In the gasping lull between shells, a human noise. A whistle. The opening bar of the “Colonel Bogey March.”

Kennet peered around his tree, following the sound. Toward a gigantic pine that had fainted on the forest floor, tugging up a massive root ball. Around its edge peeked a face. It was Ralph Ingle. He held up a flat palm, then leaned out more to scan the woods. He rolled to his belly, rifle to his shoulder. He held up one finger now. On your mark. Then another. Get set. Then three.

Go.

Kennet crouched and ran to Ingle. Hopped neatly over his prone body and rolled behind the root ball. Ingle pulled in and there they sat, smushed shoulder to shoulder, trembling all over.

“Jesus, Pescado, am I glad to see you,” Ingle said.

“Shit on a fucking stick.”

“Me cago en todo lo que se menea.”

“Fan i helvetes jävla skit.”

They sat a moment, exhausting every curse word in every language they knew. It seemed to clear their heads, as did the security of each other’s company.

“We need to find the others,” Kennet said.

“Our others,” Ingle said. “Christ, don’t let us find theirs.”

The Eighty-Eight That Kills You

Kennet and Ingle found and followed a dirt path, heading toward where the trees stood farther apart. Moving from trunk to trunk, pausing to scan, scout, look and listen, it felt to Kennet they were on a week-long journey, although it couldn’t have been more than half an hour. They came across a group of soldiers and Kennet seized up all over as he squinted at their uniforms and weapons. Then his body melted into a gorgeous relief. These guys were theirs. Unknown to Kennet—not their platoon or battalion—but God, were they beautiful.

Soon Ingle and Kennet were back among familiar faces and their column was retreating to the nearby town of Jodenville.

That’s it? Kennet thought. No more action today?

He blinked in disbelief at himself.

What the fuck, you want more?

I couldn’t believe it, he wrote. I took one shot from the liquor that is combat. Became immediately drunk. Ugly drunk. Staggering, stinking and delusional, guaranteed to be puking on my shoes with a hangover that wouldn’t quit. The horrible high wore off and for an insane moment, I wanted to belly-up to the bar again. Because I’d never been so frightened in my life. And I’d never felt more alive.

That’s a side of me I’ve never seen before.

I don’t like it.

The column drove into a deserted field outside of Jodenville. This town was our spoils of war, all we had to show for the day’s efforts. The men were ordered to sit tight in the tracks while Lt. West and Lt. Jorgensson went into town to meet up with other COs. For some reason, Jorgy motioned for me to come along with him.