"
The roaring of the wind half smothered his words, so he lifted his
head and repeated them.
"Germany and militarism"--some one in his anger precipitately cut
in--"they're the same thing. They wanted the war and they'd planned
it beforehand. They are militarism."
"Militarism--" a soldier began again.
"What is it?" some one asked.
"It's--it's brute force that's ready prepared, and that lets fly
suddenly, any minute."
"Yes. To-day militarism is called Germany."
"Yes, but what will it be called to-morrow?"
"I don't know," said a voice serious as a prophet's.
"If the spirit of war isn't killed, you'll have struggle all through
the ages."
"We must--one's got to--"
"We must fight!" gurgled the hoarse voice of a man who had lain
stiff in the devouring mud ever since our awakening; "we've got to!"
His body turned heavily over. "We've got to give all we have, our
strength and our skins and our hearts, all our life and what
pleasures are left us. The life of prisoners as we are, we've got to
take it in both hands. You've got to endure everything, even
injustice--and that's the king that's reigning now--and the shameful
and disgusting sights we see, so as to come out on top, and win. But
if we've got to make such a sacrifice," adds the shapeless man,
turning over again, "it's because we're fighting for progress, not
for a country; against error, not against a country."
"War must be killed," said the first speaker, "war must be killed in
the belly of Germany!"
"Anyway," said one of those who sat enrooted there like a sort of
shrub, "anyway, we're beginning to understand why we've got to march
away.
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