In one part of the trench I suddenly run into Himmelstoss. We dive into the same dugout. Breathless we are all lying one beside the other waiting for the charge.

When we run out again, although I am very excited, I suddenly think: “Where’s Himmelstoss?” Quickly I jump back into the dugout and find him with a small scratch lying in a corner pretending to be wounded. His face looks sullen. He is in a panic; he is new to it too. But it makes me mad that the young recruits should be out there and he here.

“Get out!” I spit.

He does not stir, his lips quiver, his moustache twitches.

“Out!” I repeat.

He draws up his legs, crouches back against the wall, and shows his teeth like a cur.

I seize him by the arm and try to pull him up. He barks.