“One does not choose one’s comrades in war-time, Fräulein.”
He brings out a map which seems to have every fir tree and blade of
grass in the country accurately described on it and draws his finger
along the page until he comes to Namur.
“The French have blown up every bridge over the Meuse.” He indicates
the length of the river between Namur and Liège. “We shall build them
again.” He goes on to tell me facts about the countryside which I
thought only the peasants knew.
The network of patrols with which Germans enmesh the country so far in
advance of the body of the army, seems to have done its work well.