The adjutant’s memory must have been prodded too. “What a senseless bloody m******e!”
At the five-way junction a single peeled tree trunk sprouted direction markers as thick as thorns. The signs, some old and Belgian, some middle-aged and German, some brand-new and American, beckoned to all the points of the compass, all the other crossroads in the world. But like all the small-scale signposts and all the large-scale maps by which all soldiers of a rank below full general must take their bearings, they did not deal in the higher truths or the nobler goals and aspirations. They did not say bravely New York 5507 miles or London 421 miles or Toronto 5630 miles or Berlin 612 miles or Paris 361 miles or even Chattanooga, Tenn., 6235 miles or Oswaldtwistle, Lancs., 640 miles or Moose Jaw, Sask.
