A cloud of low-hanging white dust…
The grunt of tired horses and men marching accompanied by the sounds of creaking wagon wheels and the sputtering whine of motorcycles carrying army couriers.
Soldiers everywhere.
The road to Epernay was a quagmire of men marching in both directions. Fresh troops in clean new uniforms and with cheery faces were marching down from Reims. There was a song in their hearts and the apparent glow on their faces of boys marching off to glory. Raucous, loud and profane, they moved with a brisk step and a jaunty air down one-half of the road. Moving in the opposite direction was an entirely different mass of manhood. The other half of the road was occupied by a seemingly unending line of tired men with haggard and exhausted masks for faces and wearing dirty swea
