He concocted elaborate restaurant fantasies, with Astrid in a waitress uniform, bringing him course after course of grilled fish, rare steak, roasted potatoes, string beans, candied carrots, cream of mushroom soup, oysters, applesauce and ice cream. She sidled past his chair, hips swinging. She leaned over him, fussing with the place settings, asking, “Good? Enough? More?”

Wonderful. No. Please.

She sat on his knee and fed him, the gravy and grease sliding down her forearms, which she then offered him to lick. “More?”

More.

Over his ravenous mouth Astrid dangled thin asparagus spears.

More. Hungry.

She unbuttoned her blouse and dribbled butter and honey on her breasts.

Me so hungry.

Kissed him with a mouth full of watermelon and cherries.

Feed me. Fuck me.

He arm-swept the loaded table and devoured his server. Stuffing his mouth as he ripped open his pants.

“More,” she cried, wanton and greedy.

There was more than enough. There was plenty. In a marvelous, belly-gorging glut, Kennet slid his cock into the oven of the Astrid’s bounty and came like a cornucopia. She came right back at him, gushing raspberries and cream, dark beer and champagne and cold, clear spring water.

A Different Breed of Brothers

14 Mar 1945

We moved to the town of Glees, for no other reason than to let the 4th Armored take credit for securing the city of Worms. Obviously they have a better PR officer than the 11th.

By the way, not one single soldier says the name of the city the right way, which is with a V, Vorms. No, we are honor-bound as good Americans to delight in saying WORMS, goddammit.

We found an abandoned house with—holy shit!—an Opel Admiral convertible and a berry-red Opel Kapitan. You never saw such a reaction. Fellows stumbled toward the cars in a trance, staring and whistling as if they were a couple of naked women. Walking circles, admiring from all angles, popping the hood and talking shop about engines. Jock hotwired both cars and we all took them for a spin.

We also found an abandoned steam engine train. I don’t know how the hell fellows managed to get it up and running, but we piled aboard to drive it back and forth along a stretch of track. I can’t remember the last time I had so much fun or laughed so hard.

“Pescado,” Ingle called from the side of the tracks. “Fish. Get down, come here.”

“What?”

“Jorgy wants you.”

“What for?”

“Come on.”

Kennet surrendered his spot on the steam train’s engine and hopped down. “Am I being promoted?”

Ingle didn’t answer and Kennet felt a trickle of foreboding touch the back of his neck.

“Ralph, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know. But Jorgy told me to get you, and the chaplain was with him.”

Kennet closed his eyes, now cold all over. “Shit.”