Little is adamant about keeping Nalle’s side of the room exactly as it was. He won’t hear of moving the other bed out or touching any of Nalle’s things. He’s more obsessive than ever about tracking your and Minor’s paths now. Every morning at the kitchen table, he diligently searches the newspaper for any mention of the 11th Armored or the Indianapolis, clips it out with scissors and then puts a pin in the map. I don’t know if it eases his grief about Nalle, or only makes it worse. It’s difficult to talk to him. Most days he’s shut up tight within himself, but the other night I saw him and Major sitting down by the river. Major had his arm around Little and the way Little’s shoulders were heaving and shaking, I knew he was crying. It broke my heart, of course, but at the same time I was relieved Little was letting it down.

Major does have that way about him—he’s a haven for your worst feelings and fears. He knows how to rearrange worry into action. If I could arrange it, I’d send him out to you right away. He’s a dose of everything you need right now.

Your father is… I won’t lie. He’s just devastated. I’m taking good care of him but promise me you’ll write him soon. Like Little, he needs to know where you are.

I miss you more than ever, dear friend and darling fat-head. Be careful. You are so precious to us.

My love always,

Marta

Kennet put his back to Hook, curled in on himself and pressed his mouth hard into his wrist. Like carefully opening a pressure valve, he eased one long, stifled thread of a scream through his throat. A low, rushing hiss that could, he was sure, be mistaken for the sound of sleep.

“Come here, you damn fool,” Hook said. His hands roughly rolled Kennet toward him. “That’s no way to cry and it does nobody any good. Come here.”

He pulled Kennet’s head against his chest. Kennet half-protested, even as his hands closed in fists on Hook’s sleeves.

“I don’t know what to do,” he said through chattering teeth.

“Let it out,” Hook said. “No shame. You got to. You can’t take it into the next battle with you, Fish. You got to let it all out here and leave it behind tomorrow. There’s nothing for it. Do what I tell you and let it go now.”

He rubbed Kennet’s head. Roughly at first, like he was petting a dog. “Poor bastard,” he mumbled.

Then his hand settled down, heavy and strong.

“I’m so sorry, Fish.”

Nothing takes the place of a brother, but your men are a different breed of brothers.

Family isn’t only blood. It’s also who you bleed for.