The Sojourn - Andrew Krivak [27]
Nothing of this appeared as I’d expected war to appear, although, in truth, I can’t say if I had a vision of war in mind, save perhaps for the placement of men who were wont to fight. I expected open fields and open ground, where columns of the emperor’s soldiers in pike gray marched in place, broke for the charge, and clashed, until the strong defeated the weak on that ground. But the only surface that was wide and open in this land was the river herself, which flowed serene and cottony blue, while entire armies hid themselves and their weapons and woke each day and watched and waited for the other to move or show himself above the top of each other’s subterranean world.
Zlee and I were attached to a regiment dug in north of Görz and, having survived the roulette of artillery and trench mortars in that first week, were itching for some action. Well fed (at the time), kitted out with good woolen uniforms, and fit, we brushed off the scene we had glimpsed at the field hospital, as well as rumors we heard that our army was barely holding on against an Italian onslaught. Up and down the lines, while men continued to dig and strengthen trenches that had literally been hewn out of rock, they spoke of General Boroević as though he were their father, or their god.
“Sveto won’t give them Trieste,” they’d say. Or “Boroević could have Görz back tomorrow if he wanted it.” I never met the man, but it was a comfort to me that so many soldiers, in the ranks and among the officers, believed in him as a commander.
It was after stand-to at dusk one day that we were told by a captain to report immediately to Major Márai’s tent. Though we were only lance corporals, as sharpshooters we reported to Márai, who reported directly to Colonel Rhelen, whom we rarely saw, which didn’t matter. Sharpshooters were given freedom to range along the lines in search of good targets in spite of our regimental assignment because that was what the Germans did, so that’s what our Austrian commanders let us do. We were lone hunters among the other officers and ordinary ranks of infantry, and this set us apart, sometimes with awe, most times with contempt, especially among the sergeants and first lieutenants, whose jobs were to maintain discipline and order in their platoons. We wore the identifying lanyard on the outside of our uniforms, carried a rifle with an optical sight and a barrel longer than the average soldier’s carbine, and always traveled in twos. If these weren’t enough to tip off whichever captain wanted to know why we were separated from our unit, we simply replied, “Scharfschützen, Herr Hauptmann.”
Yet we were welcomed by the veterans of the Soca because they saw firsthand why it was we listened and spoke to no one, and knew that in the balance of power our success raised the likelihood that they’d remain alive one more day. In those battlements, natural and man-made, the Austrians maintained a state of readiness throughout most of the winter. There was constant talk of yet another Italian offensive, which we would have to wait for, as we didn’t have enough reserves to launch one ourselves, and that lethal mix of rumor and readiness wore on a soldier’s nerves. But because our orders were to carve away at the long vast