My lieutenants caught one. It doesn’t look good at all. It isn’t an enemy bullet. Nor a whack with a saber or a jab with a lance. No. The war is rampaging in his innards. Overnight, he’s come down with something. Some treacherous disease is messing him up inside. He’s slumped in the saddle like an old man on his last legs. His face puffs up and looks greenish yellow, like the yolk of a bad egg. Every so often, he slithers off the back of his horse and drags himself tottering behind a bush. If there is one. What’s responsible for his creeping malady is the green stuff we eat and the water from lakes, ponds, creeks, and swamps. He can’t take it. The swill rumbles and dins in him so loud that you can hear him feet away, front and back. If the trouble in his belly goes on, he’s going to explode. There are a lot of soldiers in the same boat. Napoleons Grand Armée is not committing any acts of heroism just at the moment. It’s too busy stinking up the edges of Russia’s main thoroughfares.
What do You think about Innocent Soldier (9780545355698) (2005)?
