
        “Oh, Professor, you flatter me.”
        “No, really, I mean it. Here, hand me that stick, I’d like to try one more time on that marshmallow. Yes, that’s it.”
        “Ok, Professor, now, the key is to rotate it slowly over some coals. There. That’s it, see how it’s cooking, but not near a flame? Yes, I think you’re going to get it! Now hold on while I get a little piece of chocolate and a graham cracker out. Oh, why thank you!”
        “You, ah, welcome.”
        “Denise?”
        “Yes, Professor?”
        “Who handed you that graham cracker?”
        “Uh, I, oh, my, Professor! It’s a sheep!”
        “AACK!”
        “AACK!”
        “Uh, hi, howdy, you are American? Like chock-lat? Yes? Is super premium chock-lat. Lietuvis – ah, Lithuanian chock-lat. You like? Yes? Hello? Where you go? Fire is nice yes? Come back and eat friendly chock-lat!”

        “I am soo tired of cereal,” Sally whined.
        “Me too, Sally. Me too,” Will sympathized.
        “Really?” said Crimson Hen lightly, “I find I quite like it. I could use a cup of tea, but otherwise, I think our stowaway plan is working smashingly. Anyway, it’s only day three, we still have several days, maybe a week to go before we land in Lithuania.”
        Will and Sally both looked at Crimson Hen with an evil eye.
        “Whoa, whoa, easy on the evil eye, you guys,” Crimson said, “I’m being optimistic! This is no time for complaining. Buck up! And all that.”
        “But Crimson,” Will said plaintively, “you’re a chicken! You’re supposed to eat a diet of mostly grains.”
        “Yeah, you don’t know what it’s like,” Sally opined, “what I wouldn’t give for a carrot or stalk of celery . . .”
        “Or a hamburger!” Will added, “Oh, man what I wouldn’t give for a hamburger!”
        “Shhh – you guys, someone is coming!” Crimson ducked into the cargo container, and they pulled the door closed behind them. They couldn’t latch the cargo container from the inside, but there were so many, that with the door closed, it seemed unlikely anyone would come investigate.
        Suddenly, in the dark, they heard the deep metallic ring of heavy footfalls – starting softly in the distance, but coming closer and closer, until it seemed that whoever it was making those heavy, dark footfalls was right outside their container door. Then they stopped. The silence after those ringing steps was palpable, and Will, Sally, and Crimson held their breath.
        Slowly, agonizingly, the door to the cargo container swung open. With nowhere to flee to, and Sally and Will having no inclination to fight, they froze, like busted rodents, perched among the half-empty boxes of cereal.
        Crimson, however, didn’t have a freeze bone in her little chicken body. She coiled into small ball of sprung steel, ready to rain down kung-fu devastation the moment the intruder showed themself.
        The door opened, and light crept into the space, then, silhouetted by the dim light of the cargo area, a figure appeared. Crimson was shaking, and at any moment, a hair trigger response would unleash kung-fu terribleness. The tension in the cargo container was thick like cake batter.
        Sally was the first to realize what was about to happen. “Crimson, stop!”
        Crimson Hen hesitated.
        The person who had opened the door let out a frightened shriek. “Ahhhh!” And then quickly closed the door to the cargo container.
        There was silence for a moment. Then the container door began to squeak open again. “Sveiki?” said a quiet voice. The trio on the pile of cereal didn’t move or say anything. The timid voice called out again, “sveiki . . . hallo?”
        Sally found her voice. “Hello? We won’t hurt you. I promise,” she said, this last directed more at Crimson Hen than at the little figure who appeared before them as the door opened wider.
        Standing before them was a small figure, a child really, with short cropped hair and pale skin. The figure looked very scared, but stood still and didn’t run when Will, Sally, and then a chicken hopped down from the cereal boxes they had crushed in the confusion of the moment.
        “I think I was expecting someone, er, bigger,” Will said quietly into the silence.
        “Oh – vistiena,” they said watching Crimson Hen disembark, “chicken.”
        “Yes, she’s a chicken,” Sally responded, “do you speak English?”
        The little figure smiled, “Yes!” then their eyes darted downward, “just little.”
        “Well, you clearly know more English than we know Lithuanian,” Will said.
        The little figure brightened a little, “You know French? I know big French.” Then they started prattling off in French.
        Will and Sally exchanged looks. They knew only too well which of their party knew French. They looked down at Crimson. Crimson Hen was standing with her wings on her hips, barely containing herself.
        “Oh alright, go ahead Crimson,” Will said finally.
        Crimson immediately hopped up onto a nearby wooden crate and addressed the little figure by clearing her throat loudly. Then began to elegantly, and much more slowly address the poor creature in very good French.
        The little figure looked at Crimson Hen, then looked at Will and Sally. They shrugged. Then the little figure let out a little, ‘ULP!’ and then promptly hit the deck, passed out cold.
        Crimson turned to Sally and Will. “Why does this keep happening? It’s so frustrating.”
        “Well,” said Sally, “I can tell you from experience that meeting a talking chicken is shocking.”
        “Humph,” intoned Crimson, “and I’m a hen, for crying out loud.”
        A short while later they had the little figure stretched out on a makeshift bed of foam pieces and bubble wrap when they came to. Will and Sally were by their side, ready for them to get up. They sat up Crimsonly and looked from Will to Sally, and then down at Crimson Hen, who made a rather over-ostentatious bow.
        The little figure pointed and said, “Chicken – talking chicken!”
        “Yes,” said Sally. “This is Crimson Hen. She can talk.”
        “Sveiki – bonjour – hello,” Crimson Hen said. “My name is Crimson Hen. What’s your name? Que’est que t’appelle tu?”
        The little figure looked back up at Will and Sally, then back at Crimson Hen. Then they began to soften a little, and said, “Moze.” They pointed their hand at their chest and said again, “Moze. M’appel Moze.”
        “Well,” said Sally with a little bit dramatically positive affect, “my name is ‘Sally.’”
        Moze looked at her and repeated, “Sally.”
        Sally nodded.
        Will unfroze a little and pointed at himself, “Will. My name is Will.”
        “Will,” Moze repeated.
        “Well, this is lovely,” said Crimson Hen, “But we have a big problem here. Young Moze has discovered our existence, and our plan is thwarted.
        “We don’t know that for sure,” said Sally, “Maybe our plan just has to adjust a little. Maybe Moze here, won’t turn us in.”
        As if on cue, Moze leapt to their feet and pointed at them, “You – stow aways!”
        “Whoa whoa whoa,” said Crimson Hen, “Ecoute – listen . . .” She began to speak rapidly in French, none of which Will or Sally could understand. Moze stood stoically with their arms crossed, but as Crimson Hen went on, they began nodding their head, and finally they smiled, reaching out a hand to Sally. She took Moze’s hand in hers, and they shook. Then Moze turned to will and offered a hand again. He took it and shook it with relief.
        Moze stood up tall, and gave them a salute. “I help you.”

        “PRIVATE CHUCK-BOB!”
        “Sir . . . I . . .huuuurrrk.”
        “Private Chuck-Bob, pull yourself together, son.”
        “Sir, travel, it . . . oh no . . . huuuuurrk.”
        “Private Chuck-Bob, that’s disgusting.”
        “Yes sir. I know sir. I . . . I . . . I’m trying to hold it together sir . . . oh . . . oh . . . no . . . no . . . I’m okay, sir. No . . . I . . . oh . . . no . . . huuuuurk.”
        “Private Chuck-Bob, We. Do. Not. Have. Time. For. This. Do you read me Private Chuck-Bob?”
        “Yes, sir . . . I think I’m almost empty sir. I . . . that landing sir . . . it just . . . oh no . . . no . . . Oh, I’m ok sir. For real this time. Sir.”
        “That’s more like it, Private Chuck-Bob. Now, we require ground transportation. We require a map and information. We need to scope out the port. We must capture the offending chicken in this moment, Private Chuck-Bob. In this moment.”
        “Yes sir, I’ll go find us some ground transportation, sir.”
        “Excellent, now you’re showing initiative, Private Chuck-Bob. Do you know the world is built on initiative?”
        “Yes, sir, you’ve mentioned that, sir.”
        “Why when I was your age . . . “
        “Sir?”
        “Yes, Private Chuck-Bob?”
        “Should we make a plan for meeting after I get the ground transportation?”
        “What? Oh, yes, yes, I was coming to that.”
        “Of course, Sir.”
        “Now, while you’re securing ground transportation, I will procure a map. I will then meet you at departure gate . . . um, lets say, arrival gate 3.”
        “Are you sure there’s a departure gate 3 sir?”
        “What? Oh, yes, of course, well. Of course there will be an arrival gate 3, Private Chuck-Bob, why just look at this graphical interface here . . . “
        “You mean this here map?”
        “Yes, Private Chuck-Bob, this map will show . . . um . . . will show . . .
        “Sir?”
        “New plan, Private Chuck-Bob, we will meet at . I seem to have underestimated the size and scale of this airport, it doesn’t appear to be large enough for three arrival pickup zones. We will meet up at the arrival pickup zone marked . . . here.”
        “Uh Sir?”
        “Yes, Private Chuck-Bob?”
        “Sir, do you think it’s a good idea to mark this map with a Sharpie? Sir?”
        “By gum, you’re right Private Chuck-Bob! Anyone could use this information to follow our movements. I will immediately scrub . . . it . . . hmm . . . it doesn’t seem to be coming off. I’m afraid I’ve compromised our position, Private Chuck-Bob. We must now enter into security mode Alpha.”
        “Sir? Security Mode Alpha?”
        “Don’t ask questions now, Private Chuck-Bob. Just walk away quickly, but not too quickly. Stay close, but don’t appear to be walking with me. That’s it. Now, Private Chuck-Bob, you go secure ground transportation, I’ll procure a map, and we’ll rendezvous at the arrival gate. But Private Chuck-Bob-”
        “Yes sir?”
        “Don’t assume it’s me when you see me arrive.”
        “Uh, what? Sir? Who else would you be?”
        “Recall, Private Chuck-Bob, we’ve encountered forces on this mission that defy explanation, that defy reality. You may encounter an individual who looks like me, but isn’t really me.”
        “I see sir. So how will I know it’s you? Sir?”
        “We’ll use a top secret code word or phrase.
        “Oh, wow, sir, that’s brilliant, sir. What will it be?”
        “It will be . . . it will be . . . the eagle has landed.”
        “Wow, sir. You’re really good at this sir.”
        “Of course I am, Private Chuck-Bob. Of course I am. No, go secure that ground transportation.”
        “Yes, sir!”
        
        Later
        
        “Ok, I have a cab, we’re at the arrival area, I know the code phrase. There comes someone who looks very much like the Colonel. He’s holding what appears to be a map . . . Over there driver, pull in there.”
        “Private Chuck-Bob! Well done, son. Well done. If you’ll just take this bag, for me I’ll . . . What’s wrong Private Chuck-Bob?”
        “What, sir, is the secret pass phrase?”
        “Ah, my good boy, well done Private Chuck-Bob. Well, done. You just about let me in the car without checking my true identity first. Well done. If I had been a double agent, I could have easily overpowered you in the small confines of this cab. Rest assured, you’ve done your duty to the utmost, and that won’t be forgotten. Now, if you’ll just get this bag and put it in the trunk . . .”
        “Sir.”
        “Yes Private Chuck-Bob?”
        “What, sir, is the secret pass phrase?”
        “Ah. Yes. The secret pass phrase. Good on you son. Good on you. Now, let’s see. The pass phrase . . . pass phrase . . . something to do with a bird, I think . . . Let’s see . . . hmm . . .
        “Sir? I’m thinking maybe you’re not really you, sir.”
        “Ah. Yes, well, I can assure you I am me. We’re on our way to capture the world’s most devious criminal at the port. And we’re losing time. I’ll get the pass phrase on the way. It’ll come back to me. Look, I have a map, and we can get to where we’re . . .”
        “Sir. Not good enough. Sir. I would be remiss in my security duties to let you into this cab until you’ve given the secret pass phrase. Sir.”
        “Now see here, Private Chuck-Bob. I am quite obviously, your Colonel. Slide aside this minute and allow me to enter this cab.”
        “I’m sorry sir. Not without the pass-phrase.”
        “Good gosh darn it! Private Chuck-Bob, who else would I be?”
        “You said it yourself, sir, you could be anyone.”
        “But I’m not! Private Chuck-Bob. Move aside, that’s an order.”
        “I’m sorry, sir. I will not obey orders unless I’m certain they are coming from my actual Colonel.”
        “Private Chuck-Bob! Oh, drat. What was that pass phrase?!”
        “I can’t tell you that sir.”
        “I know that Private Chuck-Bob. But I think I was on the right track a moment ago. It has to do with a bird, doesn’t it?”
        “Maybe it does, sir. Maybe not.”
        “It does, I know it does. Let’s see, a bird, why, there’s only one most important bird – the glorious representative of our exceptional nation – the bald eagle. That’s it! The bald eagle it, it um, it lands at midnight!”
        “That’s not it. Sir.”
        “But it’s close, isn’t it, Private Chuck-Bob, I can see it in your face. I know you too well. The bald eagle has landed.”
        “Um, not quite, sir. The Bald eagle has landed?”
        “Quite so, not the bald eagle. Just the eagle. The eagle has landed!”
        “Right! Sir! I’m so glad you got that, hop in.”
        “Thank you Private Chuck-Bob.”
        “No problem, Sir. No problem.”
        “Driver!”
        “Yes?”
        “Do you speak English, Driver?”
        “Yes, little English.”
        “Very good, my man, very good. Now, driver, can you take us to the shipping port?”
        “Yes, can do.”
        “You don’t need to salute, Driver. You’re not a member of our august military.”
        “Yes. Okay, no salute. Just – nice suit. Okay.”
        “Yes, Driver, this is the official uniform of the United States Army. And I wear it with pride. You are performing for the United States an important function. A critical function, Driver. Now, to the port, with all haste!”

        “This is camp alright, but where are Dr. McCleese and Denise?” asked Nebraska Rooster as he, Alise and Deloris Squirrel stepped into the clearing.
        “Look,” said Deloris Squirrel, “the campfire is still hot. Someone was here not too long ago.”
        “Uh, guys,” Alise said, “do sheep usually eat s’mores?”
        Before anyone could answer, a very fluffy sheep walked back into the clearing, popping the last of the tasty treat into their mouth. It muffled greetings that just came out as a grunt because of the sticky marshmallow in their mouth.
        “Heey,” said Deloris Squirrel, “that sheep looks familiar.”
        “Yeah they do,” said Nebraska.
        “You know this sheep?” asked Alise?
        The sheep finally cleared their mouth of stickiness and addressed the little group. “I drive, yes, no?”
        “The driver!” Exclaimed Nebraska Rooster, “they must have stayed at camp and come through the archaeological site when we weren’t looking.”
        “I follow . . . dark tunnel,” they said, smiling through Graham cracker crumbs.
        “But,” said Alise, “I still don’t understand – where are Dr. McCleese and Alise?”
        The little sheep smiled sheepishly. “They run into dark night,” they said.
        “Run into dark night?” Nebraska Rooster was confused.
        “Yes,” the sheep said, obviously pleased with themself.
        There was a moment of quiet as they all kind of just looked at each other. The sheep nodded and smiled, while trying to lick the s’more off their face.
        “Well, they’re not here now,” Deloris Squirrel said with finality.
        “So, um, can I just ask? What’s our plan here?” Alise looked at the rest of the group, and they all looked at each other.
        “Well, we need to figure out if Crimson Hen is in this reality, and if so, where,” Nebraska said matter-of-factly.
        “Right, okay,” said Alise, “where do we start with that?”
        “Well,” said Deloris squirrel, “if I were Crimson, I’d be trying to get back to this site. So maybe we just need to wait.”
        “We can’t do that,” said Nebraska Rooster.
        “Oh, right,” said Deloris Squirrel, “the Window is closing. We have to hurry.”
        “So,” said Alise, “we’re right back where we started. How do we find Crimson Hen, and what can we do to help her?”
        “I help,” said the little sheep.
        The little group all looked down at the smiling face, puzzled.
        Nebraska broke the confused silence. “Thank you,” he said, “but what can you do to help us?”
        “I drive,” was the simple answer.
        Again, the group was silent for a moment. Then Alise had an inspiring thought. “Of course! The sheep is a driver, right? Maybe the sheep can drive us back to the capital. If Crimson is in this reality, and trying to get back here, she’ll have to come through there, right?”
        “Well,” said Nebraska, “what if we miss her coming and going?”
        Alise answered quickly. “One of us can stay here, and we can make an agreement to come back to camp after a certain amount of time. If we haven’t seen her, we’ll come back and check in. It’s only a, what hour drive?”
        “Yes. One hour only,” the little sheep said with a big smile. “You come now? There is car?”
        “We do have a car,” said Alise. It’s, over there. And the keys should be in it. Should we go?”
        “Who’ll stay?” asked Nebraska Rooster.
        “I’ll stay. You’ll need Alise as a member of this reality, and I know if I were in your shoes, Nebraska, I wouldn’t want to stay behind,” said Deloris Squirrel.
        Nebraska took her paw and said with great grace, “thank you.”
        “Alright, let’s go!” said Alise.
        Alise, Nebraska, and the little sheep headed to the car. Without a word, the sheep slid into the driver’s seat. They had to pull the seat way up to be able to see over the steering wheel, but somehow they fit. The car roared to life, and then sped into the night.
        
        Later
        
        “Denise?”
        “Yes professor?”
        “I’m cold, and I’d like to go back to the fire. Do you . . . do you think it’s safe?”
        “I’m not sure, professor, but I’m cold too. Let’s go back to the fire.”
        “Ok.”
        “Ok.”
        “Ok.”
        “Maybe you could go first, professor.”
        “Right, here we go.”
        “Is it far?”
        “I don’t think so. I think it’s just, ah, yes, the fire has burned down some, but we can easily build it back up.”
        “Do you see a . . . a . . . a sheep?”
        “I do not. There, see? All is well. In the morning all will feel clear and right. What . . . what’s this?”
        “Aww…It’s a cute little squirrel, professor . . . all curled up asleep.”

        “Do you think it will work?” Sally said as they walked to the upper deck of the freighter.
        “I don’t know, I think so,” said Will, but he didn’t sound too sure of himself.
        Shortly after their encounter in the cargo hold, the three intrepid travellers had been introduced by Moze to the Captain. For a short time, it seemed likely that he would send them overboard, but after hearing Crimson Hen’s very broken Lithuanian, and then hearing her lilting French, then English, well, how could he not but help this witty and intelligent bird?
        Indeed, after the initial shock wore off, they became fast friends, spending many late nights discussing this and that, Physics, the nature of existence, what it means to be a sea captain, what it means to be a chicken, specifically a Hen. The Captain would laugh an uproarious laugh after she would make a sly joke. She would cluck and twitter after he shared with her some amusing anecdote from his life at sea. After even so short a time, when the Captain looked at Crimson Hen, his eyes sparkled and twinkled, and she blushed a deep shade of crimson.
        On the balmy evening before they were to make landfall at the capital city of Lithuania, after the rest of the crew had gone to bed, his twinkling was brightest and his eyes seemed to take in only Crimson Hen. She stood from her perch at the table where they were sharing a scintillating cup of tea and very gently informed him that she was the mate of Nebraska Rooster, something that she now knew she should have mentioned earlier. The Captain rose from his chair in embarrassment, and just as quickly recovered himself. He stood to his full height, thrust his shoulders back and took a deep breath, then bowed ever so slightly.
        “This, Nebraska, you speak of,” he said to her in his rough French, “he is a very lucky bird to have you by his side. I apologize, if I have overstepped a line in the sand, as you say in the American tongue.”
        “Not at all, dear Captain. I cherish this friendship we’ve built, and will cherish it always when I must take my leave of you.”
        “Must you go?” he said quickly, almost desperately. “There is plenty of room on this ship for a hen of your caliber, we could sail the seas together!” He said this knowing it was futile, but he asked anyway, so true was he to his own heart.
        Crimson laid a wing on his hand and said, “My dearest Captain, you know I must, but you will take a small piece of my heart with you when you once again leave the port for the open ocean.”
        He bowed once again, this time lower. Crimson bowed in return and there was a comfortable silence between them for a while. Then, seemly at the same moment they turned away again, and took their leave of each other, for the next day would be long, and a good night’s sleep would be hard to find, given the anxieties of their task the next day.
        
        “We’ve heard chatter on the radio, sir,” said one of the Captain’s men a few days before they had come to port.
        “What kind of chatter, Matis?” the Captain replied.
        “It’s . . . about Crimson Hen, sir!” The orderly’s face went pale.
        The Captain grabbed the receiver from his hand and put it to his ear. A long cold pause filled the room and a scowl passed his face. “They are searching for her,” he said finally, in a cold matter-of-fact tone. “They will be waiting in Lithuania to take her into custody.” He looked around at the assembled crew with a suspicious eye. “They know she is here!”
        Crimson had taken the news quite the hardest. “How can they know we’re here?” she asked again and again.
        “It was the security guards,” Will said, “it must be.
        “Maybe we showed up on security cameras after all,” Sally speculated.
        “It doesn’t matter,” said Crimson Hen finally, and she stopped her pacing and came over to where Sally and Will were sitting. “I’m going to get past them. We are going to get past them.”
        “Yes,” said Will, “I appreciate your determination, but the question isn’t about our resolve, the question is, how will we get past them?”
        Crimson leaned in. ”We’ll need a plan, a good one. Do you think you can work on that?”
        “Um,” said Will uncertainly, “you want me to come up with a plan?”
        “If you’re up for it,” Crimson said casually.
        Will looked up at Sally who smiled at him, and nodded her head. Then he looked back at Crimson. “Okay,” he said, “let’s do this.”
        
         Three days later, he and Sally were on the upper deck looking at the approaching port complex.
        “I’m scared,” said Sally, “a little.”
        “Me too,” said Will. “Up until now, we’ve been reacting to what the situation has brought us. This is our first go around at making a plan, and trying to pull it off.” He looked long out to the approaching port. Then he turned to Sally. He reached out and gently took her hand. She looked up at him in surprise for only a moment, then she took his hand in return. “I’m glad you’re here with us, Sally. I don’t think we could have done this without you.”
        “Oh, Will,” she said. “You’ve seen the Captain, you can’t know Crimson Hen for very long before you begin to fall a little bit in love with her.”
        Will smiled at Sally and nodded. “That’s true, Sally. That’s true.” They stood like this for a very long moment, lightly holding each others hand, and looking into each other’s eyes before Crimson interrupted their reverie.
        “Hey, you two. I’ve been looking all over for you. Moze is almost ready to go. I have to get below and get ready. Are . . .” she said, noting they were still holding hands, “are you ready for your parts?”
        “Yes,” they said in unison.

       “Private Chuck Bob!”
       “Yes Colonel?”
       “We did it Private Chuck Bob, we did it.”
       “Yessir. Uh sir?”
       “Yes Private Chuck Bob?”
       “Uh, what did we do? Sir?”
       “Well isn’t that obvious Private Chuck Bob?
       “Uh right sir. Obvious, sir. Um, sir?”
       “This is the port, private Chuck Bob, and that ship, that is arriving, that is the ship on which our target is currently hiding. There’s no escape now private Chuck Bob. We have simply to wait in hiding here where the gang-plank will land, and wait for two young people and a chicken to disembark before we step up and apprehend them!”
       “Wow sir, that’s a great plan sir, but sir?”
       “Yes Private Chuck Bob?”
       “What happens if they put up a fight or run away or something? Sir?”
       “Well, Private Chuck Bob, that’s the best part.”
       “Which part is that sir?”
       “The best part, Private Chuck Bob, heh heh heh, I have a trick or two up my sleeve, Private Chuck Bob. A trick or two.”
       “Sir, you are a very wiley operator, sir. May I ask, sir? What is the trick you have up your sleeve?”
       “You may, Private Chuck Bob, you may. In fact, they should be arriving just about . . . now!”
       “Sir! Oh my gosh, sir!”
       “That’s right Private Chuck Bob, the many vehicles loaded with dedicated soldiers that are disembarking around you just now are the elite squad of special forces for the Lithuanian Guard. I called in an old favor back at the airport, and they’ve come through in spades! With this fighting force surrounding the ship, no one will escape. Not this time!”
       “Sergeant!”
       “Yes sir!”
       “Deploy your troops around the perimeter of this docking facility. Don’t let anyone leave without being searched.”
       “Yes sir! What is the target sir?”
       “The target is a small, brown, chicken, sergeant.”
       “A chicken? Sir?”
       “You heard me sergeant, that chicken is of the utmost importance to the security of the United States of America, and truly, all of civilization. We must apprehend it. Are you clear sergeant?”
       “Yes sir!”
       “And sergeant?”
       “Yes sir?”
       “Keep this in mind, and tell all of your men, we have intel that this chicken may be hiding in a bowling ball bag. Look for those specifically.”
       “Yes sir!”
       “Good, now go, and deploy your soldiers accordingly. Now, Private Chuck Bob. We’re ready. We’ll get that chicken. We’ll get that chicken this time.”
       
