They have been in Hohenfels for a week now and it has rained every day. The ground is so muddy the trucks are stuck in place. Henry has long ago given up on trying to stay dry or warm. They are here with the rest of the brigade combat team training for the upcoming Kosovo mission. Out in the open field an M-1 Abrams fires up its jet engine. It’s been stuck for two days. Henry has never heard of a tank getting stuck before.

“They’re going to need a fucking Chinook to get that thing out of the ground,” Sergeant Woods says.

“I heard the Army picked this base as a training area because it has the worst weather in Germany,” Matson says. “I bet it’s sunny just ten miles up the road.”

“You hear a lot, don’t you?” Woods says.

“I heard the Army could make it stop raining,” Henry says. “But chooses not to.”

“Christ,” Woods says. “I can’t believe I’ve got to spend the next six months with you clowns.”

Henry wishes he had brought a magazine or a book. But Sergeant Woods told him to leave all that shit back at the barracks. “We’re going to be busy out there,” he said. “You ain’t going to have time to read.”

“Sure wish I had something to read,” Henry says.

Matson laughs.

“But no, we’re going to be too busy to read.”

“You want to read one of my magazines?” Woods asks, pulling a stack of porn wrapped in a baggie from under the radios.

“I should make an EO complaint on you,” Matson says.

“Shit, if you were going to do that you’d have already done it,” Woods says. “But do you feel harassed? I’ll put them away if you do.”

“Fuck you, Sergeant,” Matson says. “Do what you want. But if you want to masturbate you’ll have to do it in the rain.”

Woods opens the bag, pulls a glossy magazine out. “That’s what I like about you, Matson, you’re a male’s female. The commander, he wanted you for his driver, but I told him you were a shitbag who would only get his ass lost.”

“Thanks, Sergeant,” she says. “I didn’t want to drive for that dude anyway.”

“Yeah right,” Henry says. “You’d be warm and dry back in the rear if you were driving for him.”

“Who says I want to be warm and dry?”

Sergeant Woods flips carefully through the pages. “How many porn magazines do you think there are?”

Henry looks out the window, already knows where this is going.

“What?” Matson asks.

“These magazines. I mean, you’ve got the big three—Playboy, Penthouse, Hustler. And they all have their sub-magazines. Then there are all the fetish magazines. So what do you think? Fifty? A hundred?”

“I have no idea,” Matson says.

“Let’s say a hundred,” Woods says.

“Okay.”

“And each magazine has at least three girls, sometimes even four or five.”

“Okay.”

“And most of them publish at least once a month.”

“Are you coming to a point?”

“My point is, where are all these girls? There must be thousands, hundreds of thousands. Why haven’t I met any of them yet?”

Matson sighs. “Are these the thoughts that plague your mind, Sergeant?”

“Sometimes.”

“What’s your wife think about that?”

“My wife? She’s back in Kitzingen.”

“And she let’s you look at porn?”

“She’s back in Kitzingen,” Woods repeats. “If she was here I wouldn’t need these magazines now would I?” He turns to the back pages, Henry looking over his shoulder. “Damn, look at this. I wish my wife would let me fuck her in the ass.”

“You mean she doesn’t,” Matson says.

“Hell no. And believe me I’ve tried.”

“Why aren’t you happy with her vagina?”

Woods shudders. “Matson, you know I don’t like that word. But look at this. Doesn’t she look like she’s enjoying herself?”

Matson looks at the picture, all glossy and airbrushed. “She’s in pain. She probably gets paid extra for that.”

“In pain?” Woods says, looking closely. “How can you tell? She’s smiling.”

“It’s in her eyes,” Matson says.

“You’ve never taken it up the ass, Matson?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s none of your business,” she says. “Have you?”

Woods looks offended. “Hell no,” he says. “I’m no fag.”

“But you want to fuck your wife up the ass,” she says, shaking her head. “You should let her stick a dildo up your butt, see how you like it.”

Woods closes the magazine, puts it away under the radios. “If she loved me, she would let me.”

“I’ll tell you this,” Matson says. “Any guy tries sticking his dick up my ass, whether I’m in love with him or not, I’m breaking his nose.”

“You hear that, Henry?” Woods says. “Don’t try to fuck Matson up the ass.”

“Har, har, har,” Henry says. “I’m going to take a piss.”

“Be careful out there,” Woods says.

The rain is slowing and the mud sucks at Henry’s boots. He claws his way to the back of the truck and pisses on the tire. Back in the truck he huddles close to himself and breathes into his hands. It is getting dark and colder. Matson is napping, using her helmet for a pillow. Sergeant Woods looks at a map as if he knows where he is. The rain finally stops and the sudden silence is eerie.

“Shit,” Woods says, folding the map. “Now they’re going to want us to do shit.”