AT LAST THERE CAME A day when the murderous roar of battle died down and that night it ceased entirely.
The quiet was uncanny, disturbing. Still a deep sigh of relief passed through the ranks. All around, near and far, great fires were burning, dyeing the black sky with red reflections. The steady march forward paused for a while.
On the verge of exhaustion, George and his comrades of the Sanitary Corps, with the rear guard of the army, made their way to a small town which had been partly destroyed. Many of the houses were heaps of ruins; others had one side torn off, or whole stories cut in half, with what had once been rooms jutting out into the open air.
But it was the next day before they noted this destruction. That night when they marched in, it was quite dark, for the light plant was in ruins. Nobody knew or cared what shape the little town was in. Here was the luxury of which they had been long deprived. Within them was only one desire, driving out every other thought. Sleep! Sleep!
When George and Renni awoke they found themselves in what must have been a showroom. Empty counters, a long desk, but no chairs, benches or tables.
Other trainers and their dogs were still asleep. When they began to awaken they looked around in a sort of daze, stretched out comfortably again on the smooth floor boards and took a long time about getting up.
“At least it’s dry here,” someone called. No one answered, no one laughed. They had lost the knack of laughter. Two or three, George among them, got up to look through the building and see if there were anyone around. It was all as empty as the showroom in which they had spent the night. Whoever had lived here had fled.
In one story after another the apartments seemed practically unharmed. On the second floor a wire-haired fox terrier flew at George, snapping his teeth, and then immediately ran behind the bed, where he lay whimpering in fear. George tried to coax him out with friendly words, but the terrier snarled angrily. Then Renni lay down flat on the floor, stuck his muzzle under the bed—there wasn’t room for more of him in the narrow space. He must have whispered something soothing to the shy, frightened animal. The terrier crept out, a changed dog. He played gaily with Renni and made no resistance when George took him in his arms.
“You poor, lost puppy!” said George. “You’ve a right to be surly when strangers come bursting in this way. But we’re not strangers any longer, are we? You’re not lost now and we’ll all be good friends together—you, Renni and I.”
The terrier listened with a look of deep wisdom on his face and his stubby ears pricked up. He had been sick with lonesomeness, but now seemed suddenly free, perfectly happy at having company again. In a few minutes he was eating and drinking greedily; he must have been tortured by hunger and thirst for days.
They went on exploring the house. George found a bathroom and seized the welcome chance of a bath for himself and Renni. They needed it after these weeks of dirt. There were plenty of soap and towels.
When they went down again to the display-room the dogs were holding a get-acquainted party.
“Do you understand what’s going on?” Renni asked Hector. He thought of him as an old friend and had great respect for his wisdom because he was so much older.
“Nobody can understand it,” Hector answered. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Another dog said, “We’re a long way from home. Far from everything we’ve been used to. How can we take it?”
Still another chimed in. “It isn’t the way it used to be. These things used to last only three days. Now there’s no end to the business.”
Renni added, “In the old days some would be bleeding but only a few. Now everyone we find is that way.”
Hector said, sad and worried, “And most of them are dead, and we can’t help them at all. I never saw any dead before this. It’s a terrible thing to see the dead.”
“You get used to it,” put in an old dog with unusually long ears.
“No,” contradicted Renni, “I can never get used to it.”
“Nor I.”
“I know I can’t,” Hector asserted.
“I only said that to make you feel better,” Long-Ears assured them. “The sight and scent of the dead really fill me with fear and horror.”
“Why in the world do they do such things?” sighed Renni.
“I believe they’ve all gone crazy,” was Hector’s opinion.
“Impossible,” said Long-Ears. “How could they all go crazy at once?”
“Perhaps it’s contagious.”
“Nothing of the sort. They’re simply fighting one another.”
“Fighting for what? Don’t they have food, homes—everything they want? . . . Why should they fight?”
Long-Ears wrinkled his nose scornfully. “What about us? Each of us has food, a home, pretty much everything he wants, and yet we’ve all been in plenty of fights, haven’t we?”
“Yes,” Renni admitted, “but that’s different.”
“Well, we’re only dogs.”
Renni said, “We dogs fight only when we’re insulted, or when we’re challenged, or when we’re attacked.”
“There must have been a strange lot of terrible insults and challenges going around to call for huge fights like these,” said Hector. “They have been getting ready for them a long time. Otherwise we wouldn’t have learned our business and practised at it. Such things must be secrets of a high order. Anyhow, they’re beyond me.”
