This is the start of a new chapter: Chirping Cardinal (Pg. 290)
“Days later Hauptmann Wadel would drink half a bottle of smoky scotch to neutralize the metallic taste of blood that had stained his mouth since waking from the dream in which he saw the destruction of civilization, and heard the sins shared between god and man, as if they had been spoken by his soul. He drank to forget an event he did not fully remember – a memory so well guarded that what should have been mental anguish was disguised as physical disgust, of which the only remedy was to drink half a bottle of McCallen 18 year scotch. The taste of blood and bronze on the tip of Hauptmann Wadel’s tongue did not strike epiphany or remembrance. He did not hear the screams down the hallway and did not remember that he had listened to the two armies from atop the moutain. All he knew was the physical discomfort of a sour, festering tongue that was more potent than his drink of choice. For two days he stayed locked inside his map room, pouring over maps of France without conscious reasoning, while pouring up glasses of his medicine without considering the reason why. He searched for an answer to an unknown question, reading into the grooves that sectioned France as if the truth – The Truth – was hidden on the landscape.