AN OFFICER'S STORY
Retold by V. Ropshin, translated from the "Niva," Petrograd, for "Current History"
I shouted, "Forward!" jumped over the parapet, and ran forward over the field of beetroot. I remembered that I was an officer, and must keep in front of my men.
I heard no shots. At the German trench I felt a blow on my shoulder, just as if some one had hit me with a riding whip. But I did not at first realize that I was wounded. Without stopping, we leaped across the trench. When we were across it I felt a sudden catching of the breath, and everything went black before my eyes. On the right was a deep funnel, the crater of a 12-inch shell. I jumped into the crater.
The funnel was wide, with crumbling edges, and with a sticky, clayey bottom. I sat down on the damp earth and felt that my arm was very sore. I struck a match and began to smoke.
Now I heard the thunder of guns; I distinguished the rattle of howitzers and the whistle of bursting shells. I had a feeling of depression. Involuntarily I closed my eyes.
I sat a whole hour unconscious in this way. When I came to myself I saw a German in front of me, a German officer, in a gray-green cloak and with a round cap of the same colour. The officer was standing straight before me, and was looking me in the face. I tried to rise, but he said in French:
"You are my prisoner! Sit down!" and he covered me with his revolver.
I answered: "Shoot!"
I felt certain that he would shoot me. But he unexpectedly lowered his arm. His face was tanned, with thick, dark hair and wide, blue eyes. After a short silence he said:
"I could shoot you—but I do not want to. We are both prisoners in this hole!"
And he added, saluting: "I am a Captain in the 238th Prussian Regiment; Müller!"
I also gave him my name. We were now sitting at opposite sides of the hole, he a German and I a Frenchman. We remained silent. We both felt awkward, and I tried not to look at him. At last he said:
"You are wounded?"
"Yes."
"Allow me! I shall fix a bandage for you!"
I answered: "Pray, do not trouble yourself!"
But he came over to me and pulled out cotton wadding and bandages. And as he touched me with his hands I experienced a curious transformation. He ceased to be a German, a detested enemy, a man who wanted to shoot me, one of the armed bands whose presence pollutes our land. He was simply Captain Müller, my chance and already kind acquaintance.
He bandaged me skillfully and rapidly. When he had finished he smiled, and said in German: "So!"
I thanked him in French: "Merci!"
Then we sat together, once more in silence. The firing did not diminish, and sometimes the bombs burst near by, quite close to us. The earth trembled, a dark, narrow column rose up, and we were spattered with dirt, with lumps of earth, and smoke. But neither I nor the German stirred. We did not wish to show that we were afraid.
Toward evening the fire grew more intense. The German was now listening to the guns.
"That was yours; that's mine; that's a 120, that's a 75, that's a 77, that's another 75."
My arm was numb and ached severely. I said: "Will you kindly get a flask out of my pocket? I have some cognac."
We drank some brandy, both from the same bottle. First he, then I; and when we had drunk from the same bottle he blushed and raised his big, blue eyes.
"You are married?"
"Yes; I am married."
"Have you any children?"
"No."
"I have—two."
He rose and said, with a wave of his hand: "I own a brickyard over there, in Hanover. I am a peaceful man. I have managed the brickyard all my life. I wanted peace—and I have gone to war. And now we are living like moles. We sleep in the water. We risk our lives every minute. People have gone mad. Black has become white, and white black. Tell me, why are we fighting?"
"Your Wilhelm wanted it!"
"Ach! Wilhelm! And did my children want war? Wilhelm wanted it and they did not want it. And I obeyed not them, but Wilhelm! And here I am, on French, on foreign soil, beside you, in this hole; and perhaps I shall die to-day. I shall die, or you will. They will kill me or you. Why? What for? For Germany? For my brickyard? When will this war end? When will we go home again? Or shall we not go home? Tell me, why are we fighting?"
I wanted to answer him. I wanted to tell him that we Frenchmen were defending our country, and that the Germans were bandits, not guests! But I suddenly felt that I was thrown up into the air, that it had become hot, that there was a rank smell of smoke, and that everything about me was red. This lasted a second—or it may have been a year—and when I came to myself I saw the blue sky overhead. I made an effort to rise. I noticed that the crater was smashed down at the edge, and had grown smaller and deeper. From beneath the overturned, damp earth a pair of boots stuck forth, worn at the heel; and beside them, close to me, lay an officer's cap, with the brim torn off. I understood—my companion had been killed. My arm ached; I stumbled and lost consciousness. During the night the men of my regiment picked me up.