Fox sat on his haunches in their midst, listening tensely, the richer for their remarkable experiences.
Meanwhile the dog-trainers were talking things over. Young Wier pounded with his fist on the desk which served for a table, so that the metal plates and tin cups danced and clattered. “We’re winning! We’re winning! That’s all that matters.” He pulled his dog over to him and roared in his ear, “Do you hear? Rascal, do you hear? Victory is ours!”
Rascal stood limp under the hands of his master, who now began to sing a soldier song. He sang alone, with only the accompaniment of Rascal’s yelps and Fox’s barking. Wier let go his dog, stopped singing and looked around. “Why don’t you join in?”
Marly shrugged his shoulders.
Greenow, a thoughtful man, said, “Maybe we’re thinking of the lives it costs.”
“But so long as we’re winning, it’s worth all it costs, isn’t it?” Wier demanded.
Greenow answered earnestly, “Yes . . . if we always win . . . perhaps.”
“Well,” Nickel remarked, “I guess a man might think that, so long as he isn’t a part of the cost himself.” He glanced around. “Who knows whether we’re going to stay here long enough to get a good rest?” No one knew.
“If we keep on advancing and advancing,” Karger reasoned, “I figure we’re winning. But we don’t know a thing about it. We can’t find out anything. We just grope around in the dark. We really ought . . . ”
“The Chief of Staff really ought to keep Corporal Karger better informed,” cried Marly.
The others laughed, and they laughed again when Karger said, “It would be a pretty smart thing for him to do.”
“And you—” Nickel nudged George—“haven’t you anything to say?”
George drew a deep breath. “I wish we were all back home.”
A troop of prisoners marched past the windows. The men inside scarcely noticed them. They went back to sleep. Only George went out on the street. The prisoners were marching steadily along. Under their tan they were pale and thin. Some seemed completely sunk. They looked sad, or desperate, or almost insane. Others made no attempt to conceal their relief. You could read on their faces how happy they were to have escaped the dangers of war.
One of them, a man about forty, stepped over and patted Renni. “I’ve a dog like that at home,” he said to George. Renni wagged his tail in a particularly friendly way.
George asked, “Do you think often of your home?”
The man looked at him in astonishment “Well . . . no . . . can’t say I do . . . but . . . ”
He ran back to his place in the ranks, turned around several times and waved his hand. The soldier on guard had ordered him, “Don’t stop there. March on!” But it had not sounded harsh. Rather like a gentle warning. George smiled at the soldier, who saluted him.
“This prisoner,” he thought, “probably has a wife and children. But still he doesn’t think of home. War cut him off from all he knew and cherished. He was face to face with death, ready to suffer it . . . and only Renni reminded him that he had once lived a life of his own.
“And I?” George felt a sudden shock of surprise, for he had forgotten home too. The wish he had expressed to Nickel had come without thought or will or feeling. He had not been thinking of his mother or of Tanya, of his garden or his fields. He felt ashamed. Was this man a warning to him? But why should he need warning? He stooped down and slapped Renni on the back. The dog looked up at him, frankly, cheerfully, gratefully.
“We’ve been used to something better than this, old boy, haven’t we? Now we’ve got to put up with it as best we can. Thinking and remembering won’t do us any good.”
Renni swung his tail in vigorous agreement.
George looked into the dog’s clear eyes. “All we must think of is this: with every wounded man that we rescue we do some good. Whether he’s a friend or a foe, it’s all the same to you, partner, isn’t it? And to me. We have no enemies.”
He let the dog slip to the ground. Renni gave a leap or two to show his love and joy, but quickly controlled himself and took his regulation position by his master’s side.
George went on to himself: “Memory leads to longing and makes a man unfit for service. This war business swallows up memory completely. Thank God for it.”
But the cataract of events which roared around him soon diverted his thoughts. He had walked to the central square of the town. The poor inhabitants had been in hiding. Some of them had been chased from their hiding-places and others had come creeping out of their own free will. They stood now huddled close to one another in their anguish—old men, women, girls, weeping children—and they trembled at the unknown fate which their fears painted for them.
Standing on a box, a captain addressed them in a loud voice. “People! Have no fear! No harm will be done you. Your property will not be disturbed. Is your mayor here?”
Silence. Then a woman’s wild, broken cry: “He ran away.”
The captain nodded. “Thank you.” He went on, sternly now, “You must give up your weapons, firearms, swords, knives. Any attempt to hide them will be punishable by death. Also, any hostile demonstration against the troops and any disobedience of military orders. Is that understood?”
