Forgotten Soldier by Guy Sajer

eyes off the freckled young soldier, whose motionless body lay a few yards away.
    "Cover me, you idiots," the feldwebel shouted, as he jumped up and ran forward.
    I looked at the freckled soldier's friend. He seemed more surprised than frightened. Calmly, we aimed our weapons toward the woods, from which a few shots still rang out, and began to fire.
    The detonation of my Mauser restored some of my confidence, but I was still very scared. Two more bullets whistled in my ears. Our sergeant, with appalling self-assurance, stood up and threw a grenade. The air rang with the noise of the explosion, and one of the worm-eaten planks of the but disintegrated.
    With incomprehensible calm, I continued to stare at the cabin. The feldwebel's automatic was still firing. Without panic, I slid another bullet into the barrel of my gun. As I was about to shoot, two black figures ran from the ruins of the hut, and headed toward the forest. It was a perfect opportunity. My gun sight stood out clearly in black against the white of the countryside, and then merged into the darkness of one of the galloping figures. I pressed the trigger ... and missed.
    Our chief had run as far as the hut, firing after the fleeing men without hitting them. After a moment, he signaled us to join him, and we extricated ourselves from our holes in the snow.
    The feldwebel was staring at something in the ruins of the cabin. As we drew closer we could see a man leaning against the wall. His face, half covered by a wild, shaggy beard, was turned toward us; his eyes looked damp. He gazed at us without a word; his clothes, of skin and fur, were not a military uniform. My eye was caught by his left hand. It was soaked with blood. More blood was running from his collar. I felt a twinge of unease for him. The feldwebel's voice brought me back to reality.
    "Partisan!" he shouted. "Hein? . . . You know what you're going to get!"
    He pointed his gun at the Russian, who seemed frightened and rolled farther back into the corner. I too recoiled, but our noncom was already putting his automatic back in its holster.
    "You take care of him," he ordered, waving toward the wounded man.
    We carried the partisan outside. He groaned, and said something unintelligible.
    The sound of an approaching train was growing steadily louder. This one, however, was returning to the rear. We managed to stop it. Three soldiers wrapped in heavy reindeer-skin coats jumped from the first carriage. One of them was a lieutenant, and we snapped to attention. "What in God's name do you think you're doing?" he barked. "Why did you stop us?"
    Our noncom explained that we were looking for labor.
    "This train is carrying only the wounded and dying," the lieutenant said. "If we had some troops on leave I'd help you out. As it is, I can't do anything for you."
    "We've got two wounded men," the sergeant ventured.
    The lieutenant was already walking over to the freckled soldier, who was lying motionless where he had fallen. "You can see that this one's dead."
    "No, Mein Leutnant. He's still breathing."
    "Ah ... well, maybe ... But another fifteen minutes . . " he gestured vaguely. "Well, all right . . . we'll take him." He whistled at two skeletal stretcher-bearers, who lifted our young comrade. I thought I could see a brown stain in the middle of his back, but I wasn't sure whether it was blood mixed with the green of his coat, or something else.
    And the other one?" the lieutenant asked impatiently. "Over there, beside the hut."
    The lieutenant looked at the bearded man, who was clearly dying. "Who's this?"
    "A Russian, Mein Leutnant, a partisan."
    "So that's it. Do you really think I'm going to saddle myself with one of those bastards who'll shoot you in the back any time-as if war at the front wasn't enough!"
    He shouted an order to the two soldiers who were with him. They walked over to the unfortunate man lying on the snow, and two shots rang out.
    A short time later, we were making our way back to the road.