All Quiet on the Western Front. Erich Maria Remarque
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and powerfully, when he buries his face and his limbs deep in her from the fear of death by shell-fire, then she is his only friend, his brother, his mother.
we press on to the pioneer dump. some of us load our shoulders with pointed and twisted iron stakes, others with rolls of wire.
the burdens are awk-ward and heavy.
the ground becomes more broken. from ahead comes warnings.
...I can feel it in my bones.
mind,trenches...
look out!deep shell holes on the left.
there’ll be abombardment tonight...
earth! -- Earth! -- earth!
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it is pitch dark. an uncertain red glow spreads along the skyline from one end to the other.
french rockets go up. they light up everything as bright as day with green, red and blue stars.
at regular intervals we ram in the iron stakes, and others spool off the barbed wire. I am not used to unrolling it and tear my hand.
after a few hours it is done, but there is still some time before the lorries come. most of us lie down and sleep.
I try, but it has turned out too chilly. I wake up from a deep sleep with a start, and don’t know where I am. am I crying? am I a child?
then I recognize the silhouette of katczinsky, the old veteran.
...mighty fine fireworks if they weren’t so dan-gerous.
that gave you a fright. it was only a nose-cap. it landed in the bushes over there...
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one lands behind us. some recruits jump up terrified.
a couple of minutes later another comes over, nearer this time.
then it begins in earnest. the next lands fair amongst us. two fellows cry out. green rockets shoot up on the sky-line. barrage! the mud flies high, fragments whizz past. the crack of the guns is heard long after the roar of the explosions.
beside us lies a fair-headed recruit in utter terror. he has buried his face in his hands, his helmet has fallen off.
I get hold of it and try to put it back on his head.
we’re infor it.
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he pushes the helmet off and like a little child creeps under my arm, his head close to my breast.
the little shoulders heave. just like kemmerich’s. I let him be.
it’s got someone pretty badly. cries are heard between the explosions.
at last it grows quiet. the fire has lifted over us and is now dropping on the reserves. red rockets shoot up to the sky. apparently there’s an attack coming.
so that the helmet should be of some use I stick it on his behind; not for jest, but since it is his highest point.
I sit up and shake the recruit by the shoulders.
all over, kid! it’s all right this time. you’ll get used to it soon.
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he sees his helmet and puts it on. gradually he comes to.
suddenly he turns fiery red and looks confused. cautiously he reaches his hand behind...
things become quieter, but the cries do not cease.
it’s unendurable. it is the moaning of the world, it is the martyred creation, wild with anguish, filled with terror, and groaning.
that’s no disgrace. go behind a bush and throw your underpants away.
what’s up, albert?
a couple of columns over there got it in the neck.
wounded horses.
the cries continued. it is not men, they could not cry so terribly.
it was detering who real-ized what was screaming.
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in the dark we see bearers with stretchers, and larger black clumps moving about. those are the wounded horses...but not all of them.
some gallop away in the distance, fall down, and then run on farther.
the belly of one is ripped open, the guts trail out. he becomes tangled in them and falls, then he stands up again.
detering raises up his gun and aims. Kat hits it in the air.
detering is a farmer and very fond of horses. it gets under his skin.
the appalling noise of groans and screams pen-etrates everything.
are youmad?
god! for god’s sake! shoot them!
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then single shots crack out. the black heap convulses and then sinks down.
slowly, humbly, they sink to the ground.
detering walks up and down cursing.
we go back. it is time we returned to the lorries. it is three o’clock in the morning, and the sky has become brighter. we return again to a zone of mist and a cemetery that we had passed earlier.
that moment it breaks out behind us, swells, roars, and thunders. a cloud of flame shoots up a hundred yards ahead of us.
like to know what harm they’ve done...
...I tell youit is the vilest baseness to use horses in a war.
that’s a bad sign.
we’ll soon be out of it, kat.
I don’tknow, I don’t know...
take cover!cover!
a second volley explodes in the nearby woods that rises slowly into the air. three or four trees sail up and crash to pieces.
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