Another short silence. Then again the woman’s wild, broken voice, pitched a little higher this time: “Yes, sir! Oh, yes!”
A few men also called out, “Yes! We understand!”
Again the captain nodded. “Dismissed. All of you who behave yourselves are in perfect safety. You can depend on that. Open your shops. We’ll pay cash for everything we buy from you. But business houses that are deserted will be confiscated, and all that is in them.”
He made a gesture of dismissal with his right arm. “All right now. Go to your homes and be perfectly calm.”
Once more the woman’s voice was heard: “Our homes! Half of them are in ruins. Our homes!” There were bitterness and suppressed sobbing in her tones.
Shrugging his shoulders, the captain stepped down.
* * *
Meanwhile Nickel had joined George, and Fox had left his side to go sniffing among the people. Fox did it carefully and thoroughly. When he came back, he sat down beside Renni and looked on attentively as the crowd dispersed. He had made up his mind.
George picked up the wriggling little tike and held him in his arms. You’re right, Foxy. Stick to Renni and me.”
Suddenly, in some distant street three shots barked out, close together.
“Shotguns,” Nickel decided.
They listened. Another shot.
Nickel said, “One of our army pistols.”
A crowd was approaching. Soldiers shouted angrily. Women screamed and wailed. The crowd came on.
“They’ll be shot without ceremony,” came the words, and then: “It would be a fine idea—to let them murder us—wouldn’t it?”
Someone called out, “They’re crazy, simply crazy. It’s the craziest thing ever.”
“Fanatics,” said Nickel to George. “The thing’s perfectly clear. They shot at our men from some house.”
George saw two soldiers led by, supported by comrades. One was bleeding from the arm, the other from the shoulder. They staggered a little as they walked. Their faces were pale, and fear and astonishment were written on them. They were being taken to the dressing-station. Behind them came the snipers, in chains. Three men, one a hunchback, the second a greybeard with wildly rumpled hair, the third perfectly bald. Then a young girl and a pretty little boy. Their faces were the colour of ashes, their eyes dead, their expressions dazed. Only the boy looked ahead with eager eyes as though he were going through a fascinating adventure. The escort of soldiers, guns at the ready and bayonets fixed, surrounded them like a moving hedge, shutting them off from the swarming mob. Despite the confusion and excitement, the crowd kept solemn silence. Now and then a low moan, a wailing sob, nothing more.
“Are you going to shoot the child, too?” A man’s voice screamed the question. The wailing rose. No answer.
Two officers came up and stopped near George, a colonel and a lieutenant.
“It’s a terrible shame such an idiotic thing had to happen,” the colonel growled. “Take them out beyond the lines. Over there at the edge of town. The third battalion is on guard there. Take them a few hundred steps beyond the pickets and get it over.” His voice sounded tense, hoarse. “Oh, yes. Set the boy free first. Don’t let him see what happens.” He paused. “Somebody’ll look after him all right.”
In a queer, unnatural voice, the lieutenant asked, “And the girl?”
“Clear case with her.”
“But it’s perfectly plain she’s innocent,” stammered the lieutenant.
“But she’s of age.” The colonel choked out the words. “Adult. I can’t spare her. I dare not. It’s really neglect of duty to let the boy . . . . ” He spoke from between clenched teeth. “You know the law. Two of our men have been wounded . . . short shrift . . . nothing to be done about it. Go, Lieutenant. It’s hard on you, and hard on me too. Go and may God help you!”
“At your orders, Colonel.” The lieutenant staggered a little as he saluted and withdrew.
At the same moment the colonel started off in the other direction, but Renni stopped him, dashing around him, waving his tail, trying to leap up on him.
“What! What!” sputtered the colonel. Then he recognised the dog. “Why, Renni, is it you? My old friend and rescuer, God bless you!” Renni, his body arched in joy, felt his back slapped and licked the hand that caressed him.
The colonel looked about. “Corporal, you remember me? I had an accident last year during manœuvres.” He pointed to his ankle. “I was a major then.” He smiled wanly. “It’s good to see you again.”
George, shocked and shaken, could not say a word.
“Renni remembers me,” said the colonel. “Yes, Renni, you’re a fine old dog.” And he stroked the beautiful head. “You, Corporal, I suppose you’ve forgotten me.”
“Certainly not, Colonel,” George got out with an effort . . . . His eyes followed the firing squad as it marched off in the distance. “Renni’s lucky. He doesn’t take this in.”
The echo of a volley rolled past.