The farmhouse stood alone in a field of green, smoke rising from its chimney. Private Leo Tanaka's squad approached cautiously, weapons ready.
Inside, they found an old woman cooking soup. She looked at their uniforms, their weapons, their young faces, and pointed at the table.
"Sit," she said in accented English. "Eat."
They stared at her, this enemy who offered food.
"My son," she said quietly. "He was your age. He didn't come home from Russia."
Leo sat. His squad followed. They ate her soup, warm and good, the first hot meal in weeks.
When they left, Leo pressed his last
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