The dark clouds returned and gathered about the boy. His eyes grew distant, and he began to tremble. He heard not only shells exploding, but the cries of dying men . . . He was stumbling over churned earth, looking into the face of an officer, bloodied red as the poppies, ripped apart in the Flanders mud . . . A small boy, an orphan of World War I, wanders into the Australian airmen's mess in Germany, on Christmas Day in 1918. A strange boy, with...