A group of men -- including Perconte, O'Keefe, Bull Randleman, and Luz -- tiptoes through the forest, illuminated by light gently filtering through tall trees and lush foliage. They clutch their guns, but without menace; it's as though they're genuinely afraid of having to use them, because to pull the trigger is to admit this war isn't quite over yet. Bull Randleman is stolid, though, as usual -- and he teases O'Keefe for being so jumpy. "Can hear your heart pounding in Arkansas, boy," he drawls. What's his heart doing in Arkansas? Yes! Thank you, thank you. I'll be here for one more week, folks! Don't forget to tip your internet service provider. Perconte opines to Luz that this forest evokes memories of Bastogne. "Yeah, now that you mention it," Luz says. "Except, of course, there's no snow, we got warm grub in our bellies, and the trees aren't fucking exploding from Kraut artillery. But yeah, Frank, other than that, it's a lot like Bastogne." Wow. When did Luz and I become the same person? Luz asks Randleman to smack Perconte; he obliges.
Nixon warily enters a lavish, well-appointed house. He receives no response to his shouts, and assumes the place is deserted, which can mean only one thing: kegger! Feel the rage! But first, Nix hunts for booze, as is his custom. Do you suppose...gosh, I'm going out on a limb here...that Nixon is something of an alcoholic? I wish Spanks would stop doing the tango with Subtlety, because what with all the shots of Nixon drinking, and the demotion, and the drinking, and the trying to find booze, and the drinking, plus all that drinking, it's hard to tell whether Nixon has a problem with excessive drinking. Opening a carafe of liquid, Nixon inhales deeply but does not drink, satisfied momentarily with the aromatherapy. A collection of photographs on a tiny end table diverts his attention. Nixon grabs a large, framed glamour shot of a high-ranking German officer and stares tensely at it. I would love it if he hurled it to the ground and screamed, "Damn you, Father! DAMN YOUR DISAPPOINTED EYES!" But that's just because I watched a lot of daytime drama last month. Like, a lot. Like, suddenly, I'm fairly certain I was switched at birth and then adopted, and now I work as the maid at my actual birth parents' house, so I'm secretly the heiress to a multinational conglomerate that's headquartered on an obscure island nation. Anyway, Marion Ross's stunt-double enters, all gray-coiffed and nervous in the red cardigan she ganked from the Mister Rogers' Neighborhood set. Mrs. Cunningham takes one look at the shattered glass of the photo, which Nixon did at least drop, and eyes the culprit sternly, a silently scathing rebuke. Nixon stares at her, then makes a hasty exit. A dog barks at him from the stairs. "Woof," it explains. Nixon stares at the pooch, unable to conjure a reason for its presence in this scene.