All Quiet on the Western Front
by Erich Maria Remarque, a German veteran of World War I
A shell crashes. Almost immediately two others. And then it begins in earnest. A bombardment. Machine-guns rattle. Now there is nothing for it but to stay lying low. Apparently an attack is coming. Everywhere the rockets shoot up. Unceasing…. I lie motionless;-somewhere something clanks, it stamps and stumbles nearer-all my nerves become taut and icy. It clatters over me and away, the first wave has passed. I have but this one shattering thought: What will you do if someone jumps into your shell-hole?-Swiftly I pull out my little dagger, grasp it fast, and bury it in hand once again under the mud. If anyone jumps in here I will go for him. It hammers in my forehead; at once, stab him clean through the throat, so that he cannot call out; that’s the only way; he will be just as frightened as I am; when in terror we fall upon one another, then I must be first.
Some recruits jump up terrified. A couple of minutes later another comes over, nearer this time….. Then it begins in earnest. We crawl away as well as we can in our haste. The next lands fair amongst us. Two fellows cry out. Green rockets shoot up on the skyline. Barrage. The mud flies high, fragments whiz past. The crack of the guns I hear long after the roar of the explosion ….. It’s got someone pretty badly. Cries are heard between the explosions. At last it grows quiet. The fire has lifted over us and is now dropping on the reserves. We risk a look. Red rockets shoot up to the sky. Apparently there is an attack coming. Where we are is still quiet. I sit up and shake the recruit by the shoulder. “All over, kid! It’s all right this time.” He looks around him dazedly. “You’ll get used to it soon,” I tell him.
The dull thud of the gas-shells mingles with the crashes of the light explosives. A bell sounds between the explosions, gongs, and metal clappers warning everyone-Gas-Gas-Gaas. These first minutes with the mask decide between life and death: is it air tight? I remember the awful sights in the hospital: the gas patients who lay in day-long suffocation cough up their burnt lungs in clots. Cautiously, the mouth applied to the valve, I breathe. The gas still creeps over the ground. .. like a big, soft jelly-fish…… Inside the gas-mask my head booms and roars-it is nigh bursting. My lungs are tight, they breathe always the same hot, used up air, and the veins on my temple are swollen. I feel I am suffocating.
How long has it been? Weeks-months-years? Only days. We see time pass in the colorless faces of the dying, we cram food into us, we throw, we shoot, we kill, we lie about, we are feeble and spent, and nothing supports us but the knowledge that there are still feebler, still more spent, still more helpless ones there who, with staring eyes, look upon us as gods that escape death many times.
by Erich Maria Remarque, a German veteran of World War I
A shell crashes. Almost immediately two others. And then it begins in earnest. A bombardment. Machine-guns rattle. Now there is nothing for it but to stay lying low. Apparently an attack is coming. Everywhere the rockets shoot up. Unceasing…. I lie motionless;-somewhere something clanks, it stamps and stumbles nearer-all my nerves become taut and icy. It clatters over me and away, the first wave has passed. I have but this one shattering thought: What will you do if someone jumps into your shell-hole?-Swiftly I pull out my little dagger, grasp it fast, and bury it in hand once again under the mud. If anyone jumps in here I will go for him. It hammers in my forehead; at once, stab him clean through the throat, so that he cannot call out; that’s the only way; he will be just as frightened as I am; when in terror we fall upon one another, then I must be first.
Some recruits jump up terrified. A couple of minutes later another comes over, nearer this time….. Then it begins in earnest. We crawl away as well as we can in our haste. The next lands fair amongst us. Two fellows cry out. Green rockets shoot up on the skyline. Barrage. The mud flies high, fragments whiz past. The crack of the guns I hear long after the roar of the explosion ….. It’s got someone pretty badly. Cries are heard between the explosions. At last it grows quiet. The fire has lifted over us and is now dropping on the reserves. We risk a look. Red rockets shoot up to the sky. Apparently there is an attack coming. Where we are is still quiet. I sit up and shake the recruit by the shoulder. “All over, kid! It’s all right this time.” He looks around him dazedly. “You’ll get used to it soon,” I tell him.
The dull thud of the gas-shells mingles with the crashes of the light explosives. A bell sounds between the explosions, gongs, and metal clappers warning everyone-Gas-Gas-Gaas. These first minutes with the mask decide between life and death: is it air tight? I remember the awful sights in the hospital: the gas patients who lay in day-long suffocation cough up their burnt lungs in clots. Cautiously, the mouth applied to the valve, I breathe. The gas still creeps over the ground. .. like a big, soft jelly-fish…… Inside the gas-mask my head booms and roars-it is nigh bursting. My lungs are tight, they breathe always the same hot, used up air, and the veins on my temple are swollen. I feel I am suffocating.
How long has it been? Weeks-months-years? Only days. We see time pass in the colorless faces of the dying, we cram food into us, we throw, we shoot, we kill, we lie about, we are feeble and spent, and nothing supports us but the knowledge that there are still feebler, still more spent, still more helpless ones there who, with staring eyes, look upon us as gods that escape death many times.