I take cover behind a tree, sitting down and leaning against it. Some of the men rush towards me—I recognize them all. One of them, Delval, wants to carry me in his arms, but I find I can walk quite well alone. Even my legs do not fail me, and I can sit without any discomfort.
"No, I don't want anyone," I say. "Fall in again, I want no one."
It certainly can't be very serious. What a story it will make! In the centre of my tunic is a hole, the edges of which are frayed. I thrust my finger in and draw it out again. There is just a smear of blood, nothing more. Why isn't there more?
Ah! and my belt has been cut, and the button that should be there, where has that gone? My trousers are pierced also. Here is the spot where the ball struck; a crimson patch on the skin, which is slightly torn. Just one drop of blood trickling … is that, then, my mortal wound?
I look stupidly at my stomach; mechanically I thrust my finger in and out of the hole in my coat … all at once I understand, and all my fears are instantly dissipated. Why did it take me so long to perceive what had happened?
The brilliant yellow streak that had flashed before my eyes must have been the button, now missing, struck by the bullet. For the fact that the button did not enter my body with the bullet, I must thank my belt, the surface of which is cracked where the button struck it.
But suppose the bullet had not struck the button, and my belt had not been precisely behind that button? Ah, well, my friend, these are vain speculations. In the meantime, you are acting rather grotesquely: a wounded officer who is not wounded, squatting behind a tree inspecting his stomach, while his section … get up, man, and back to your post!
It is surprising how slowly the Boches move. Are they too exhausted to advance? They must have lost heavily while charging up the hillside towards the summit. They are not too weary to fire, however! What a tempest! And our Lebels are speaking loudly, too, louder than ever. One can hardly hear anything in their incessant din. Only by straining the ear can one catch the spitting of the Mausers and whistling of their bullets.
Who is that up there, walking about all alone? I see it is the captain, with his eternal lance, unperturbed, eyes everywhere, quite serene. He cries out to me when he sees me:
"Hallo, is it you? I have just been told that you had a bullet in your stomach."