right of the road was a thick forest of young firs; on the left, a row
of essentially suburban villas were being built, curiously out of place
in that agricultural district. The men were sitting on the banks of the
road, or clustered round the "Cookers," drawing their breakfast rations
of bread and cold bacon. Then the Major came back. There was an
expression on his face that showed he was well aware of the dramatic
part he was about to play. Imagine him standing by the wayside,
surrounded by his Officers, two Sergeant-Majors, and some half-dozen
senior Sergeants, all with pencils ready poised to write his orders in
their Field Service Note-books. There was a pause of several seconds.
The Major seemed to be at a loss quite how to begin. "There's a lot that
I needn't mention, but this is what concerns this Company," he said with
a jerk. "When we reach" (here he mentioned a name which the Subaltern
has long since forgotten) "we have to deploy to the left, and search the
village of Harmigné to drive the enemy from it, and take up a
position...."

It was a blow. Officers were frowning over their note-books as if afraid
they had not heard correctly. The enemy here, in the western corner of
Belgium? The Major's orders petered out. They saluted, and returned to
their platoons, feeling puzzled and a little shaken.

The Subaltern had come to this campaign with such fresh hopes of
victory. This was not to have been a repetition of '70! France would not
have gone to war unless she had been strong and ready. Inspired with the
spirit of the First Republic, the French Armies, they had told
themselves, would surge forward in a wave of victory and beat
successfully against the crumbling sands of the Kaiser's military
monarchy--Victory, drenching Germany with the blood of her sons, and
adding a lustre to the Sun of Peace that should never be dimmed by the