"Attention!"
Instantly there was dead silence. In imagination we saw nothing but
those far-off battlefields.
Our names were called, and we were allotted our several tasks. First
the stretcher-bearers. There was a long list of these, and in two hours
they were to set out for the front, to pick up the wounded in the
firing line.
From time to time the officer broke the monotony of the roll-call by
trenchant remarks--such as one makes on those occasions when one has
accepted one's share of sacrifice simply because it's one's duty to do
so.
"You will be just as exposed as those who are fighting. The enemy will
fire on the ambulances; and the Red Cross on your armlets and on the
buildings will not protect you from German bullets."
The list was growing longer. In their turn men of thirty and forty
received the badges of their devotedness.
"There are many of you who will never come back. Your courage will only
be the finer. They may kill you, but you will not be able to kill. Your
sole duty is to love suffering in spite of everything, no matter how
mutilated the being may be who falls across your path, and who cries
for pity."
"Even the Boches?"