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if Cal was hurt. Cal seemed to be standing fine beside him.
    Finally Tyrell spoke. Instead of his usual red-faced roar, he addressed Cal with an eerie calm. “This is what happens when you don’t stay in step, recruit.”
    “Yes, sir.” Cal’s voice was flat.
    “You’re filthy, recruit.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Get out of that disgusting uniform.”
    Cal hesitated. “Sir?”
    With a swift intake of air, Tyrell unleashed at full volume. “Did I stutter? You’re a disgrace to this platoon! You’re not fit to wear that uniform, so get it off! On the double! Down to your skivvies!”
    From the corner of his eye, Jim watched as Cal stripped, awkwardly shifting his rifle from arm to arm since he couldn’t dare put it down in the mud. He hopped on one foot as he struggled to yank off his trousers over his boots. Jim clenched his fists, pressing his arms to his sides.
    Once Cal stood at attention again, Tyrell inspected him. He barked, “Pick up those revolting pieces of clothing. You think I’m gonna carry them back to the barracks for you?”
    Cal did as he was told, balling up his uniform and tucking it under his arm. “No, sir!”
    “Forrrward march!”
    They were off again. Jim caught glimpses of Cal’s chest, the dark hair scattered across it matted down by the relentless, icy rain. As they marched on interminably, Cal began to noticeably shiver. Jim wanted to give him his own poncho and tell Tyrell to go to the devil, but knew it would only make things worse.
    When they finally returned to the hub of the base, Marines laughed and hollered at Cal, whistling and breaking into a ribald song. Jim could see the stony set of Cal’s jaw as he ignored them. They were finally dismissed for an hour to write letters, but Cal headed straight to the head.
    Although he was eager to write home, Jim followed. The empty shower room was large and open. Still in his muddy boots, Cal dropped his gear and clomped over to one of the showers and turned on the water. His soaked white briefs clung to his buttocks.
    For some reason, group showers always made Jim strangely bashful and uncomfortable, even back in high school phys ed. He’d seen Cal and all the other recruits naked by this point, and didn’t want to be labeled a prude. Yet there was something about the sight of Cal in his boots and see-through skivvies that made Jim flush and turn away.
    He realized Cal needed dry clothes, and hurried back to the barracks to retrieve Cal’s spare khakis and towel. When he returned, Cal still stood beneath the spray of water, his legs parted and arms braced against the wall.
    Jim croaked, “Cal?” He cleared his throat. “You’d better get dressed. Tyrell’s likely to call off the personal time any minute and get us marching again.”
    With a nod, Cal turned off the water. A crooked smile lifted his lips when he saw Jim holding his spare clothes. “Thanks.”
    As Cal bent to unlace his boots, Jim made himself busy at the sink, scrubbing his hands even though they didn’t need it. In the chipped mirror, he glanced at Cal toweling dry and dressing. When Cal swore under his breath, Jim turned around. “Okay?”
    “Damn buttons.” Cal had on his undershirt, but struggled with his uniform.
    Jim stepped closer and realized Cal’s hands were shaking. He reached out and covered Cal’s fingers with his own, wincing when he felt how cold they were even after the shower. “Here. Let me.”
    Although clearly wanting to argue, Cal lowered his arms to his sides. Jim inched closer, but found his own hands clumsy as he tried to fasten Cal’s shirt in the opposite way he was used to. “Wait, this’ll be easier.”
    He moved behind Cal and reached around him, pressing against his back as he pushed each button through its hole. Cal seemed to be holding his breath, and didn’t move a muscle. When the last button was through, Jim stepped away and slapped Cal lightly on the back. “There you go. Ready for action.”
    Cal mumbled a reply, his