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The single biggest crippler of American soldiers in the Hürtgen is trench foot. It doesn’t kill, but it sends a lot of soldiers to the rear and can be a sort of million-dollar wound. So Rio regularly performs what the platoon refers to as a “twinkle-toe” inspection, in which every member of the squad must remove boots and socks and show their feet. The nights are more wintry with each passing day, with temperatures dropping to freezing. Cold plus wet equals trench foot.

“How long since you changed socks, Dial?”

“Um . . . I, uh . . .”

“Use a rag or some underwear and wipe out the insides of your boots, Dial, then dry those socks and put on fresh,” Rio says. “You have some powder?”

“I used it on . . .” She looks uncomfortable.

“Your bra. I understand, Dial, but there’s no such thing as trench breast, so save your powder for your feet. Beebee! Dial needs talcum.”

She moves on. Geer has already taken off his boots and set them in the air to dry, at least until the rain returns. His feet look fine, as do Jenou’s and Jack’s and Pang’s. They’ve all seen actual cases of severe trench foot, and they know they don’t want it.

“Private Sweetheart?” Rio asks when she reaches Chester. “Why do you not have a spare pair of socks?”

He shrugs. “I lost them in a card game.”

“A card game with who?”

Chester glances toward Cat Preeling’s squad, similarly laid out nearby.

“Dammit, Sweetheart, don’t you have more sense than to play poker with Preeling? Have you ever met anyone who’s beat her?” She raises her voice to a yell, but one that carries a tone of amused exasperation. “Cat!”

Through the air comes a pair of balled-up socks, which Pang snags in midair and then tosses to Chester.

Cat yells, “But he owes me two packs of smokes for that!”

“Yes, he does,” Rio agrees. “Fair is fair.”

“Speaking of fair,” Jenou says. “When are we getting some time off the line? I never thought I’d say these words, but I would really like a walk through the delousing tent. My fleas and my lice are battling for control, and I’m losing.”

“Preaching to the choir,” Rio says fervently, scratching her armpit.

Lieutenant Horne strides toward them with Stick in tow. Horne has a determined look. Stick looks grim.

“That’s not good news coming,” Jack says.

“Is it ever?” Rio mutters.

Cat and the new sergeant of Fourth Squad are summoned, and Horne leads them to a well-sheltered spot back in the trees. He takes a knee, but none of his sergeants copy the stance.

“All right, men,” Horne says. “The colonel wants a platoon-strength recon tonight to—”

Groans.

“—to push off to our northeast. There’s a road the tanks want to use, but Jerry’s been busy over there so we need to assess the condition of the road.”

“I can tell you the condition, sir,” Cat says. “They’ve cut down trees to block the road, and they’ve mined the woods on either side.”

Horne looks up, angry. “Have you been there?”

“No, but I’ve seen—”

“Then best to remain silent, however hard that is for someone of your sex.”

“Yes, sir,” Cat says, and smiles her wry, downturned smile for Rio’s benefit.

“They’re giving us some engineers to help assess conditions. Now, if it so happens that the road is not in the condition Preeling thinks it is, then you are to advance along the road until you encounter resistance, radio back, and hold position.”