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Updated: May 18, 2025
"Keep quiet, I'll get him away," said the other man in a low voice. "Can't you see he's not...?" A strange terror took hold of Fuselli. He hadn't expected things to be like that. When he had sat in the grandstand in the training camp and watched the jolly soldiers in khaki marching into towns, pursuing terrified Huns across potato fields, saving Belgian milk-maids against picturesque backgrounds.
The sergeant-major ran his hand through his hair and took up his magazine again peevishly. Fuselli hurried back to barracks where he found the company still waiting. Several men were crouched in a circle playing craps. The rest lounged in their bare bunks or fiddled with their packs. Outside it had begun to rain softly, and a smell of wet sprouting earth came in through the open door.
Fuselli strode out, making as much noise as he could with his heels on the cobble stones. The streets of the town were silent under the pale moon. In the square the fountain sounded loud and metallic. He gave up his pass to the guard and strode glumly towards the barracks. At the door he met a man with a pack on his back. "Hullo, Fuselli," said a voice he knew. "Is my old bunk still there?"
Fuselli looked fixedly at the dark enigmatic windows, at the red crosses, at the orderlies in white who leaned out of the doors, waving their hands. Somebody noticed that there were scars on the new green paint of the last car. "The Huns have been shooting at it." "D'ye hear that? The Huns tried to shoot up that hospital train."
"You are stronger than me," said Eisenstein, moving off. ''God, it's hell not to have a gun," muttered Meadville as he settled himself on the deck again. "D'ye know, sonny, I nearly cried when I found I was going to be in this damn medical corps? I enlisted for the tanks. This is the first time in my life I haven't had a gun. I even think I had one in my cradle." "That's funny," said Fuselli.
You can't be skeered like this." "O God." There was a long pause. Fuselli heard nothing but the churned water speeding along the ship's side and the wind roaring in his ears. "I ain't never seen the sea before this time, Fred, an' it sort o' gits my goat, all this sickness an' all.... They dropped three of 'em overboard yesterday." "Hell, kid, don't think of it."
"Yer neck swells up, an' then you juss go stiff all over," came the man's voice from the end of the line. There was a silence. From the direction of the infirmary a man with a packet of medicines in his hand began making his way towards the door. "Many guys in there?" asked Fuselli in a low voice as the man brushed past him.
Fuselli remembered a revel he'd seen in a moving picture of "Quo Vadis," people in bath robes dancing around with large cups in their hands and tables full of dishes being upset. "Cognac, beaucoup," said the private in Aviation. "Mame shows," said Fuselli.
"Versales," said Eisenstein. "That's where the kings of France used to live." The train started moving again slowly. On the platform stood the top sergeant. "How d'ye sleep," he shouted as the car passed him. "Say, Fuselli, better start some grub going." "All right, Sarge," said Fuselli. The sergeant ran back to the front of the car and climbed on.
"Oh! Ah 'member you. You're Fuselli. We was at trainin' camp together. 'Member him, Andy?" "Sure," said Andrews. "How are you makin' out?" "Fine," said Fuselli. "I'm in the optical department here." "Where the hell's that?" "Right here." Fuselli pointed vaguely behind the station. "We've been training about four months near Bordeaux," said Andrews; "and now we're going to see what it's like."
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