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condemns the way the generals handled the war, but makes a mockery out of the war reportage that was printed in every newspaper in Great Britain. It must be acutely embarrassing to certain correspondents who have just written books of their own. Their view of the fighting differs so drastically from yours, one can only wonder if they observed the same war.”
    â€œI know that. I can think of one or two men.”
    â€œAnd one or two newspaper publishers, if it comes to that. Northcliffe, Lord Crewe …”
    â€œBut there can’t be many people left in England who aren’t aware of the truth by now. Every man who came back from France told what went on there.”
    â€œDid they? My dear Rilke, most of the men who got demobbed never talked about the war at all and still don’t—especially to civilians. It’s just a hideous experience they keep to themselves. I know how they feel. I’m the same. I can’t talk about the war, even to my wife. Not in any depth, anyway. She couldn’t possibly take in the ghastliness of it. She chides me when I duck every time I hear a motorcar backfire—but then, Doris was never sniped at in Polygon Wood.” He began to pace the room, leaving a trail of cigarette ash on the carpet. “An embarrassment, Rilke. No more than that. A Killing Ground will not incite mobs to storm Fleet Street and burn down the citadels of the Tory press, but it would please some people if it, and you, could be discredited.”
    â€œIt’ll take more than a letter from an ass like Sparrowfield to do that.”
    â€œGranted the chap’s an ass, but he commanded a division on the Somme, fought with distinction during the Boer War, and is a crony of field marshals, lords of the realm, and other exalted pillars of the Empire. In other words, old boy, he could be a rather imposing adversary in court.”
    â€œCourt?”
    â€œWe received a letter by special post about an hour before you arrived. It’s from a firm of solicitors in Chancery Lane. The general is prepared to sue you for libel.”
    â€œThat’s ridiculous. Every line in the book is documented fact.”
    â€œPerhaps, but the libel laws in this country happen to be arcane, and any damn thing could happen.”
    It was silent in the room except for the faint hiss of rain against the windows and the desultory tapping of a typewriter in another part of the suite.
    â€œWhat’s your view of this?”
    Calthorpe ambled over to his desk and plucked another cigarette from the tin. “It’s really not up to me to say. Under our contract you absolve us from liability in cases of libel, slander, or plagiarism. The financial burden is on your shoulders, I’m afraid, and lawsuits can be expensive, win or lose.” He lit his cigarette and puffed moodily, eyes narrowed against the smoke. “The letter was terribly brief, so I telephoned the firm and talked to a rather cheery fellow, name of Ormsby. Wanted more facts before I talked to you. They offer a simple way out: Sparrowfield will drop the suit if you will compose a letter of apology for all the nasty little things you said about him and his staff and publish that letter in either The Times or the Evening News. ”
    Martin stood up and walked over to the window. A simple letter of apology. That would be the end of it—until another “defamed” officer was dug up and convinced that he had cause to seek satisfaction. Apology after apology printed in the newspapers until his credibility as a critic of the war was damaged beyond repair.
    A libel suit would be expensive and would take time. And there was one other factor to consider: Sparrowfield’s letter had specifically drawn attention to the fact that he had violated censorship regulations during the war— could well have afforded comfort to our German enemies. The implication being that this German -American had a past history of being