Well, isn't it a bit unusual to run into an old friend in an odd corner of the world like this? I asked.

Neither pie nor cake, piecake (shown above) combines its “cousin’s” best features without losing the special characteristics that make it a separate entity.[…]Piecake is delicious.[…]Piecake exists as an entity separate from its cousins, pie and cake, and it is, repeating, delicious.[…]If you or your family do not like piecake, don’t make it again. Don’t even try to finish off the leftovers; throw ’em away, or give what’s left to the dog. The odds are, however, a thousand-to-one that there will be no piecake leftovers when you make it the first time—or when you make it the second time, the third time or the 75th time. Because piecake is delicious—mighty delicious. It’s made just as the name implies: in a pie shell that’s filled with batter. But that’s not all. There’s fruit in it, baked beneath the batter. Cranberries have a part in both recipes given below, starring in the tangy cranberry piecake and holding a supporting role in the mouth-watering prune piecake.

And there rises a shining palace whose crystal glittering roof is seen by mariners who traverse the extensive sea in barks built expressly for that purpose, and thither come all herds and fatlings and firstfruits of that land for O'Connell Fitzsimon takes toll of them, a chieftain descended from chieftains.

We were almost invisible in our tiger stripes and ghillie suits. However, as the unit marched by, a lone gomer broke rank and ventured into the high, wet saw grass that concealed our position.