“Duncan,” he said again, and now Lee recognized the voice as Temple’s, a bearlike corporal from Oregon. He also realized Temple was holding a hammer. “I want you to take your fucking dogs and get the fuck out of this fucking barracks for the rest of the fucking war.”

“But—”

“Now.”

“They can’t—”

“If one of them makes another fucking noise, I’m going to flatten it. Move.”

“Temple, they could die from the cold.”

“That a problem?”

Lee walked with his puppies squirming under his arms, and a blanket thrown over him, poncho-style. He found himself walking toward the mess tent, where perhaps someone friendly would spot him some coffee (no), then toward the barracks, thinking he might reason with Temple (he reconsidered).

He remembered the shed at the edge of the field, where they stored the wooden tackle used to brace the DH 4s when they were at rest. Inside was a small space among the beams and supports, just long enough for him to stretch out on the wooden floorboards. The windows were wire mesh. As he emptied his duffle, he noted that the door barely fit the hinges.

He struggled to make a bed out of his spare uniform and drawers. He pulled his animals toward him, wafted the blankets over them, and found he had made a tent—his duffle, his boots, his knees propped up the blankets under which he and the dogs could sleep. They had had enough excitement, and after realizing there would be no more playing, they each walked in circles a few times and nestled against Lee, Nanette under his knees and Boy between his arm and his body.

It had begun to snow. It wasn’t the sticking kind, but there were flurries outside the window, and he could hear the angry whistling of the storm.

His mother had tried to spare him the pain of a pet and a father. You can’t save people you love from having their hearts broken, because sometimes they want things, regardless. Dear Mom: I’ve been a terrible …

Sometime later, he woke to find Nanette standing on top of the blankets, staring at him as she had the night before. Her breath made small jets of steam. This time, he said, “No,” firmly, and swept her under the covers. “It’s cold out there,” he whispered. “Go to sleep.”

When he awoke, the sun was shining, the light giving a listless sheen to the walls. He stood and threw open the door. His dogs bounded outside to relieve themselves in the field.

Immediately he understood something was wrong. Both of them were putting their moist noses into the breeze. Their ears, which normally flopped over, were standing. Boy made a cautious, catlike siren, a suspicious snarl, and then he was silent again. The cold wind ruffled their fur.