Don idly nurses a lukewarm cup of coffee that’s more alcohol than caffeine, staring at the woods and jerking at any little noise.

Nights make him paranoid. The darkness- The way a Kraut could just sneak in and kill his crew-

So he doesn’t sleep much.

He watches, alone, normally, for anything that justifies his fear.

He never finds anything.

Bringing a shaking hand to his cold lips, he drinks from the coffee cup and tries not to scold himself for the way the alcohol burns his throat on the way down.