by Steiner’s confidence. Schnurrbart stared at him, wondering at the sudden change of mood. But now that Steiner was himself again, they’d make it, damn it all. He grinned cheerfully. ‘Of course,’ he said, ‘we’ll eat tree bark like the ancient Teutons.’
‘The ancient Teutons ate bear steak by the ton,’ Anselm said, rubbing his belly.
‘Yes,’ Kern added, ‘and drank mead by the barrel.’
‘If you still had your iron rations, it wouldn’t be half as bad. Any of you have them left?’ asked Steiner.
There was a shamefaced silence. Steiner reached into his pack, took out a small bag and dropped it on the ground. ‘We’ll make a soup,’ he said. ‘Put the meat and the bread right in it. Two men fetch water. If you can’t get to the creek, dig a hole in the ground. But don’t anybody try drinking the muck before it’s boiled. The rest can gather wood.’
The men got up. For a few minutes they bustled about. It was already growing dark beneath the trees. Steiner appointed sentries, and the fire was lit only after these had reached their assigned places. The wood was wet and smoked heavily, but this proved to be a boon, for it drove away the swarms of insects. Kern and Anselm had meanwhile gone to the creek for water, each carrying half a dozen mess-tins. They went as far as the soft ground permitted, then dug a square hole which immediately filled with water. The water was black and stinking. Kern made a face. ‘Ugh, when I think of what I could be drinking back home,’ he said. He stared mournfully into the gathering gloom among the trees.
Anselm looked at him from the side. He suddenly felt that Kern was not such a bad fellow after all; all the quarrels they had had now seemed foolish and needless. He watched Kern filling the mess-tins and felt a great gladness that he was not alone in the woods here. All along the edge of the creek numberless frogs had begun a concert which was rapidly rising to an unbearable fortissimo. Kern raised his head. ‘Listen to that!’ he said grimly. He finished filling the mess-tins and straightened his back, groaning. ‘Shall we go?’ he asked. Anselm nodded. Holding the vessels carefully so as not to spill the water, they started back.
In the last few minutes night had descended fully. A feeble glimmer of light directed them toward the camp. When they reached it, they saw the men sitting around the fire, which they kept burning low. A flat hole had been dug, and the burning branches rested on the bottom. Kern and Anselm sat down with the others. Steiner was sitting with his back against a tree. Beside him lay Schnurrbart, Krüger and Maag. Dietz was chatting with Hollerbach. Dorn, off to one side, had his arms clasped over his knees and was staring vacantly into the fire. Zoll and Pasternak were doing sentry duty. The confidence Steiner had injected into them all a few moments ago had already ebbed away. The uncertainty over what faced them was as depressing as the tiredness in their bodies.
Kern turned to Anselm. ‘You know what I wish I had? I wish I had a barrel of vodka.’ He squirmed restlessly. ‘How I would drink!’
‘No more than you can hold,’ Steiner said; he had been sitting with closed eyes, listening to the conversation.
Kern was wary of getting involved in a conversation with Steiner. But he felt misunderstood, and so he said more than he wanted to. ‘You don’t know how much I can hold. After ten bottles I sick it up; then I’m ready for the next ten and the next.’
The others pricked up their ears. The boasting irritated them. Krüger said: ‘Listen to his boasting before he touches a drop. I’d like to see him after one bottle. I’ll bet he’s done most of his drinking from a bottle with a rubber nipple.’
The others laughed. Kern spat on the ground. ‘Don’t you wish you had half what I’ve drunk in my life. Why, I can handle vodka even better than I can women, and that’s saying a lot.’
‘Really?’ Krüger
‘The ancient Teutons ate bear steak by the ton,’ Anselm said, rubbing his belly.
‘Yes,’ Kern added, ‘and drank mead by the barrel.’
‘If you still had your iron rations, it wouldn’t be half as bad. Any of you have them left?’ asked Steiner.
There was a shamefaced silence. Steiner reached into his pack, took out a small bag and dropped it on the ground. ‘We’ll make a soup,’ he said. ‘Put the meat and the bread right in it. Two men fetch water. If you can’t get to the creek, dig a hole in the ground. But don’t anybody try drinking the muck before it’s boiled. The rest can gather wood.’
The men got up. For a few minutes they bustled about. It was already growing dark beneath the trees. Steiner appointed sentries, and the fire was lit only after these had reached their assigned places. The wood was wet and smoked heavily, but this proved to be a boon, for it drove away the swarms of insects. Kern and Anselm had meanwhile gone to the creek for water, each carrying half a dozen mess-tins. They went as far as the soft ground permitted, then dug a square hole which immediately filled with water. The water was black and stinking. Kern made a face. ‘Ugh, when I think of what I could be drinking back home,’ he said. He stared mournfully into the gathering gloom among the trees.
Anselm looked at him from the side. He suddenly felt that Kern was not such a bad fellow after all; all the quarrels they had had now seemed foolish and needless. He watched Kern filling the mess-tins and felt a great gladness that he was not alone in the woods here. All along the edge of the creek numberless frogs had begun a concert which was rapidly rising to an unbearable fortissimo. Kern raised his head. ‘Listen to that!’ he said grimly. He finished filling the mess-tins and straightened his back, groaning. ‘Shall we go?’ he asked. Anselm nodded. Holding the vessels carefully so as not to spill the water, they started back.
In the last few minutes night had descended fully. A feeble glimmer of light directed them toward the camp. When they reached it, they saw the men sitting around the fire, which they kept burning low. A flat hole had been dug, and the burning branches rested on the bottom. Kern and Anselm sat down with the others. Steiner was sitting with his back against a tree. Beside him lay Schnurrbart, Krüger and Maag. Dietz was chatting with Hollerbach. Dorn, off to one side, had his arms clasped over his knees and was staring vacantly into the fire. Zoll and Pasternak were doing sentry duty. The confidence Steiner had injected into them all a few moments ago had already ebbed away. The uncertainty over what faced them was as depressing as the tiredness in their bodies.
Kern turned to Anselm. ‘You know what I wish I had? I wish I had a barrel of vodka.’ He squirmed restlessly. ‘How I would drink!’
‘No more than you can hold,’ Steiner said; he had been sitting with closed eyes, listening to the conversation.
Kern was wary of getting involved in a conversation with Steiner. But he felt misunderstood, and so he said more than he wanted to. ‘You don’t know how much I can hold. After ten bottles I sick it up; then I’m ready for the next ten and the next.’
The others pricked up their ears. The boasting irritated them. Krüger said: ‘Listen to his boasting before he touches a drop. I’d like to see him after one bottle. I’ll bet he’s done most of his drinking from a bottle with a rubber nipple.’
The others laughed. Kern spat on the ground. ‘Don’t you wish you had half what I’ve drunk in my life. Why, I can handle vodka even better than I can women, and that’s saying a lot.’
‘Really?’ Krüger
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