Autumn, 1945–Mobile, Alabama.

You waded through the reeds toward the familiar spot you always met him in, the ground crunching as you carefully stepped over it. “Eugene?” you called, finding him sitting by the trunk of the tree, head in his hands, shoulders shaking. Crying. Your best friend, Eugene Sledge had just gotten back from the Pacific—having fought in the Marine Corps. He wasn’t dealing with the aftermath well. You knelt beside him, hand on his shoulder. “Eugene?” you tried again.