1 / 18

All Quiet On The Western Front

All Quiet On The Western Front. A Graphic Novel By Susanne Vozar and Nadya Rezek.

leon
Download Presentation

All Quiet On The Western Front

An Image/Link below is provided (as is) to download presentation Download Policy: Content on the Website is provided to you AS IS for your information and personal use and may not be sold / licensed / shared on other websites without getting consent from its author. Content is provided to you AS IS for your information and personal use only. Download presentation by click this link. While downloading, if for some reason you are not able to download a presentation, the publisher may have deleted the file from their server. During download, if you can't get a presentation, the file might be deleted by the publisher.

E N D

Presentation Transcript


  1. All Quiet On The Western Front A Graphic Novel By Susanne Vozar and Nadya Rezek

  2. The war has changed us in ways that only views of death can. We no longer dream of our life, but of just making it to the next day. I still recall the writings and poetry lying in my desk. Unlike the older men who are inspired to live by their women and children, we only have dreams that we can ponder in deep solitude; in the war, we don’t get much solitude. Our minds aren’t easily strayed from the atrocities of war and from the visualizations of blood churned out from men. