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He hoped that a patrol would pass by, or that he would see an airplane veering so far south for some reason. The German plane’s bullets must have made a crack in the fuel tank. They were called Fata Morgana, but, as far as he knew, they referred to images, not voices. -Remember the three by three rule! He didn’t see any parachutes, but it didn’t seem fair play to shoot at parachutists anyway, so he turned briefly north and, as he pulled out the map to get a more precise heading, he had a strange feeling that something was wrong. The distance between the two planes was almost a kilometer, but Robert knew that pulling from behind didn’t give him that much of a chance from that distance, so he waited patiently. At least he would have a nice death. After a while Melina’s pleading voice was heard:

“Robert, I’d like to have sex!”

“How?” he asked stunned. If it hadn’t been for the water jug that filled up daily with cool, fresh water, he might have thought it was just a figment, but so? Because, yes, strange as it seemed, there was something like a shaded path stretched out in front of him, running north and several meters wide.