[i]nstead Of The Usual "why Can't We

I Was Away From The Front Lines For A While This Spring, Living With Other Troops, And Considerable Fighting Took Place While I Was Gone. When I Got Ready To Return To My Old Friends At The Front I Wondered If I Would Sense Any Change In Them.

The Closest Fires Were Near Enough For Us To Hear The Crackling Flames And The Yells Of Firemen. Little Fires Grew Into Big Ones Even As We Watched. Big Ones Died Down Under The Firemen's Valor Only To Break Out Again Later.

Someday When Peace Has Returned To This Odd World I Want To Come To London Again And Stand On A Certain Balcony On A Moonlit Night And Look Down Upon The Peaceful Silver Curve Of The Thames With Its Dark Bridges.

But To The Fighting Soldier That Phase Of The War Is Behind. It Was Left Behind After His First Battle. His Blood Is Up. He Is Fighting For His Life, And Killing Now For Him Is As Much A Profession As Writing Is For Me.

The Front-line Soldier Wants It To Be Got Over By The Physical Process Of His Destroying Enough Germans To End It. He Is Truly At War. The Rest Of Us, No Matter How Hard We Work, Are Not.