The Wounded Don't Cry

The Wounded Don't Cry

The Wounded Don't Cry

The Wounded Don't Cry

Excerpt

I decided to write this book four months ago, while lying under a freight car. The freight car was on a siding which led to a dock at Pointe de Graves. I was waiting to get a ship for England. Pointe de Graves isn't much of a place. It is about sixty miles from Bordeaux at the mouth of the Gironde River. It has a dock, a monument commemorating the arrival of American troops in 1917 and a railroad spur. Anchored out somewhere in the harbor there were an English cruiser and two Dutch freighters. When dawn came a small boat was to take me to one of the Dutch freighters which would then go to England.

It was a brilliant night and the moon gleamed whitely on the neat, roofless dock. The dock had been built after the war as part of the Reparations Plan. It had been built by a German engineer, and when he had finished building it he had said bitterly, "Well, I have built your dock for you because I was forced to build it. But I promise you that one day I will come back and destroy it."

An English sentry, standing on the dock, had told me that. We had both laughed a little but not too heartily. It was a fact that bombers had come over . . .

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