The trio drives back to camp stone-faced. "Officers don't run," Liebgott spits, still insisting that if the man had been a soldier just like them, he wouldn't have fled so guiltily. Webster disagrees. "The war's over," he notes. "Anybody would run." Damn right.
"Summer in this alpine paradise should've been a welcome relief, especially now we were at peace with the Germans," Winters narrates. "But everyone wanted to go home." This transitions us to the crossroads checkpoint, at which Allied soldiers control the flow of traffic in and out of the region. A much older soldier from Mannheim chats idly with Pvt. Janovec, the Strumpet Humper from last time. The banter is unremarkable but for the phrase, "Russia is not desirable," which struck me funny somehow but for an undefined reason. Janovec is duly impressed that the man survived both World Wars, then leaves the cozy chat long enough to wave through a truckload of German soldiers. He salutes them respectfully just as Webster pulls up to relieve him. "Don't salute the Germans!" Webster scolds him, amused. Janovec giggles that he gets a kick out of it, especially now that his rage has been redirected toward the Japanese. Webster delivers his lines with a cigarette hanging stiffly from his lips. You can practically see the thought-bubble pop above his head: "You're Danny Zuko. Be the Zuko. Live the Zuko." Alas, Webster looks like he'd be more comfortable conversing with a bayonet between his teeth. Janovec complains about having only seventy-five points of the possible 85, then bounds happily to the Jeep bound for the barracks. Webster, having been prodded for the information, yells that he's got eighty-one points. Janovec snickers. "That's just not good enough," he jokes as the Jeep speeds away.
Webster busies himself in finding a ride for a lone traveler, finally settling on yanking the luggage from an upscale family's back seat and foisting the Munich-bound man upon the complaining people. Meanwhile, a barrel drops out of the back of a supply truck, dropping in front of Janovec's Jeep and causing a horrible crash. Webster's head snaps up when he hears the accident; scared, he sprints toward the smoking wreckage. "Oh, Jesus," he sputters, freaked. When Winters arrives at the ambulance, Janovec is already dead. Webster mournfully reveals that the lively kid was a mere ten points shy of discharge.
"The enemy had surrendered, but somehow" soldiers kept dying, Winters's narration tells us as we see regret in his eyes. He notes the stunning unfairness of it all -- men who served bravely and with distinction since as far back as Normandy still could not return home, all due to an arcane point system. It certainly seems sadistic to punish people for successfully dodging bullets. "What [the soldiers] did have plenty of were weapons, alcohol, and too much time on their hands," Winters informs us. Late at night, Sgt. Grant carts around a handful of soldiers while telling a merry tale of ol' Gonorrhea's D-Day landing -- but, like everything else, it ends sadly when Grant rehashes the circumstances of Gonorrhea's departure from the front lines. I really miss him, too, which says a lot because you can't imagine how tiresome it is to type the word "gonorrhea" over and over until my fingers feel like they've caught it. As I reminisce about Gonorrhea, though, Sgt. Grant notices a commotion up ahead and idles the Jeep, hopping out to investigate.