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The First Battle of Our Arse
The first battle of our arse begins. The pretty village among trees that I first saw two weeks ago is now just ruins among violated stark tree trunks. Sunshine and wind and the hedge sparrows making love and the wounded still to be harvested, nature and place are still profoundly involved with his perceptions even at that desperate hour. He leans back into the doorway to fill and light his clay pipe and he's part filled it when a German shell falls near him,. fails to explode but the vacuum caused by its passing throws him hard to the earth and kills him by some kind of pneumatic concussion.