There followed talk of circumstances near Great-Bridge. While we have been laboring here, raising fortifications around Norfolk, against the rebels break through our lines and assault us, there are daily small actions and sorties in the swamps to the south: houses burned, raids on entrenchments, mortar shelling, a few dead from snipers or volleys from our stockade.

Slant, Pomp, and I listened for some time to these accounts, and then, the talk turning to other subjects, we whispered among ourselves. The three of us do not speak loudly in our barracks, perhaps because we are sensible that these are men, and we are boys; these others are whole, when we know ourselves broken.

To calm Slant, who now looked about him with unease, I told them of a battle joined between the Romans and the Albans: It was seen that the slaughter from the meeting of their two armies would be senseless and complete; so the two generals came to agreement that, as there were triplets in each army, the two sets of triplets should fight to determine which army would be the victor.

“It would be a fine . . . way to decide,” said Slant, “with less of killing.”

Now Pomp had a look of dreams in his eyes, and bade us imagine instead how the battle would appear, were one a triplet: the long afternoon; the armor in the sun; seeing your own self cut down again and then again; and killing the same man, only to have him rise, just winded, and raise his sword to finish you.

I asked them what they wished out of our present conflict.

Slant answered that he wanted to have many children, and a farm, and a plump, good wife.

Pomp said: “I suppose I wish to be a hero.”