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"On the 9th of June, 1944, I was hit by shrapnel n the left shoulder and right leg during the fighting on the Imphal Plain. I was not enjoying life.
"But I was forcibly jerked out of my rain-soaked, shell-shocked self-pity by an ambulance driver of the American Field Service. He was armed with a packet of cigarettes and some whisky.
"This indomitable American Field Service became a legend throughout the British 14th Army. They seemed to be men with an almost divine mission --- to fight for our lives!"
Tim Carew's own experience of American ambulance men has inspired him to write this vivid novel about their difficulties and their victories. It is a story of gallantry, duty and wry laughter.
To NEIL GILLIAM, George Medal, French Croix de Guerre,
late of the American Field Service,
wherever he may be[...]
The American in the first jeep was a tall, thin, leathery man about fifty. His eyes were of a particularly piercing blue, his hair was sparse and greying. His jaw was long and angular and there was a humorous twist to his mouth. This was Sam Tyler, head of the American Field Service Ambulance troop.
In the jeep behind Tyler was Martin Hyde. Hyde was tall, dark, good-looking. There was a kind of weary cynicism in his expression. Looking into his eyes you would have thought that he had known great unhappiness or disillusion at some time or another. You would be right...
The man in the third jeep had a reckless, what-the-hell look about him. He sported a small, fair moustache. Looking at Paul Cheyne you would have thought that he had not a care in the world. You would be wrong...
Behind Cheyne drove Neil Drewett. Drewett was a rather thoughtful looking young man. His hair was blond, his face deeply tanned. His face was serious in expression, but frequently lit with a smile of rare charm. One got the impression that he found life puzzling --- he seemed to be trying to find the solution to some insoluble problem. He was...
[...]
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