Ett skyddsrum

Delayed orders. Nonsense.
At 5:30 PM, my motorcycle orderly Sven Nilsson and I were resting in our tent when suddenly flame-dropping planes came toward our billet.
Gravel and stones flew around us, it thundered terribly, and there was cracking and booming.
A flowerpot standing on the tent box was hit and shattered. The upper part of the stove pipe was also struck.
We threw ourselves down into our deeply dug latrine that had been in use for more than a month.
Sven Nilsson first, and I over him. It was the only place where we could get proper protection.

När anfallet är över kravlar vi oss upp. Jag har bara fått litet skit på ena kängan. Men Sven Nilsson! Så är det med över- och underordnad. När vi tvättat av oss skiten, bjuds jag upp på slottet för att dricka grogg med prins Georg.