If You Go Long Enough Without A

The American Soldier Is Quick In Adapting Himself To A New Mode Of Living. Outfits Which Have Been Here Only Three Days Have Dug Vast Networks Of Ditches Three Feet Deep In The Bare Brown Earth. They Have Rigged Up A Light Here And There With A Storage Battery.

Someday When Peace Has Returned To This Odd World I Want To Come To London Again And Stand On A Certain Balcony On A Moonlit Night And Look Down Upon The Peaceful Silver Curve Of The Thames With Its Dark Bridges.

But To The Fighting Soldier That Phase Of The War Is Behind. It Was Left Behind After His First Battle. His Blood Is Up. He Is Fighting For His Life, And Killing Now For Him Is As Much A Profession As Writing Is For Me.

For Me War Has Become A Flat, Black Depression Without Highlights, A Revulsion Of The Mind And An Exhaustion Of The Spirit.

About Every Two Minutes A New Wave Of Planes Would Be Over. The Motors Seemed To Grind Rather Than Roar, And To Have An Angry Pulsation Like A Bee Buzzing In Blind Fury.