Forgotten Soldier Read Free Page B

of alcohol into this, and hands it to me without a word.
    It is burning hot, but I drink it down all the same. Every eye is fixed on me. I have never liked the taste of alcohol, but I am determined to finish this liter at any price, so that I won't look like a green girl.
    I leave this bunch of louts without saluting, and find myself out in the cold once again. This time I feel certain that the Polish winter has arrived. The sky is overcast, and the thermometer has fallen to twenty degrees.
    I don't really know where to go. The square is almost empty. In the surrounding houses, Poles must be warming themselves in front of their fires. I walk over to the parking lot, where some soldiers are busy with the trucks. I venture a few words, but they reply without enthusiasm. I must be too young for them: these characters are already in their thirties. I continue my aimless wandering, and catch sight of three bearded men wearing long overcoats of a strange brown color, who are cutting a tree trunk into lengths with a large all-purpose saw. I don't recognize their uniforms.
    I walk up to them, smile, and ask them if everything's all right.
    Their only response is to stop sawing and straighten up, and I guess that they are smiling behind their heavy beards. One of them is a tall, strapping fellow; the other two are short and stocky. I ask two or three questions, but get no reply. These characters must be laughing at me! Then I hear footsteps coming up behind me, and a voice says: "Let them alone. You know that talking to them is forbidden, except to give them orders."
    "Those wild men didn't answer me anyway. I was just wondering what the hell they're doing in the Wehrmacht."
    "Teufel!" says the fellow who's come to dress me down. "I can see now that you've never been under fire. Those fellows are Russian prisoners. And if you ever do get to the front and you see one of them before he sees you, fire without hesitation, or you'll never see another." I am astounded, and look again at the Russians, who have resumed their sawing. So those are our enemies, who shoot at German soldiers, soldiers wearing uniforms like mine. Why did they smile at me then?
    For the next two weeks, life in the castle with my companions of the 19th Company continues as usual, and I obliterate the memory of the 27th, which seemed to be composed entirely of sullen, gloomy characters. To be fair, however, I must admit that the men in the 27th have been in service since 1940.
    Winter has arrived, with its snow and rain, transforming the earth into sticky glue. When we come in at dusk we are covered with mud and exhausted, but still filled with the sense of joy that comes from youth and health. These small fatigues are nothing compared to what awaits us. Every evening we warm ourselves in our comfortable beds, and joke until sleep interrupts us.
    October 28. The weather, which is not very cold, is nonetheless frightful. Gray clouds and squalls of wind and rain fill the sky for twenty-four hours a day. Our noncoms are tired of getting soaked to the skin, and have given up taking us to outdoor exercises. We spend most of the time perfecting our skills as drivers and mechanics. I don't yet know anything more disagreeable than rummaging through an engine under a driving rain.
    The thermometer remains more or less constant at freezing. October 30: raining and cold.
    After saluting the colors, we are ordered to the supply store, where we proceed without thinking about explanations. At least it will be warm in there. In the store, which has been set up in a large shed, the first two sections of our company have just been served, and are coming out with their arms loaded. When it's my turn, I am given four boxes of sardines, stamped in France, two vegetable sausages wrapped in cellophane, a package of biscuits enriched with vitamins, two slabs of Swiss chocolate, some smoked lard, and a half pound of lump sugar. Four steps further on, another attendant piles onto my already