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Summary
"There’s no limit to what John Egan can take. John Egan can take a shovel to the head. He can take a German cigarette. He can take a plane getting shot to hell, plummeting to the ground. He can take Air Exec as long as he can shove it up Hap Arnold’s ass. He can take the loneliness and the jealousy and the rage and the stupid fucking war and these stupid fucking Nazis and the goddamn cold and the feeling he gets sometimes, the absolute certainty that hits him like a bullet every so often, that he’s already dead, and this is Purgatory.
He can take it all. He can take it when Buck says he won’t escape, won’t even think about it, because he wants to make it back to Marge alive — to hell with John, already dead and rotting in front of him. He can take that, too."
In which John Egan wants and wants and wants.