| Author: | Maurice Tudor | ISBN: | 1230000195715 |
| Publisher: | Maurice Tudor | Publication: | November 9, 2013 |
| Imprint: | Language: | English |
| Author: | Maurice Tudor |
| ISBN: | 1230000195715 |
| Publisher: | Maurice Tudor |
| Publication: | November 9, 2013 |
| Imprint: | |
| Language: | English |
The sergeant was quietly getting drunk in the mess tent; he knew that he would be getting drunk again and again. The wounded thoughts that his job demanded would take time to heal; the only way he knew to speed the process up, was to get drunk
The young soldier was in the hospital tent laying sedated on his back staring vacantly into space. The doctor was concerned for him; to all intent and purposes he could be dead except for the violent twinges which were occurring more frequently now.
The C.O sat at his makeshift desk trying to write letters to the families of the identified dead. What could he tell them? The truth of how they died? No it has to be the stock letter for all concerned. 'Killed in action.'
Sighing he reached for his glass of whisky and looked again at the photograph the sergeant had given him. He thought. Which of those poor sods out there does this belong to? He put it down but still could see the smiling women with the little girl holding the dog.
.
The sergeant was quietly getting drunk in the mess tent; he knew that he would be getting drunk again and again. The wounded thoughts that his job demanded would take time to heal; the only way he knew to speed the process up, was to get drunk
The young soldier was in the hospital tent laying sedated on his back staring vacantly into space. The doctor was concerned for him; to all intent and purposes he could be dead except for the violent twinges which were occurring more frequently now.
The C.O sat at his makeshift desk trying to write letters to the families of the identified dead. What could he tell them? The truth of how they died? No it has to be the stock letter for all concerned. 'Killed in action.'
Sighing he reached for his glass of whisky and looked again at the photograph the sergeant had given him. He thought. Which of those poor sods out there does this belong to? He put it down but still could see the smiling women with the little girl holding the dog.
.
