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Page 41
"Got 'im that time--bloody good shot--'e's comin' down, look, look, 'e's
comin' down! Look, 'e's all in flames!"
But the aeroplane sped on, growing smaller and smaller. Then the white
beam swung back and was extinguished, while the guns ceased firing.
"Fine lot o' gunners we got--couldn't 'it a Zep 'alf a yard orf! They
ain't worth the grub they get!"
We returned to our marquee and sat down on our kits. My friend Private
Black came in after us, smiling ruefully. I asked him what was the
matter.
"I was playing the piano in the Sergeants' Mess when the first one
dropped. We all jumped up together and rushed out. Then the second one
burst and I lost my head and didn't know where I was going. I darted to
and fro, tripping over tent-ropes and dashing up against revetments. I
never had the wind up so much in all my life. I couldn't get my breath,
there was a kind of weight on my stomach and a tightness round my chest
and throat, and my knees kept on giving way all the time. The third one
burst and I fell down and crawled under some ropes and lay flat against
some sand-bags, trembling all over and feeling as though I was going to
choke. I waited for a long time, but nothing happened, so I got up and
looked round. Lucky escape for us! There's a terrific hole by the Red
Cross and another one behind the bath-house. The third's in the next
field. Only two men hit. O'Neil's got it in the elbow--he's all right
for Blighty. Poor old Hartog's badly hurt--a frightful gash in the thigh
with the piece still in it. I hope he won't have to lose his leg.
Christ, I'm glad it's all over--I wouldn't like to go through that
again."
There was silence for a while, but soon the silence was broken by the
distant muttering of anti-aircraft fire.
"Jesus Christ Almighty--'e's comin' again--O God, why can't 'e leave us
alone."
We stood outside the marquee and anxiously watched the horizon. We heard
a faint humming noise. It grew louder and louder until it became a deep,
droning buzz that rose and fell in regular pulsation. Then
boom--boom--boom--three times the sullen roar of distant explosions
sounded. Then there came the familiar rushing, whistling noise of a
descending bomb. We flung ourselves down in the wet grass. I felt every
muscle in my body contract as though I were trying to make myself as
small as a pin point in expectation of the terrible moment. There was a
dull thud close by and I felt the earth vibrate. The bomb had fallen a
few yards away, but had merely buried itself in the earth without
exploding.
There was no anti-aircraft fire, but the droning noise continued loudly,
rising and falling. Private Trotter, who was lying beside me, was
drawing his breath in sharply between his lips. Our fear of impending
disaster was prolonged intolerably. The droning propeller seemed to be
directly above us. I tried to analyse my feelings. If one finger is held
close to the middle of the forehead a curious sensation of strain seems
to gather in that spot. That was precisely the sensation I had at the
back of my head and neck, only with far greater intensity. It was the
concentrated, agonizing consciousness of the swift descent of a huge
iron mass that will strike the base of the head and blow the whole body
to pieces. In the region of the solar-plexus I had a feeling of
oppression such as one often has before an examination, before jumping
into an icy river, before opening a letter that may contain bad news. I
also breathed more heavily than usual. I made no attempt to master these
sensations. It occurred to me that fear is merely a physical reaction
that cannot be avoided. If a man reacts so violently that he is overcome
and rushes about as though he were demented, it is no more his fault
than if he shivers with cold. A man can stop shivering by an effort of
the will, but only to a certain extent. And no effort of the will can
prevent him from feeling cold. In the same way, no effort of the will
can prevent him from feeling fear, and only to a limited extent can the
will control the outward manifestations of fear. Nevertheless, some
distraction may enable a man to forget his fear for a while, just as it
may enable him to forget the cold. I was so intent upon self-analysis
that I lost consciousness of everything except my mental concentration,
even of those sensations I was trying to analyse, for the very act of
analysis was destroying them. As they grew weaker, the effort of my will
increased. It became so great that I grew conscious of great mental
tension and at the same time I realized that my fear had vanished
altogether. For a brief space I had a sensation of vacuity as though I
could neither think nor feel. Then my mental effort suddenly collapsed,
I once more became aware of the droning overhead, and with a rush my
former fears were upon me again. I pressed myself flat to earth. I heard
the descent of a bomb. I trembled and tried to shrink to nothing. There
was a deafening thunder-clap and the ground shook. A quantity of loose
earth came down upon us. Another bomb descended--every muscle in my body
tightened and I stopped breathing altogether. But the explosion that
followed was fainter than the last. Then there was another, still
further off. All my muscles gradually relaxed and a delicious feeling of
relief pervaded my whole being. The buzzing noise became more and more
feeble. I got up and walked back to the marquee, trembling and weak at
the knees. The others followed.
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