And again I put my rifle to my shoulder, and take aim for the centre of the target.
I will not go on torturing myself with these thoughts.
The target seems to have been moved nearer to me.
Of a sudden it seems to me as if the blue-painted figure had stepped out of its white square. I gape at it. I distinctly see a face in front of me. I have got my finger on the trigger, and feel the tension of the pressure. Why don't I pull it through? My finger is trembling.... Now, now, I recognize the face. That is the young fellow at Nancy who was saying good-by to his mother....
Then the spring gives, and the great horror masters me, for I have fired straight into a living face. Murderer! Murderer! You have shot the only son of his mother dead. Thou art thy brother's murderer....
I take a hold on myself. I pull myself together. A murderer?
Folly! A spook!
You are a soldier.
Soldiers cease to be human beings. The Fatherland is at stake.
And without turning a hair I take aim at the enemy. If you miss him he will get you.