Produced by Charles Aldarondo. HTML version by Al Haines. Under Fire The Story of a Squad By Henri Barbusse (1874-1935) Translated by Fitzwater Wray To the memory of the comrades who fell by my side at Crouy and on Hill 119 January, May, and September 1915 Contents I. The Vision II. In the Earth III. The Return IV. Volpatte and Fouillade V. Sanctuary VI. Habits VII. Entraining VIII. On Leave IX. The Anger of Volpatte X. Argoval XI. The Dog XII. The Doorway XIII. The Big Words XIV. Of Burdens XV. The Egg XVI. An Idyll XVII. The Sap XVIII. A Box of Matches XIX. Bombardment XX. Under Fire XXI. The Refuge XXII. Going About XXIII. The Fatigue-Party XXIV. The Dawn UNDER FIRE I The Vision MONT BLANC, the Dent du Midi, and the Aiguille Verte look across at the bloodless faces that show above the blankets along the gallery of the sanatorium. This roofed-in gallery of rustic wood-work on the first floor of the palatial hospital is isolated in Space and overlooks the world. The blankets of fine wool--red, green, brown, or white--from which those wasted cheeks and shining eyes protrude are quite still. No sound comes from the long couches except when some one coughs, or that of the pages of a book turned over at long and regular intervals, or the undertone of question and quiet answer between neighbors, or now and again the crescendo disturbance of a daring crow, escaped to the balcony from those flocks that seem threaded across the immense transparency like chaplets of black pearls. Silence is obligatory. Besides, the rich and high-placed who have come here from all the ends of the earth, smitten by the same evil, have lost the habit of talking. They have withdrawn into themselves, to think of their life and of their death. A servant appears in the balcony, dressed in white and walking softly. She brings newspapers and hands them about. "It's decided," says the first to unfold his paper. "War is declared." Expected as the news is, its effect is almost dazing, for this audience feels that its portent is without measure or limit. These men of culture and intelligence, detached from the affairs of the world and almost from the world itself, whose faculties are deepened by suffering and meditation, as far remote from their fellow men as if they were already of the Future--these men look deeply into the distance, towards the unknowable land of the living and the insane. "Austria's act is a crime," says the Austrian. "France must win," says the Englishman. "I hope Germany will be beaten," says the German. They settle down again under the blankets and on the pillows, looking to heaven and the high peaks. But in spite of that vast purity, the silence is filled with the dire disclosure of a moment before. War!