He has done nothing wrong so far as he can tell, but the army is tricky like that. The raw morning has the feel of a punishment: When he was woken, minutes ago, he was told only to get dressed and get outside. He feels shaky, and this jolting is not helping things. The young private holds on to a strap dangling from the roof, as the van lurches over the rutted road. The sergeant starts up the engine, and drives them out and onto the road beyond. The men make their way to a field ambulance parked next to the entrance gate the colonel sits in the front with the sergeant, while the private climbs into the back. It is somewhere close to the middle of the night and bitterly cold. Three soldiers emerge from their billets near Arras, northern France: a colonel, a sergeant, and a private.
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