with it who sticks an anti-tetanus needle into our chests.
At the dressing-station we arrange matters so that we lie side by side. They give us a thin soup which we spoon down greedily and scornfully, because we are accustomed to better times but are hungry all the same.
“Now for home, Albert,” I say.
“Let’s hope so,” he replies, “I only wish I knew what I’ve got.”
The pain increases. The bandages burn like fire. We drink and drink, one glass of water after another.
“How far above the knee am I hit?” asks Kropp.
“At least four inches, Albert,” I answer. Actually it is perhaps one.
“I’ve made up my mind,” he says after a while, “if they take off my leg, I’ll put an end to it. I won’t go through life as a cripple.”
So we lie there with our thoughts and wait.
★★
In the evening we are hauled on to the chopping-block. I am frightened and think quickly what I ought to do; for everyone knows that the surgeons in the dressing-stations amputate on the slightest provocation. Under the great pressure of business
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