The Polish Officer (Night Soldiers, #3)

by Alan Furst

Martagne made a face. “I’m a Norman,” he said. “Not French—whatever that means. But we fight their damn battles. They’re good at insults, not so good at fighting. Bad combination, you’ll agree.”

“I’ve learned to like small things now,” de Milja said. “War did that, at least.”

He would have liked, once he got older, to go back to the countryside where he’d been raised. Since the war you could buy a small farm, it didn’t take much, just more than he’d ever had.