The Debacle - Emile Zola [140]
‘Oh thank God, here we are!’ said Jean. ‘But the thing is to stay here!’
He was right, it wasn’t exactly the most pleasant of spots, as Lapoulle pointed out in a doleful voice which tickled the company. Once again they all lay stretched out in the stubble, but that didn’t save three men from being killed. Up there it was hell’s own hurricane let loose, shells coming over so thickly from Saint-Menges, Fleigneux and Givonne that the earth seemed to be throwing up a fine mist as it does in heavy thunder rain. Clearly the position could not be held for long unless some artillery came as soon as possible to back up the troops so rashly engaged. General Douay, it was said, had ordered two reserve batteries to be brought up, and every second the men anxiously glanced over their shoulders expecting the guns which never came.
‘It’s ridiculous, ridiculous!’ Captain Beaudoin kept on saying as he went on with his jerky walking up and down. ‘You don’t send a regiment up into the air like this without supporting it immediately.’
He noticed a dip in the land to his left and called to Rochas:
‘I say, lieutenant, the company should take cover over there.’
Rochas stood there without moving, but shrugged his shoulders.
‘Oh, captain, here or there, what’s it matter, the dance is just the same… Better not to move.’
At that Captain Beaudoin, who never swore, burst out in a rage:
‘But fucking hell, we shall stay here for good, the whole lot of us. We can’t just let ourselves be done in like this!’
He insisted on looking personally into the better position he had pointed out. But before he had gone ten steps he vanished in an explosion, and his right leg was smashed by a piece of shell. He was thrown on to his back and uttered a scream like a startled woman.
‘It was bound to happen,’ muttered Rochas. ‘It’s no good fidgeting about so much. What you’ve got coming to you, comes.’
The men of his company, seeing their captain fall, leaped up, and as he was crying for help and begging to be taken away, Jean also ran over to him and Maurice after him.
‘Friends, in God’s name don’t leave me here, take me to the ambulance!’
‘Lord, captain, that’s not so easy to do… But we can always try.’
They were thinking out how best to take hold of him when they saw, behind the hedge they had been following, two red-cross men apparently looking for a job. They waved at them frantically and persuaded them to come over. They would be saved if they could reach the ambulance station without mishap. But it was a long way, and the hail of bullets was getting still thicker.
The ambulance men had bound the leg up tight to hold it in place, and then were carrying the captain on a bandy-chair with his arms round their necks, when Colonel de Vineuil, who had been informed, came up as fast as he could urge his horse. He had known the young man since he graduated from Saint-Cyr and was fond of him, and he was visibly very upset.
‘Poor old chap, be brave… It won’t be anything much, and they’ll soon put you right.’
The captain made a sign of relief as though he had been greatly heartened.
‘No, no, it’s all over, and I prefer it like that. What is so exasperating is waiting for what you can’t avoid.’
He was carried off, and the bearers were lucky enough to reach the hedge without trouble, and they hurried along it with their burden. When the colonel saw them vanish behind the trees where the ambulance was, he sighed with relief.
‘But, sir,’ Maurice exclaimed, ‘you are wounded too!’
He had only just noticed the officer’s left boot which was covered with blood. The heel must have been torn off and a piece of the upper had even penetrated the flesh.
M. de Vineuil nonchalantly leaned over in the saddle and glanced