When the plane finally settled heavily into the water, Sonny climbed down onto a rocking pontoon and shone a spotlight in front of the plane while Snake taxied toward a wall of cypresses in the distance. It took them four minutes to reach the trees. Once there, Snake steered the plane into a long channel and taxied for another minute. Then he cut the engine.

Sonny’s heart banged like an antique pump in his chest. There was so much adrenaline flushing through him that he felt like he’d been doing coke for two hours. He quickly realized that he couldn’t manhandle the boys out of the plane on his own. After bitching for most of a minute, Snake got out of his seat and helped Sonny muscle the boys through the door and down into the water. Neither boy stirred when they were dropped in, though the water had to be freezing.

When Sonny turned to get back into the plane, Snake told him they couldn’t chance either kid waking up in time to swim to shore or climb into a cypress and save himself. He told Sonny to hold each kid’s head under the water for at least three minutes. It wasn’t drowning the boys that freaked Sonny out—though he’d never cared for killing—it was turning his back on Snake to do it. But in the end he didn’t have a choice. Snake had the only gun.

One by one, Sonny held the boys’ heads under the water for the allotted time. Jake Whitten twitched after about a minute under the surface, but then he stopped, and Sonny tried not to think about his freezing hands or Snake’s pistol as he waited for Snake to call time. The colder he got, the easier it was to imagine Snake saying, “Sorry, Sonny boy, Forrest’s orders.”

But Snake never said that.

After catching his breath on the pontoon, Sonny climbed back into the Cessna and collapsed into his seat while Snake taxied back to open water. Forty seconds later, they were airborne again, climbing for the clouds. Snake remarked that two missions had just been accomplished with a minimum of conversation, and that mostly curses. That was how vets worked in combat zones, he said with nostalgia, and Sonny grunted in agreement. But inside, Sonny was still a wreck.

“Forrest may be slow to pull the trigger,” Snake said, “but once he makes up his mind, he don’t take chances or prisoners. Ask them jellylegs we left back there in the swamp.” Snake’s harsh laughter bounced off the windscreen and hurt Sonny’s ears. “Ask Henry Sexton,” he added.

Shivering in his seat, Sonny gave the obligatory laugh.