Lou, keeping to yourself and seeking solitude will evoke all sorts of crazy ideas. Good thing Swany isn’t a fatalist. Georgette might be the distraction he needs to keep his head clear. Her and a flock of Eindeckers to shoot down. Very sobering post.
26 March, 1916 Somewhere north of Verdun behind enemy lines Adjutant Gaston A. Voscadeaux
“- Nein! Nothing up here.” The voice above him was that of a German trooper. Gaston didn’t dare to move. He had a sudden urge to cough. The black boot moved. Voscadeaux was holding his breath in. He clenched his teeth and droplets of sweat were coming down from his forehead stinging his eyes. He watched the “Black Boots” walk to the exit. Gaston let a careful breath out and another one in. His throat begun to tickle. He forced himself to resist the urge to cough. The “Black Boots” lit a cigarette. The smoke, albeit barely detectable irritated his throat. Gaston took another sip of air, his throat was screaming for a proper cough. He heard the ladder begin to creak as the “Black Boots” was coming down. Voscadeaux chanced small coughs hoping each creak of the ladder would mask it. He rolled onto his stomach to subdue the cough. It helped. Gaston was laying there for what seemed like hours. He couldn’t hear any voices outside. He begun to hack and rasp as hard as his raw throat would allow it. It was a relief as he had never known before. He rolled onto his back and drew in a massive breath. He realized he was hungry. He’ll come down and look for ... The ladder started to creak again. Someone was coming up! Gaston looked around for a weapon. The old tools were his best bet. In desperation he grabbed the shaft of a hoe and swung it behind him, ready to strike.
"Take the cylinder out of my kidneys, The connecting rod out of my brain, my brain, From out of my arse take the camshaft, And assemble the engine again."