Meeting up with Spina, Roe orders him to grab a pal and find 3rd Battalion, begging them for bandages, plasma, and whatever other supplies they can offer. "And get yourself a hot meal, too," he adds, softly, patting his friend on the arm. Spina scampers off; Roe removes his helmet, lets out a breath, and sits for his first respite in a long while.

Heffron and Spina trudge through the snow. "You know he told me he's a goddamn virgin?" Babe marvels. Spina has no idea who "he" is. "The replacement in my foxhole -- Julian," answers Heffron. "A goddamn virgin. Just a kid." They snicker that the only virgin they know is the Virgin Mary. The only Mary I know is Bloody Mary. The men look around, confused, unable to distinguish one patch of tree-filled snow with another. Suddenly, Heffron drops right into a hidden foxhole. "Hinkel? Hinkel?" calls out a confused German soldier. Scrambling out, Babe grabs Spina and sprints in the opposite direction, as the enemy man grabs his gun to fire at the non- Hinkels.

The 3rd battalion aid station is a trench lined and supported with logs. Medics run though it and offer up bandages to Spina, but can't give away any morphine. Blasts pepper the area too vigorously for Spina to stay and make any kind of case for himself, although he does squeak that 2nd battalion has no aid station and no surgeon. He's bummed at the idea of having to backtrack to Bastogne to scrounge up morphine.

Dinnertime. A ring of NCOs and privates giggles about the Hinkel incident while they try to keep warm. Roe sits alone, off to the side, using physical distance to help keep him emotionally separated from these men he will one day see mortally wounded. "These smell like my armpit," a soldier complains of his beans. "At least your armpit's warm," counters Skip. A few Hinkel jokes ensue, as well as some disparaging remarks about the courage of Lt. Dike. Finally, someone suggests that Roe should check with Dike, who might have some extra syrettes in his relatively unused aid kit -- a condition they appear to ascribe to their commander's propensity to stay put. Not a bad solution, actually, but maybe I'm just chickenshit. And, strike the "maybe." Skip shouts that Hinkel might have a syrette for him, and the group busts up laughing; even Roe smirks.