132 | John W. Warner IV way of coping with the horror, picking on the new boy, brushing it off. They havent had any rum in months, but todays special. Last of it, a few sippers left. Dash it all Beans, I despise this war, I really do. Up to our chins on all fronts and bleeding badly. The foul tang of death, its sickening. Im not too fond of it either. She paused, thinking sophomorically. Funny thought, I know machines and aircraft have no souls, but.. .1 must say that overwrought beast of a Dutch oven -was…wondrous, obeyed commands like a loyal gun dog, shot everything to bits and beyond with that socking great cannon despite my iffy aim, saved our lives. The tank took the heavy punishment with aplomb, grace even, deep scars and all. You should have seen it covered in colorful flora and fauna, an Absinthe-addled artists sweaty nightmare in a lily pond. We shouldnt be alive, Peter, not by a long yard, especially given my amateurs effort. The temperature dropped fast. He took in a cool breath of dry air and exhaled, placing his filthy greatcoat upon her shoulders. Oh, dont sell yourself short, Beansy, you tend to at times and its even more boring now than before; youre as capable as any man and whats more you know it, or youd better. Wondrous, eh? Ive no doubt given the Germans penchant for over-durability and mind-altering complexity. The high command continuously downplays the importance of the Jerry eighty-eight gun for morales sake, the mens sakeits long, long range, flat trajectory, brutality, deadly accuracybut we all know its their best weapon out here besides Rommel himself, slices through anything and anyone when not shooting down plentiful aircraft by the score. He spat, unsuccessfully ridding his lips of dust. So the big Panzer broke down, you said? TH pen a letter to Porsche in complaint. Sadly and pitifully romantic, all of this, the desert fighting. She lit a fag with Peters American-issued lighter that made a ping. Poppy said it was the worst of combat lies, the romance. El Zippo in my book, none, the exact opposite even. Suddenly, it hit her. Gods, I wonder how many civilians are dead because of us? She put her head in her shaky hands, squeezing it hard, then dug in her dirty, cracked nails. The fag fell. He gently put it back into her lips, grabbed her hands, and held them gently. Easy, you always were too hard on yourself, too damn insecure and melancholic like your mother. Cmon, stop it! Always feeling sorry for yourself. Its a damn business this, and innocent people die. No way round it. Their eyes met and fused, the past