The enemy was drawing nearer, and was not more than about four hundred yards away now. I confess I was extremely miserable. Another quarter of an hour and they would be within charging distance. We should have to meet this human avalanche and we should not be one to their five.
I almost formed the cowardly wish that we might retire without waiting any longer. How agonising it was. We should certainly never be strong enough to withstand them. A wave of irritation rose in me against our artillery which was incapable of intervening at the right moment, having been completely annihilated by the heavy German batteries, and also against the superior military authorities who gave us no support. And I was paralysed by a sudden fear. We were using a lot of cartridges. Suppose our supplies were to give out! Playoust would be sure to be stopping ever so far behind with his waggons. What a ridiculous idea it had been to entrust him with that work.
The sight that gave me new strength just as I was feeling inclined to give way, and on the point of being false to all that I was and wished to be, was the attitude of the men. I can see them now taking aim and recharging, with their manly, straightforward, earnest faces. There was no confusion. They made admirable practise, their rifles leaping to their shoulders, or falling again in good earnest. What moral strength they showed! What a genius for resistance! How much their nerve had improved, and their courage increased during the last four weeks! It seemed to me that their virtue was, in part, my work, that my attempts at patient, serene exhortation were bearing their fruit. How grateful I was to them, my brothers. They were returning my lesson—not to argue, but to fight. To fulfil one's obscure duty. They were right. After all if we were to be killed at this spot in accordance with a higher scheme; if success were only to be won at this price!
The enemy were no longer making any progress. They had got to the point after which any further advance under fire is merely an act of heroic folly. Our losses were not very great—only two killed in the platoon and four or five wounded, among them Bouguet, who, with a shattered arm, had distributed his rounds of ammunition, and was standing up boldly and reporting on the slightest movements of our adversaries.
The Bosches had been badly cut up. We felt as if we were at a short practise range. After having fired at the mass as a whole for a long time we were now choosing our target. I remember a great lout who was running with large strides ahead of his companions. He got exactly into my line of fire. It was his destiny. I took aim, but he threw himself down in the stubble. I was patient enough to keep my rifle pointed at the spot where he had disappeared—it was a risky thing to do as the bullets were whistling round me. I waited anxiously for him to get up. He delayed and delayed. At last he moved. Then I pressed the trigger. Tac! My shot carried and he fell.
I shut my eyes, feeling strangely giddy. Yes. After five weeks' fighting, he was the first victim definitely attributable to me. Heavens! My inborn gentleness and that of my education were to end in this—in taking life! I had killed a man. A man with a mother and a wife. That handsome fellow. I thought of my friends in Thuringia, of Otto Kraëmer, sturdy and gentle.
"Wake up! What in the world are you thinking of?" said Bouillon, who was standing beside me.
I shook myself and took my sight again. It was all part of the war. He was one of those who had massacred my brother. It was a case of killing or being killed—him or me!
For a long time we prevented them from moving. We saw the horde get up in a flock and dash forward twenty times or more. At the same instant we met them with our fire, coldly precise. Their leaders, who were urging them on, were recognisable, not so much by their uniform as by their movements. Many of them were hit and the ardour of the troops diminished. They were well-drilled infantry, but they lacked keenness.