Sometimes, being older had its perks. Tom had not felt tempted to party away their break, though he could well understand their revelry.

He’d observed that war was an unnatural intruder onto the linear path of boy to man. Most of these boys weren’t even old enough to vote or buy a beer. But here they were tasked with saving the whole damn world.

They should be seeing movies with girls on Friday nights. Stopping into hardware stores to pick up supplies for weekend projects. Enjoying their new driver’s licenses.

Tom thought their temporary debauchery was completely understandable given the opposing expectations of their age versus their circumstance. Their baby faces told one story. The weariness etched in their faces told another.

Every day, younger recruits joined them. Fresh out of boot camp. Wide-eyed and ready for the adventure of battle that would prove their manhood and worth. Tom and Malarky and Winters and Muck could warn them that they wouldn’t feel like men, let alone human beings, when they were hungry and exhausted, and they’d just seen the limbs of a fellow soldier shot off as his blood watered the desolate ground.

But they kept silent. The boys would find out soon enough.

The time for champagne was over.

Because winter had arrived.

Captain Winters was being called away from Easy Company for a regimental job.

And they were heading to Belgium.

*  *  *

“It’s Christmas Eve.”

“What even is Christmas? Birth of a savior? We need a savior now. In this icebox.”

Disagreements had replaced discourse.

The truck on the war-torn Belgian road hit a divot and they all lurched forward. They were blinded by the starless dark of the sky, clouds hovering from an earlier rainstorm. Mud kicked up, slipping under the canvas cover whose ropes had loosened, exposing them to the elements. Tom barely noticed. They were dirty enough to begin with.

Malarky hummed “Silent Night” under his breath, but the man next to him slapped his face and told him to shut up.

Tom watched—weary, cold, as the men unraveled. The temperature outside was far more frigid than any Virginia winter he’d ever known. It was mitigated briefly by their sardine-like tightness—which brought its own discomfort—but soon they would step out into the bitter winter winds.

He was worried. Would they even be able to fight if they were frozen? It was difficult enough to hoist a grenade launcher onto your shoulders in the best of circumstances.