And two groups are daring enough to stand upright and fire, although the machine gun fire is sweeping us again. The man next to me is loading his gun; suddenly he throws up an arm: "Hell! That's pretty warm!" A bullet has passed midway through the cover of his rifle barrel. "Go on! Slowly! One at a time! Don't crowd!" On the road we find a man of the second column, pressed against a tree. "Where is the battalion?" He points in the direction of R. "There they are, still fighting, Captain." Yes, there still stand some riflemen in a rifle fight. An officer with them. "Forward!" and I point in their direction. But over there the witches' caldron is boiling more fiercely. The machine guns are nearer there. After a short consultation with the leader of the division I order: "Retire. Singly." The narrow road through which we retire is swept continually with fire. I climb up to the ridge. Now nothing further matters. Only not to fall alive in the hands of those over there! To die! I stumble over a ridge in the field. A few moments of unconsciousness. Then again the tacktack-tacktack of the machine guns. God, our Lord, Thou art our refuge forever and aye! I pray Thee, I pray Thee, let me die an honest soldier's death. And not suffer long. Now, dear Lord, please; now! If only my fellows don't begin to run! "Slowly, men; slowly. Halt at the brown stretch of field." Panting, we lie there. "Rifles in position! Take aim! Fire!" As soon as a few shots have been fired, there ensues a pause in the firing over there. We make good use of it. Then, "Down on your bellies again!" I cannot go further. "Go ahead without me, boys. Greet my people for me. God with you. You've fought well. Damn you, fellow, run, I tell you! Down on your faces! Take breath. Fire!" When, long ago, I went to my confirmation lesson, the Superintendent once said--ah, what a remarkable man that was!--"I would like only to take a single look at my little garden. I'm a city child, and have grown so fond of the flowers, this little bit of earth!"--Hui! hui! there it whistles over our heads again. I greet Death. And my lips touch the ridge of the field furrow. Of dust thou art; to dust thou shalt return. "Boys, you're not afraid? Eh?" And I try to laugh. "The apes over there! They don't know how to shoot. Such clowns! They'll hit the sky!" Hui! hui! tack-a-tack-tacktack! Run on! The patent-leathered lackeys can't hit us! But there lies one of the other company. Dead. "Don't run! Keep halting! Fire!" From the village a hail of shrapnel. From the opposite side, the same. But now nobody runs with lowered head. We are now used to the benediction of bullets. Further on, further on! Of the brigade there's not a trace. When the artillery had shot away its ammunition, the order was given: "Retire, all!" It reached me, in front there with the rifle lines, fully an hour later than the rest. Scattered stragglers join me. "Where is our Chief Lieutenant?"