Chapter Sixty-Seven
As they neared Verdun, tension mounted in the train. It wobbled and groaned on the lightweight tracks, hastily constructed to make up for the recent German destruction of regular railway communications. Soldiers put away their playing cards, packed their gear, smoked a last cigarette.
“When we parted yesterday, Mazenc informed me that Douamont was totally annihilated by the Germans, last week. A whole suburb gone,” Denis said. “Still, a lot of inhabitants nurse the opinion that our forts around the city are impregnable.”
A soldier took out a small trumpet and played a melody. Another began to sing old verses to the music.
Adieu la vie, adieu l’amour
Adieu toutes les femmes
C’est fini, c’est pour toujours
De cette guerre infâme
C’est à Mort-Homme sur le plateau
