WWII is at its peak in Europe and Eugene has never been more stressed. In the frigid, snowy forest of Bastogne, frostbite is common. The soldiers are trapped-enemy surround them on every side-and are slowly running out of supplies: ammo, food, medical, and clothing.

Eugene’s complexion is made even more pale with the cold, his nose, ears, and cheeks dusting a pinkish-red. His stubble has grown in and his helmet is almost always situated on his head. Eugene sits in a manmade foxhole counting and organizing the remaining medical supplies; it’s grim.