Henry and Woods drove Martin’s truck through a thick fog to the motor pool. They were the lowest ranking soldiers in the squad, so while Martin and Matson got to watch movies in the large white tent at the bottom of the hill, they had to change the oil or clean the bathroom or spend hours in a guard tower staring out into the cold night. Henry seethed in the passenger seat. Fuck Martin. He should change his own fucking oil. But Woods bobbed his head, whistled “Free Bird,” was happy to be finally driving the truck.