Energy books

In another place--a prison in St.-Omer--I had a conversation with two
other officers of the German army who were more courteous than the
gunners. They had been taken at Hooge and were both Prussians--one a
stout captain, smiling behind horn spectacles, with a false, jovial
manner, hiding the effect of the ordeal from which he had just
escaped, and his hatred of us; the other a young, slim fellow, with
clear-cut features, who was very nervous, but bowed repeatedly, with
his heels together, as though in a cafe at Ehrenbreitstein, when high
officers came in. A few hours before he had been buried alive. One of
our mines had exploded under him, flinging a heap of earth over him.
The fat man by his side--his captain--had been buried, too, in the
dugout. They had scraped themselves out by clawing at the earth.
They were cautious about answering questions on the war, but the
younger man said they were prepared down to the last gaiter for
another winter campaign and--that seemed to me at the time a fine
touch of audacity--for two more winter campaigns if need be.


Pages:
316 317 318 319 320 321 322 323 324 325 326 327 328 329 330 331 332 333 334 335 336 337 338 339 340