       ***
       
       “Captain? You need to look at this.” The first mate was looking over the rails of the top deck of the shipping vessel. What he saw made his heart sink.
       “Yes, Yuri? What is it?”
       “Sir, take a look at the landing slip. We’ve got trouble.”
       The captain took the binoculars from the first mate and scanned the port. “Well,” he said at last, “we knew there would be trouble. I didn’t think the special forces would be involved, but it makes no difference. Will’s plan is a good one, and it doesn’t matter who is in the port waiting.”
       “But sir, the soldiers, do you think they’ll shoot us?” Yuri had gone quite pale.
       The captain gave a hearty laugh, but couldn’t hide the strain in his voice. “Why, Yuri, these are our countrymen!” He said, “they could no more shoot us than if we were their own brothers.” The captain slapped Yuri heartily on the back, and moved of to rejoin his steering crew on the bridge. Yuri picked his binoculars up again and began to nervously scan the port, noting the size and quantity of machine guns the special forces employed.
       On the bridge, his steering crew was carefully plotting their trajectory into the port. Small murmurings of minor course corrections and the sound of static over the radio with the port authority were the only sounds that filled the small space. The tension in the room was thick. Somehow word of the soldiers at the dock had spread quickly amongst the crew.
       On each of the sailors’ minds was the fact that at this very moment, Will and Sally were in a small dinghy headed to a little park not far from the port. That they were alone, and that the group of sailors who had become so close with them in such a short time would be unable to help them if something happened to them. Which, with the arrival of the soldiers, seemed even more likely.
       Just then, Moze walked into the room. The captain looked up from his charts and graphs. “You look perfect, son. Is Jonas ready?”
       “Yes, captain.”
       The captain looked over the young man. The ship’s barber had done an excellent job of dying and cutting his hair, and with the clothes switch, the look was nearly perfect. He was the spitting image of Will. Just then, Jonas came into the room. He was a slight man, and despite the best efforts of the ship’s barber, looked quite a bit less like Sally than Moze looked like Will.
       There were a few laughs as Jonas walked in, wig and all, but the captain’s serious gaze stared them down, and the men fell back to doing their work in silence. “Jonas, lad, come here.”
       Jonas walked over to the captain, gaze slightly down. “Jonas, my boy, chin up. You’ve been chosen for a very important assignment. You may have heard, there will be soldiers with guns at the port. This is a very serious business, indeed. Crimson’s only chance will be if you give her time to escape. You must be swift, and you must be clever. And there is a high likelihood that you will be captured. When this happens, you must not resist, or they may shoot you.”
       Jonas recoiled at these words, but the importance of his work sank in, and he held his head a little higher. He nodded a curt nod. “Thank you captain. I will remember your words.”
       The captain broke the formality and pulled Jonas into a long hug. “My lad,” he said, “may the winds of fate keep you safe always.” He wiped away a tear and then went back to his work station. Jonas joined Moze and the two of them walked out onto the upper deck.
       The captain’s voice called out on the intercom all over the ship: “My lads, now is the time for docking! We will come to a stop very soon, and then the plank will reach the shore, and then, my lads, then! Then we will sing the songs of our fathers and rejoice as old friends meet old friends and the north wind which brings cold chaos is defeated and summer reigns through the hearts of us all!
       A great cry came from all around the ship. Cheers and then, slowly at first, but building and building, the sounds of a song – an ancient song of wood and wine and the sea – rose up from all the decks as each man according to their rank and voice, joined their voices until the ship rang with their call to challenge fate and time and any enemy who dared stand in their way.
       And the ship lurched finally to a stop. They had arrived.
       
