Mitchel kept his eyes on the road. His gaze darting nervously at the passing cars. Not more than five minutes out of the parkinglot and Mitchel was clenching at the door handle and arm rest, his knuckles turning white under the pressure and his muscles stiffening. It wasn't that he was scared of Rebecca's driving. She was actually a ver good driver. It had just become a habit of his. During war time, you never knew if the next jeep you passed a couple hundred miles down the road was a friend of foe. Many times Mitch had been caught in a rain of bullets off the roadside when he crossed paths with the enemy.