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Barbusse, Henri, 1873-1935

"Under Fire: the story of a squad"


Then we flowed back, and plunged into a marsh up to our knees. So
high must we lift our feet that we walked with a sound of swimming.
Each forward stride was an enormous effort which slackened in agony.
It was there that we felt death drawing near. But we beached
ourselves at last on a sort of clay embankment that divided the
swamp. As we followed the slippery back of this slender island
along, I remember that once we had to stoop and steer ourselves by
touching some half-buried corpses, so that we should not be thrown
down from the soft and sinuous ridge. My hand discovered shoulders
and hard backs, a face cold as a helmet, and a pipe still
desperately bitten by dead jaws.
As we emerged and raised our heads at a venture we heard the sound
of voices not far away. "Voices! Ah, voices!" They sounded tranquil
to us, as though they called us by our names, and we all came close
together to approach this fraternal murmuring of men.
The words became distinct. They were quite near--in the hillock that
we could dimly see like an oasis: and yet we could not hear what
they said. The sounds were muddled, and we did not understand them.
"What are they saying?" asked one of us in a curious tone.
Instinctively we stopped trying to find a way in. A doubt, a painful
idea was seizing us. Then, clearly enunciated, there rang out these
words--"Achtung!--Zweites Geschutz--Schuss--"Farther back,
the report of a gun answered the telephonic command.


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