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see he means it. But he can’t use me anymore. Three servants is too many for him. The colonel wouldn’t stand for it.
    I am stunned.
    I walk away.
    And so I fall out of heaven into the middle of the muck. The muck is back at the other end of the regiment. I am quartered on a spill of straw next to a dung pile and a horse. The billet is poor, and the horse is worse. An awful animal. That’s how it goes, apparently. Last come gets the lousiest horse. A beast no one else would look at. In the other corner, to make things worse, are a couple of men from the Jagers. Their glee is written all over their faces. One of them must have seen me once riding the noble Arab. Now he congratulates me on this new mount. “It’s without exception the rottenest nag, themost ill-tempered monster in the regiment. The devil himself must have created that animal in a fit of rage or delirium.”
    But that’s not enough to cause the world to end, I think. Anyway, wisdom comes with time, and I shouldn’t be dissatisfied, because things could have been worse. The horse looks me up and down, a little sadly, but not maliciously. So, for all its ugliness it does have a good nature. I will try to make friends with it, be strict but considerate, and then it will be the devil’s work if I can’t cope with it. At least I’ll make an effort. It’s got to work. Not least on account of the nasty faces around me. Once again, the horse shoots me a not unfriendly look. I stroke it cautiously. It doesn’t resist. Well, there’s a start. After all, a horse isn’t a person, and so it could never be half as malicious.
    By the next day, the horse is obeying me. It doesn’t mind me sitting on it. I’m really proud of myself, and the horsemen around me are suddenly full of respect, and don’t tease me anymore.
    But it’s too early to draw breath. My plunge has hardly begun.
    The mounted Jagers don’t want to keep me. The regiment can’t have a man over, all of a sudden. Too few, yes, that happens all the time. But not one over. That’s never happened. The Jagers remember where they got mefrom, and they make inquiries. Yes, of course, we’re missing transport corps soldier Bayh, the horse artillery says. A certain Sergeant Krauter is missing me badly. So badly that the Russian war cannot be won without me. The guns need me. Desperately.
    I could tear myself to pieces with rage and fear. The battery is in the next village. I have to walk. A long walk. Should I make a break for it? Not possible, in the green uniform. A child could tell from a mile off that I’m a mounted Jager, and not some peasant. I’d have to run naked. Can’t do that, either. Partly from shame, and partly because it’s still too cold.
    Sergeant Krauter takes immediate receipt of me. His glee comes puffing out of both nostrils. He admires my pretty green uniform. With a smile, he promises me that he’ll have it as brown as dung in the space of a few days. As brown as my last blue one had been. “Inside and out,” he promises me with a sneer.
    Now I’m back in the transport corps, in charge of two huge horses, and responsible for getting them harnessed up with others to the heavy seven-pound howitzers. The sergeant torments me every chance he gets, and he makes up for everything he missed during my absence. Because it’s war and he can’t keep me marching through puddles, he’s had a few new ideas. For instance, he makes me walk along behind the seven-pound gun, always justme. “You’re responsible for seeing nothing gets lost!” Because I don’t get enough sleep, I stumble along in the wake of the cannon. No sooner has the horse artillery reached the day’s destination after a long march than I am sent out on sentry duty. It’s no wonder I’m so tired, the spoon falls from my hand. While the others are asleep, I stagger along reeling with exhaustion among the cannons and the horses. And in between I polish the bronze cannons. At all times of day and night I am