Read Online Innocent Soldier (9780545355698) by Josef Holub - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Josef Holub
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our grandchildren that we were with him.”
My wellborn lieutenant is trembling with expectation.
“There’s a battle ahead of us,” he says to himself. “On the other side is the czar with his soldiers. He’ll have to turn and fight.”
Nothing happens. Neither the czar nor his army are on the other side. I can’t see a sausage.
“The Russians have no backbone. They’re scared of us. Who in their right mind would take on Napoleon, anyway?”
More and more regiments draw up. With music and drums. The whole plain is black with them. Night falls, and it’s an amazing spectacle. As far as I can see, the glow of campfires. Cornets toot commands. Orderlies ride back and forth. The smell of wet wood and charred meat hangs over the site. It’s a restless night. Only a few old veterans are able to ignore the excitement. They lie down like old peasants, and sleep in twos and threes.
It doesn’t get dark. How can it — with all those fires?
A violent storm breaks. Lightning wriggles over the biggest army in the world. A cloudburst drenches man and beast.
Some say that’s a good omen, others say it’s bad.
The great battle is hanging over us all.
Gypsy women slink about the camp. They claim to be able to read the future in the palms of the men’s hands.
I don’t want to know what mine is. The lieutenant has his predicted from the lines on his palm. Then it’s my turn. The lieutenant orders me. The beautiful gypsy looks at my dirty hand a long time. Then she looks alternately at me and the lieutenant, and says “Good!” several times.
“What’s good?” asks the lieutenant.
“Everything good! You and your brother good,” she says in her broken German. She can’t mean me when she says “your brother,” can she? I’m ashamed. My master is annoyed. I expect he doesn’t want to be my brother. Thoughts of the gypsy swirl in my head for a long time. But I don’t get any wiser. Nonsense. How is a gypsy woman going to be able to see into the future, anyway? Not even the village preacher can do that, and he’s bound to be much nearer to God than any beautiful gypsy woman. And the thing about the brothers gave her away. A count and his servant. It makes me blush with shame.
At daybreak, our sodden regiment reaches the bank of the river that goes by Niemen or Memel. Even though there are several pontoons, the regiments are backed up. And it’s still raining on the freezing troops. I wish the sun would come out and burn off the rain clouds.
“Napoleon’s already crossed over,” someone says.
“He’s just now declared war on the Russians.”
“Why now?”
“Because that’s how it’s done. Those are the rules. Napoleon knows what’s right.”
“So the war’s beginning now.”
“And it hasn’t yet?”
“Those are the rules.”
“I wonder what the Russians make of it?”
“Ha, if only we knew. Maybe they don’t make anything of it.”
“No blood has been shed yet.”
“I wonder if the czar will capitulate?”
“If he has any sense, he will.”
“Let’s hope he does,” say some.
“Let’s hope he doesn’t!” say others. “That would be a pity. After all, we haven’t come all this way for nothing. Moscow is said to be an incredibly wealthy city, stuffed with extraordinary treasures. You want to take something home with you, when all’s said and done.”
“What are we waiting for, then? We just charge across, wipe the Russians out, crush them flat. In an hour, it’s all over. Then we move on to Moscow, and fill our boots.”
The regiments get into line.
Long boards are rolled up to the river. With their help, the sappers are going to build bridges. Preassembled parts of bridges are trundled along on ox carts. They just need to be slotted together. Let’s hope they don’t break under the weight of the guns and horses.
A lot of cavalry regiments have already crossed over. “They’re forming a bridgehead,” the lieutenant tells anyone who wants to hear. Then the
My wellborn lieutenant is trembling with expectation.
“There’s a battle ahead of us,” he says to himself. “On the other side is the czar with his soldiers. He’ll have to turn and fight.”
Nothing happens. Neither the czar nor his army are on the other side. I can’t see a sausage.
“The Russians have no backbone. They’re scared of us. Who in their right mind would take on Napoleon, anyway?”
More and more regiments draw up. With music and drums. The whole plain is black with them. Night falls, and it’s an amazing spectacle. As far as I can see, the glow of campfires. Cornets toot commands. Orderlies ride back and forth. The smell of wet wood and charred meat hangs over the site. It’s a restless night. Only a few old veterans are able to ignore the excitement. They lie down like old peasants, and sleep in twos and threes.
It doesn’t get dark. How can it — with all those fires?
A violent storm breaks. Lightning wriggles over the biggest army in the world. A cloudburst drenches man and beast.
Some say that’s a good omen, others say it’s bad.
The great battle is hanging over us all.
Gypsy women slink about the camp. They claim to be able to read the future in the palms of the men’s hands.
I don’t want to know what mine is. The lieutenant has his predicted from the lines on his palm. Then it’s my turn. The lieutenant orders me. The beautiful gypsy looks at my dirty hand a long time. Then she looks alternately at me and the lieutenant, and says “Good!” several times.
“What’s good?” asks the lieutenant.
“Everything good! You and your brother good,” she says in her broken German. She can’t mean me when she says “your brother,” can she? I’m ashamed. My master is annoyed. I expect he doesn’t want to be my brother. Thoughts of the gypsy swirl in my head for a long time. But I don’t get any wiser. Nonsense. How is a gypsy woman going to be able to see into the future, anyway? Not even the village preacher can do that, and he’s bound to be much nearer to God than any beautiful gypsy woman. And the thing about the brothers gave her away. A count and his servant. It makes me blush with shame.
At daybreak, our sodden regiment reaches the bank of the river that goes by Niemen or Memel. Even though there are several pontoons, the regiments are backed up. And it’s still raining on the freezing troops. I wish the sun would come out and burn off the rain clouds.
“Napoleon’s already crossed over,” someone says.
“He’s just now declared war on the Russians.”
“Why now?”
“Because that’s how it’s done. Those are the rules. Napoleon knows what’s right.”
“So the war’s beginning now.”
“And it hasn’t yet?”
“Those are the rules.”
“I wonder what the Russians make of it?”
“Ha, if only we knew. Maybe they don’t make anything of it.”
“No blood has been shed yet.”
“I wonder if the czar will capitulate?”
“If he has any sense, he will.”
“Let’s hope he does,” say some.
“Let’s hope he doesn’t!” say others. “That would be a pity. After all, we haven’t come all this way for nothing. Moscow is said to be an incredibly wealthy city, stuffed with extraordinary treasures. You want to take something home with you, when all’s said and done.”
“What are we waiting for, then? We just charge across, wipe the Russians out, crush them flat. In an hour, it’s all over. Then we move on to Moscow, and fill our boots.”
The regiments get into line.
Long boards are rolled up to the river. With their help, the sappers are going to build bridges. Preassembled parts of bridges are trundled along on ox carts. They just need to be slotted together. Let’s hope they don’t break under the weight of the guns and horses.
A lot of cavalry regiments have already crossed over. “They’re forming a bridgehead,” the lieutenant tells anyone who wants to hear. Then the
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