Been reading war memoirs again:
Charlie flicked back through the years with only mild surprise. ..He recalled how the French fought with astonishing courage, yet always travelled with a bordel militaire du campaigne and despised a night in the open. He remembered the blue tinged coffee called la soupe, the summary justice and a huge vat of Tunisian wine it took he and his comrades a week to drink. It was only when they reached the bottom that they found a dead New Zealander.
From John Gimlette’s Panther Soup. It’s OK, but not as good as At the Tomb of the Inflatable Pig.
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