The head of the column is already swinging round and we are retracing our steps toward the defile to get out of the rat-trap.
And in the middle of the meadow:
"Halt! Form sections!"
The companies have fallen in. The officers have assembled, and are pow-wowing. We seem to have lost touch. The sergeant beside me is swearing up his sleeve, and is cursing at something about lunacy and blindman's buff. I am gazing up meditatively at the heights, overgrown with trees and undergrowth, and am thinking what fun it would be if we were to have to make our way back to the defile now, and in the thick of it the enemy were to break in on us right and left—no man would come out of it alive—the battle of the Teutoburger Forest recurs to me—I am trying to, make out if they are oaks or beeches over there——Of a sudden there is a flash of lightning from the undergrowth; the very firmament cracks and sways as if it were going to fall in on us....
"Lie down!" Horror screams somewhere or other.
And trembling, we lie down ... and over our heads rushes something that howls for our flesh.... What's the next thing? Up and at them now! Rush straight at the guns. Suffocate their fiery mouths with our flesh and bones.
"Up! Get up!"
The captain comes up to us at a run. The breath of the iron holds us tight pressed to the ground as if in a vice....
Turn your head away.
Now!