We are silent: he must know himself how much use it is in reporting such things.
It isn't usual to make complaints in the army.
He understands it all right though, and lectures Himmelstoss, making it plain to him that the front isn't a parade-ground.
Then comes Tjaden's turn, he gets a long sermon and three days' open arrest.
Bertink gives Kropp a wink and one day's open arrest.
"It can't be helped," he says to him regretfully.
He is a decent fellow.
Open arrest is quite pleasant.
The clink was once a fowl-house; there we can visit the prisoners, we know how to manage it.
Close arrest would have meant the cellar.
They used to tie us to a tree, but that is forbidden now.
In many ways we are treated quite like men.
An hour later after Tjaden and Kropp are settled in behind their wire-netting we make our way into them.
Tjaden greets us crowing.
Then we play skat far into the night.
Tjaden wins of course, the lucky wretch.
When we break it up Kat says to me:
"What do you say to some roast goose?"
"Not bad," I agree.
We climb up on a munition-wagon.
The ride costs us two cigarettes.
Kat has marked the spot exactly.
The shed belongs to a regimental headquarters.
I agree to get the goose and receive my instructions.
The out-house is behind the wall and the door shuts with just a peg.
Kat hoists me up. I rest my foot in his hands and climb over the wall.
Kat keeps watch below.
I wait a few moments to accustom my eyes to the darkness.
Then I recognize the shed.
Softly I steal across, lift the peg, pull it out and open the door.
I distinguish two white patches.
Two geese, that’s bad: if I grab one the other will cackle.
Well, both of them—if I’m quick, it can be done.
I make a jump.
I catch hold of one and the next instant the second.
Like a madman I bash their heads against the wall to stun them.
But I haven't quite enough weight.
The beasts cackle and strike out with their feet and wings.
I fight desperately, but Lord! what a kick a goose has!
They struggle and I stagger about.
In the dark these white patches are terrifying. My arms have grown wings and I'm almost afraid of going up into the sky, as though I held a couple of captive balloons in my fists.
Then the row begins; one of them gets his breath and goes off like an alarm clock.
Before I can do anything, something comes in from outside; I feel a blow, lie outstretched on the floor, and hear awful growls.
A dog. I steal a glance to the side, he makes a snap at my throat.
I lie still and tuck my chin into my collar.
It's a bull dog.
After an eternity he withdraws his head and sits down beside me.
But if I make the least movement he growls.
I consider.
The only thing to do is to get hold of my small revolver, and that too before anyone arrives.