Nafiz, while not exactly happy to bunk with Stephan, was not disappointed that he did not get to bunk with Adina or Evelyn either - such a thing would be improper and inappropriate, not to mention that they, being women, had a bonus to backstabbing and various other sorts of treachery. While he had thought of taking the top bunk, the inconvenience of having to go up and down the ladder, combined with his physique, convinced him against this. The Austrian man was little - easier for him to do so.

He hadn't said much during the briefings. There wasn't much for him to say, either - here, in this land of strangers, it felt as if his opinion did not matter, and he could feel judgemental gazes staring at him whenever he put his hard-earned German to use. He did not have the ability to explain himself as elonquently as he could in his native Turkish, and even if he did, things often did not work the way as they worked in his homeland. These giaours worked their spying in a way that Nafiz would have originally found unnecessarily subtle, but nowadays viewed with begrudging respect. 

Even when the slick German had criticized his choice in firearms, Nafiz had managed to keep silent. He would have shown the man a good response for his critique by loading a round into the gun and shooting it in front of his face before he could even say 'Aufwiedersehen', but his superiors back at the Supreme Porte were already anxious about him. He knew very well he was sent here to be away from where the real battle was being fought, and to, hopefully, get rid of himself, and he was going to show them all why they were wrong. He was Eşref Nafiz, son of Naci. He was not to be the laughing stock of those who hadn't even seen the faces of the enemies they were fighting.

Despite it all, Nafiz had left the briefing fairly content. It was nothing he had not been expecting, and it was likely thanks to his previous expectations that he had managed to keep his calm and not end up roaring back at Schwarz. What he had not expected was the woman being selected as the designated driver, however - Nafiz had thought that honor would have gone to the Austrian pygmy, who seemed to be consoling himself with pastry. He had smiled slightly underneath his mustache as the Hungarian woman voiced her concerns about their handler. Perhaps the man would have to be shown the glory of the 'Martin' after all. 

[hr]

While the woman named Evelyn made Nafiz feel wary, he could not help but be amused by Stephan. He did not see him as an equal, nor did he have any respect as a colleague for the little man, but there was something childish about the man, a residue of immaturity that stuck. Nafiz did not tolerate Stephan much, and mostly ignored him, but when he did listen to him he felt humored, as if he were listening to a small boy, which, occasionally, can cause a few stray chuckles. 

Sometimes, Nafiz would entertain the Austrian's questions with answers as opposed to silence. The day before they had moved to the Spanish Train, Stephan had actually asked a question that had made the Albanian answer with more than a one-word reply or a grumble. Nafiz had peeked out slightly from his bunk and given an inquisitive look at the man.

''You are a numbers man, and you should know the idiom, '[i]hit two birds with one stone[/i]'. This Indian likely took a shot at a trench from the side. You see, when trench is attacked, men usually assume the same formation to have uniform line of fire. Shoot from side, and you can pierce not one, but two, maybe three men. I have seen this happen many times. I have seen no citadel in Sinai, however. British love to lie. It is their national pastime, so it is likely propaganda.''

He had smirked underneath his mustache, and, feeling talkative, continued.

''Lying British. Reminds me, one time in Gallipoli, as our foes retreated, we had made our way down to a trench, but stopped going further when we had seen men in uniforms. They did not move, however. We had a good shooter, Muhsin, and he took aim and fired at one of them, and his target's head burst, but rest still did not move. We were surprised, I took some of my men and stormed downhill. The British had dressed up grape sacks in uniforms, propped them up, put helmets on them to run away safely. Had many grapes that day.'' 

He had chuckled afterwards, in remembrance of harder, but simpler times.

[hr]

What had once been Andalusia was now going through tough times, almost as tough as Nafiz' own Empire's. Death and pestilence loomed over every spot of the country - the trains, and the stations, were either standing underneath the shadow of fear of the disease, or had fallen with one foot in the grave. As horrible as the situation was, Nafiz could not help but feel a familiarity and a kinship with the prevalence of suffering around them, which was an unfortunate but also elating change from the relative opulence, at least in comparison to his homeland, of the other European countries he had been through.

Perhaps it was this kinship that had helped Nafiz to convince the railroad inspectors to let them go free. Admittedly, he had not said much, for he did not know a word of Spanish, and most of the attempts to talk had been made by the British woman, but he liked to believe that his reading of the railroad inspectors' gestures, and his body language, had helped them. It was not like he would admit the entirety of the glory to the woman.

He had undoubtedly taken the limelight during the meeting with the cousin-wife of the Acosta man they had been seeking, however. The Spanish woman, somewhat short, dark haired, dark eyed and dark skinned, looked admittedly average - but to Nafiz, her rather bold nature gave her a rather exotic allure. This did not change the fact that she looked ugly to Nafiz, however, and he muffled his kiss to the back of her hand with his mustache, which would later receive a thorough cleaning, as he explained to her that a lady as fine as she should not be so expectant of those who were in her hands.

The surprisingly gentle approach had worked, and Nafiz had enjoyed his reward of riding shotgun alongside the driver, and enjoying the breeze with almost childish enthusiasm. Had this been a simple international trip rather than an important mission, he would've undoubtedly requested a try at the wheel, but for now, he had to tolerate the cold English woman at the wheel. He was certain he'd do a better job if given the opportunity, but, he had to tame his brashness. For now, watching from the front seat was enough.

When asked for his identification papers, Nafiz complied obediently. ''For sure, my British compatriots would not see no breach in the security,'' he mused as he offered his papers, with an incredibly pretentious and posh accent that would no doubt be harmful to anyone who spoke proper English - a perfect cover for his role as a pretentious anglophile.