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A brief moment of something awfully profound

About the babysitter- hmmmm- could be trouble on the horizon there, Field Marshall Byrne- just like the Time that Tiggy Byrke, Ginger Allaway and that chap with the wandering eye found the half dead hun in the field, clinging to a scarecrow and mumbling something in German. And Tiggy, ever the initiator boldly walked up to Corporal Kraut , and spying a book stuffed into the chap’s flight jacket, reached over and pulled it out quick as a shot. ‘Hello, what do we have here?’ , Tiggy raised his eyebrows in surprise when he saw the cover. Letting loose a guffaw, Tiggy passed the battered paperback over to Ginger who as ever, stood at attention suspiciously close to the Tiggster. 
‘Good Lord’, exclaimed the small wiry soldier with the shock of dull rust colored hair that didn’t look quite right on his head as though squirted out of an icing syringe to decorate a cake. The third fellow, Geoffrey or Justin something, neither of his colleagues could ever remember his exact same, so used to referring to him by his unfortunate wandering eye affliction that they never bothered taking the time to commit his name to memory. Geoffrey or Justin stuck his head over Ginger’s shoulder and stared at the paperback. ‘I say, that’s …that’s Agatha! ‘ 
The poor unnamed fellow looked up and grinned, ‘That’s your aunt’s book, Left-tenant Byrke! ‘. Tiggy nodded his head. It was indeed one of his Aunt Agatha’s thrillers- all the rage back home. And here was this almost dead German chap reading the very same books as they themselves did. He felt on the verge of a deep revalation about something to do with comradeship and how literature or at least popular thrillers forged a bond that went beyond national lines when the chap with the wandering eye let out an enormous fart and Ginger, as per usual, over-reacted in his dreadful dramatic fashion- still insisting he was allergic to flatulence.