On the fire-step stand some snipers. They rest their rifles with telescopic sights on the parapet and watch the enemy front. Once and again a shot cracks out.
Then we hear the cry: “That’s found a billet!” “Did you see how he leapt in the air?” Sergeant Oellrich turns round proudly and scores his points. He heads the shooting list for to-day with three unquestionable hits.
“What do you say to that?” asks Kat.
I nod.
“If he keeps that up he will get a little coloured bird for his buttonhole by this evening,” says Albert.
“Or rather he will soon be made acting-sergeant-major,” says Kat.
We look at one another. “I would not do it,” I say.
“All the same,” says Kat, “it’s very good for you to see it just now.”
Sergeant Oellrich returns to the fire-step. The muzzle of his rifle searches to and fro.
“You don’t need to lose any more sleep over your affair,” nods Albert.
And now I hardly understand it myself any more.
“It was only because I had to lie there with him so long,” I say. “After all, war is war.”
Oellrich’s rifle cracks out sharp and dry.
232
