There was no drumroll. Ironside only gestured to the Russian sergeant. The sergeant raised his sword, and a hush fell on the field. He had no interest in letting his friends be killed, and yet he had no idea how to free them. He looked everywhere. He looked to the sky, which was black. He looked to the barracks, which were turning to embers. He looked toward Ironside, who was gazing back with mild indulgence.

Fate, when taking its time, was never kind. The smirking blond lieutenant, arms behind his back, target on his chest, now burst into sobs, his caustic attitude vanished, and then his friend the sergeant, who realized there was no such thing as finding the surface of the lake, that life was all about the underwater, brought down his sword, and Hugo, one of many, wondering, “Is this a dream? Am I waking up?,” fired his rifle.

22

Lee wasn’t so much tried and forgiven as he was needed to work on the Marlins on the DH 4s that had flown over Saint-Mihiel. He was released from prisoner detention but told he should return there after duty. While refitting minute hose clamps, he thought of his dogs. They had taken the milk greedily, emptying half the can, one smear on the nose at a time. He was not allowed to dawdle in the camp, but he asked if anyone had seen Banjo, and no one had.

When he returned to the prisoners’ barracks, the dogs weren’t on the blankets he’d put on the floor. Instead, they were on the other side of the barrier, in Harry’s lap.

Lee leaned against the wire, poking his tongue into his cheek. He considered telling someone to nail the wire back down, but then remembered he’d been trading cigarettes with the enemy. “All right,” he finally said, “they’re yours.”

“I’ve been using a warm cloth, like so, to run over their tummies and their bottoms,” Harry said. He was wearing spectacles now, and the cloth he held up was soft cotton. “Watch. Like so.” He explained that this stimulated their bowels, and told Leland he would supervise the first few times Leland attempted it. “I’m sorry, Corporal, does this make you uncomfortable?”

“Well—”

“The alternative is to use your tongue. Which they might prefer, but there are limits. I was going to trim their dew claws, but I’m afraid they’re too weak for such a thing. This one”—Harry held up the male—“is adequate. The female, however, is most likely going to be an extraordinary animal. She’s more alert at three or four days of age than any other dog I’ve had the pleasure of meeting. You should keep the boy to amuse her. What are you going to do with them, old chap?”

“I don’t care.”

“I’m afraid you do. You’ve named the girl.”

“That was an accident.”