I love the smell of petrol..

..in the morning.. (with apologies to Mr Duvall for stealing and adulterating  one of his finest lines).. 😏

The sentry yawns, rubs his hands together in a failed attempt to try and impart some warmth, and turns for yet another round of the small hill he has been told to guard... deep in thought he thinks could it only be two weeks ago that he had woken, bleary eyed and warm (oh God, to be warm again), next to his beloved Yvette, with pleasant thoughts of his first coffee and Gauloises of the day before work stated on the farm? 

Pah... that had all ended with the arrival of the poste and his call up papers, and ever since then he'd been rushed from one God-forsaken armpit of a camp to another, retreating, always retreating in the face of the damned Bosche, poor food (when he got any), even worse coffee, blisters, and............ cold........ 

In the distance the horizon there is a hint of light, dawn is coming, maybe, just maybe Gaston has managed to scrounge some real coffee beans.... time for another circuit before he is relieved in an hour or so...

...skirmish campaign starts tonight....