nant of many names. On either side stand people, dark, calling out the numbers of the regiments, the companies. And at each call a little group separates itself off, a small handful of dirty, pallid soldiers, a dreadfully small handful, and a dreadfully small remnant.
Now someone is calling the number of our company, it is, yes, the company-commander, he has got one too, his arm is in a sling. We go over to him and I recognize Kat and Albert; we stand together, lean against each other, and look at one another.
And we hear the number of our company called again and again. He will call a long time, they do not hear him in the hospitals and shell-holes.
Once again: “Second Company, this way!”
And then more softly: “Nobody else Second Company?”
He is silent, and then huskily he says: “Is that all?” and gives the order: “Number!”
The morning is grey, it was still summer when we came up, and we were one hundred and fifty strong. Now we freeze, it is autumn, the leaves rustle, the voices flutter out wearily: “One—two—three—four———” and cease at thirty-two. And there is a long silence before the voice asks: “Anybody else?”—and waits and then says softly: “In squads———”
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