I called my Major's
attention to him, saying, "Look at that silly ass, sir. He'll get
something that he doesn't want if he lies there much longer."
My Major turned his head, and said briefly, "Poor chap, he's got it."
Then I saw that his shoulder-blade had burst through his tunic and was
protruding. He'd been coming out, walking freely and feeling that the
danger was over, just as we were, when the unlucky shell had caught
him. "His name must have been written on it," our men say when that
happens. I noticed that he had black boots; since then nothing would
persuade me to wear black boots in the trenches.
This first experience in No Man's Land did away with my last flabby
fear--that, if I was afraid, I would show it. One is often afraid.
Any soldier who asserts the contrary may not be a liar, but he
certainly does not speak the truth. Physical fear is too deeply
rooted to be overcome by any amount of training; it remains, then, to
train a man in spiritual pride, so that when he fears, nobody knows
it. Cowardice is contagious. It has been said that no battalion is
braver than its least brave member. Military courage is, therefore, a
form of unselfishness; it is practised that it may save weaker men's
lives and uphold their honour. The worst thing you can say of a man at
the Front is, "He doesn't play the game." That doesn't of necessity
mean that he fails to do his duty; what it means is that he fails to
do a little bit more than his duty.
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