Dixon sat beside his unconscious buddy as Hallam prayed.

“I am going to make it, praise Jesus. The Krauts had their chance with me, plenty of times. The Lord wants me to survive this war. I don’t know what for, but I believe Him as I never did before.”

“I’m telling you,” Farber insisted, “the reporter knows what’s going on. The war might be over before this train stops, if no one up high doesn’t do something stupid.”

Looking down as though seeking guidance from the toy, Petrowski shook his head, doubting the sermon.

“I can’t believe what I done…. All of us.”

Gupton snorted before speaking.

“Yeah, the war is almost over, but it ain’t over. We’re in a fucking boxcar in Germany with Jerry shitting his britches. The Russians are nailing him from the right, the Brits from the top, America from the bottom. You think the Krauts are just gonna roll over and show their bellies? Hell, no. They’ll fight just like we would in our country.”

“You’re damn right,” Dixon growled. “They’re gonna fight like men at their end. They’re gonna take a lot of Americans with them to their graves. They’re taking me, and I’m taking them.”