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Updated: May 17, 2025
Peter called. There were others about a whole line of fallen, but they saw just this one his cheek to the dirt, his mouth moving queerly. He was young like the undersurgeon, seventeen or eighteen, and much bewildered, the gray, clayey hue upon him, but not at all uncouth. Samarc felt his spine, turned him. The wound was in his body. Just now Redhead saw the effigy that was Samarc.
He had no hate for the Austrian gunners, because he had seen Samarc and Spenski at the same work, and he knew that the heart of man changes in a day. He would have helped the little undersurgeon had he been there. A moujik arose from his knees in front of them, as they staggered on. He was stunned, bewildered, blinded, but he could hear. "Come on we're going back," Peter said.
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