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... isery.
A bugle blared like a dying goose over the fog-drenched hills, followed immediately by Chalon’s hoarse scream.
"ROLL OUT, YOU CABBAGE-BRAINED CRETINS! I WANT BOOTS ON STONE IN FIFTEEN SECONDS OR I’LL TURN YOUR BEDROLLS INTO BURIAL SHROUDS!"
Private Rousseau sat up, hair sticking out like a hedgehog. "Why do we even have a bugler if Chalon’s lungs can reach the Maginot Line?"
Delcourt, half-asleep, muttered, "I dreamed I was back in Lyon... now I’m awake and ...
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