But Bastogne, too, is under siege. Planes rain explosives down upon the town. People frenetically evacuate, even as Roe's Jeep plows through the burning streets. Buildings explode, raining debris upon the roads in fiery, billowing plumes of black poison. Roe leaps out of the Jeep and runs toward the hospital, getting no further than the door before realizing that the facility has been reduced to rubble. "Stay out of there!" someone screams, but Roe is deaf to it, having seen something chilling amid the wreckage. Slowly, agonizingly, he bends and withdraws a simple blue kerchief from amid the ruins, cradling it with roiling emotions in his eyes. "Hinkel, sweet Hinkel," he breathes, a single tear escaping and trickling down his dirty cheek. And, if this was Melrose Place, that last bit would've actually happened, because a Swedish plastic surgeon would've appeared to reveal that Hinkel and Renée are one and the same. "Medic!" shouts a soldier. "Get your ass out here!" Roe remains motionless for several more seconds, unable to tear his eyes from the remnant of Renée. Finally, he stuffs the hanky into his pocket and walks, then trots toward the wounded, never looking back.
Frosty forest. Roe walks purposefully across the snow, blazing past Winters's foxhole and into one he now shares with Heffron. "Everything okay, Babe?" he asks. Babe nods glumly. Roe catches sight of the man's hand wound and inquires, "How'd you do that?" Babe turns to regard him for a second, then sighs, "You did it." Roe is alarmed. He hurriedly promises to fix it up, rummaging for bandages but withdrawing only Renée's scarf. He stares at it again and decides to put it away, then changes his mind, possibly recalling the tenderness with which the wearer ministered to her patients. Or, he's just following his director's orders. I love how his inner peace, his resolution, comes from a small square of cloth. A slight oversimplification of his problem, I think. Tearing the kerchief in half, he begins wrapping Babe's hand. Heffron suddenly looks over at Roe with a wondering smile. "Hey, Gene, you called me Babe," he grins. Roe stops. "I did?" he asks, then tries it out again. "Babe," he says, his lilting Cajun accent drawing out the word. "I guess I did." Babe laughs and imitates him. "Heffron, watch the goddamn line," Roe commands, but he's chuckling too, because "Babe" is the worst nickname of all.
Flipping to a shot from behind their heads, we see their view of the line -- still a nebulous fog hiding Satan only knows what. In front of Roe's foxhole, two giant patches of red-stained snow mar the white landscape.