Combed Out by Frederick Augustus Voigt
page 103 of 188 (54%)
page 103 of 188 (54%)
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hoping, now despairing. I thought of home mostly, but once or twice I
thought of the kids in the school where I taught--to die like this after the send-off they gave me! Still, they wouldn't know, they'd think I was killed in an accident, and that was some consolation to me. And the next morning--I can't bear to think of it--nothing happened: that was just the terrible thing about it--nothing happened. The day passed and then another day. At times I longed to be taken out and shot, and once or twice I felt I didn't care about anything. I didn't care whether I died or not. A week passed and then another week. I don't know how I lived through it. Then, one day, I was told to pack up and rejoin my unit. I don't know exactly what I did, but I think I must have gone hysterical. I remember some N.C.O. saying I ought to stay a bit because I wasn't well enough to go up the line. He said he'd speak to the officer and get me a few days' rest. But the thought of staying in that place made me shiver. I said I was absolutely all right and went back to my unit. "But I never found out what had happened--you see, I was only a common soldier, so they didn't trouble to tell me--until I got a letter from the Captain who was in charge of me when I was on that forty-three hour job. He said he'd heard I was in for a court martial for sleeping when on guard, so he wrote to our headquarters to tell them I'd worked forty-three hours on end and wasn't fit to do a guard after a spell like that. Then they must have made a lot of inquiries--I expect there's a whole file of papers about me at headquarters. Anyhow, that's how I got off--it's more than a month ago now. Well, yesterday morning I was put on guard again. I tried to get out of it, but the officer said I was swinging the lead and he wouldn't listen to any excuses. I told him I'd had insomnia overnight and could hardly keep my eyes open. I said I'd do anything rather than a guard--a fatigue job or a patrol, no matter how dangerous, as long as it kept me on the move. The very thought of doing |
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