Like most of the men, she shut her eyes when Ferreira pressed his bone saw against Frenchie’s swollen leg. “Wait a second, Doctor! Just a second.” Frenchie gazed one more time at his leg. His choice to fight the marching boots would make him a cripple. Ferreira wondered how that made him feel about his decision. Frenchie inhaled deeply, pressing his lips firmly together, as if that would keep the screams inside, the screams, the despair, the fear . . . then he nodded again. This time it was Ferreira who had to catch his breath, to pull himself together for the butchery he was about to perform.
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