Winters scans the other Metro passengers, laying eyes on a young, amiable-looking French lad and an old woman knitting. He flashes in and out of his memories of Holland, Dukeman's death, and the wounding of his men. Closing his eyes, Winters relives running across a Dutch field and happening upon the unarmed German. He turns to smile at the French boy, but sees in him the countenance of the young Nazi he killed. The moment of eye contact with the German lasts forever, and for the first time we see fear in Winters's eyes, but not fear of death -- fear of himself, and of what he's about to do, and what he knows he must do. And he left the coffee pot on back at the barracks. His eyes flying open, Winters realizes that he's ridden the Metro through to the last stop. Slowly, and I do mean slowly, he rises from his seat, slinks out of the station, exchanges a half-smile with the French lad, and moseys through the dark, deserted section of Paris. He looks so lonely and troubled; this part touched me more than a lot of the WWII killing scenes have. Something about Damian Lewis's portrayal of Winters has me absolutely dying to see the man smiling, happy, and actually enjoying himself, and letting others enjoy him. When he reaches his lodgings, he can only watch people having fun; he doesn't participate.
But oh, forget all that crap. Winters is getting in the bath, and I spy a naked thigh. Exhaling elatedly, Winters leans back and revels in the warm bathwater, and he's all sinew and lean muscle and I've never wanted a bath more in my life.
At the camp in Driel, a John Wayne movie screens in a tent. Luz loudly tries to pull a vocal MBTV of sorts on the movie, imitating the Duke and making fun of the movie. Donnie and Toye get really mad at him for spoiling the movie, because John Wayne is really talented and he deserves his fame, and Luz is just jealous because he has no talent of his own and is just a big lame dorkwad with no life and it's not Jacob and Ashley's fault that they are in a boy band, and they dress really well so you just shut the fuck up about that, and O-TOWN RULZ 4EVA!
Suddenly, Malarkey dashes inside and throws sixty dollars at his pal Skip, from whom he borrowed the initial stake for what became an epic night of gambling. He throws Skip an extra tip and brags that he won as much as six thousand on the tables, but ended up with only $3600. Skip is shocked. Malarkey grins that he's going to blow it all in Paris as soon as possible. That's fairly insensitive, because in the book, Malarkey's excitement stems from his ability to pay for his remaining semesters of University of Oregon tuition. That's one of my favorite details from the book, and I'm sad they scrapped it here in favor of making him look like a total boner.