Yet he had just rescued two puppies in the midst of a war. This meant far more dangers than taking them out to sea. He was shivering violently now with red-faced misery. The village of Fleury—the dead cornfield, burned to stubs, the brothel with its women standing in front, waving at them—sent him into a dim nervousness. As the plane began to descend, he was certain Ripley was landing too steeply, and when they were just feet above the field, he was sure the DH 4 would crash, and when the wheels were on the ground, he was afraid to touch the girl dog or her brother, knowing in his heart they would have frozen, and when he felt the rise of their bellies against his palm, he knew he could never find milk for them.

A few minutes later, he had left Ripley with the plane, dashing toward his bunk for blankets. He put the puppies down his shirt and cradled them as he trotted along the camp’s fairway. It was late afternoon, and the chill air was darkening. And there was Banjo, back in her pen. He could see her ragged ears drooping forward, her brown snout against the mud, the tips of her paws by her eyes, as if she were trying to hide. As he knelt before her, she didn’t move.

Had she run off because of the noise of battle, given birth, and then lost her litter? Perhaps someone had borrowed her puppies, to show them off to a visiting ace, and Lee imagined a good-natured presentation, “For valor, here is a future Kriegshund,” and then he admitted that the battlefield wasn’t so well behaved, and that her litter was probably stillborn somewhere under a barracks, or in a ditch.

But would she accept two strangers?

He felt down his shirt, and carefully laid the girl, then the boy, down by her side. They simultaneously raised their heads as if smelling the breeze, and made small swimming motions with the spoons of their undersized paws until Lee scooped them closer to her belly.

Lee looked directly at Banjo’s eyes, which remained dull. That she was nursing didn’t seem to faze her. It was soon apparent she would neither reject nor accept her new charges, but would allow fate to roll over her.

He stood up, conscious that he was still wet, bruised, and filthy. He brushed at the back of his neck, and his hand came away with a smear of black. His ankle throbbed; how had he just run across the camp? A black fatigue settled down on his shoulders, pressing him until he began to wobble.

Just then, Lieutenant Hart walked past the mess tent, stopping on his heel when he saw the puppies. Lee smiled at him. But Hart did not smile back. His face twitched, his eyebrows went together in surprise, and he put his hands on his hips.