“If I go back they’ll make me get operated on and then they’ll put me in the line all the time.”
I thought it over.
“You wouldn’t want to go in the line all the time, would you?” he asked.
“No.”
“Jesus Christ, ain’t this a goddam war?”
“Listen,” I said. “You get out and fall down by the road and get a bump on your head and I’ll pick you up on our way back and take you to a hospital. We’ll stop by the road here, Aldo.” We stopped at the side of the road. I helped him down.
“I’ll be right here, lieutenant,” he said.
“So long,” I said. We went on and passed the regiment about a mile ahead, then crossed the river, cloudy with snow-water and running fast through the spiles of the bridge, to ride along the road across the plain and deliver the wounded at the two hospitals. I drove coming back and went fast with the empty car to find the man from Pittsburg. First we passed the regiment, hotter and slower than ever: then the stragglers. Then we saw a horse ambulance stopped by the road. Two men were lifting the hernia man to put him in. They had come back for him. He shook his head at me. His helmet was off and his forehead was bleeding below the hair line. His nose was skinned and there was dust on the bloody patch and dust in his hair.
“Look at the bump, lieutenant!” he shouted. “Nothing to do. They come back for me.”