       ***
       
       “I don’t know about this,” said Sally, “the water’s awfully choppy, do you think we’re going the right way?” They had been in the dinghy for several hours and now the sun was just beginning to crest over the horizon. Sally and Will were navigating by compass, and the little motor in their craft seemed fit enough.
       “I think we just have to stay the course,” said Will. “We’ll get there in good time. Follow the compass and we’ll arrive all right.”
       They had been dropped off out of sight of the port, and were given a bearing to follow. Their landing target was a small park to the north of the port. Actually, most of the coast to the north of the entrance to the port was park, and so they really just needed to head east, and they’d hit something. Still, Will and Sally were nervous.
       “I just hope it works,” said Sally for the millionth time.
       Will let out a sigh, “I know Sally, I know. But I think it will. Anyway, Crimson Hen has confidence that it will.”
       “You’re right,” she said again for the millionth time, but there was tension between the two. A minute or two of silence passed before she said again, “but what if it doesn’t? What do we do if it doesn’t?”
       “It will!” Will was beginning to lose patience, but even still, he shared her concerns. Just then, a dark line appeared on the horizon. “Look, Sally! It’s land, we’re going to make it.”
       They shared a moment of revel and happiness with the thought of landing on the shore and disappearing into the Lithuanian countryside. Will looked down at the bowling ball bag at his feet, and smiled to himself. We’re going to make it! He thought to himself, and tightened his grip on the handle of the little motor pushing them toward shore.
       Minutes passed, and the little line grew longer and wider and thicker and darker. Suddenly, Sally sat up sharply pointing, nearly upsetting their little craft. “Will!” She shouted.
       “What! What is it?” Will turned to crane in his seat to see what Sally was pointing at. On their tail was a small dark blob, just visible in the morning haze.
       “What is that?” Sally asked. They both watched it for a while and it dawned on them at the same time that the little blob was rapidly growing into a bigger and bigger blob. “It’s a boat, Will and it’s headed straight for us! Can this thing go any faster?!”
       “I have it full out, I’m afraid,” Will said grimly. He was looking at the land ahead and back at the rapidly advancing boat, and then back at the land. “I don’t know if we’re going to make it, Sally, it’s going to be close.”
       “Oh Will, it’s a military vessel, it has guns on the deck! Will, I’m scared! I think we’re caught Will, what will we do?” Sally was kneading her hands with anxiety. “What are we going to do Will?”
       Will looked down at the bowling ball bag and said with his teeth gritted, “We’re going to keep going, Sally, we’re not going to give up until Crimson Hen has found her friends!”
       The little boat plunged on in silence as the giant military craft over took them in leaps and bounds. Then the little boat was a hundred yards from shore, then the military boat, loaded with soldiers passed them and went screeching into the shallows coming to an abrupt stop. Dozens of heavily armed men piled out of the boat into the shallow water. They were clearly well trained in this kind of maneuver because by the time the little dinghy pulled up to the shore, they stood in a tidy semi circle around where the dinghy came to rest, weapons trained directly at Will and Sally.
       “Hands up!” Came the command. Will and Sally stepped out of the little dingy onto the shore with their hands up. Will looked at Sally, and Sally looked at Will.
       “I’m sorry Sally.” Will said quietly into the silence.
       Sally was suddenly calm. Waves crashed around them, though nothing else seemed to move. There was no breeze in the early morning. Something in Sally gave, some primordial thing, something she’d been carrying for a long time that the crisis of their current circumstance made impossible for her to carry any longer. So in her heart, she laid it aside. Something about her fears being realized made them seem less important. Less powerful.
       She looked at Will and smiled. “I love you, you know.” Will forgot about the men with guns. He forgot about being undocumented in a foreign country. He forgot about Moze and the Captain and the crew. He even forgot about Crimson Hen. He just looked into Sally’s eyes. And he smiled.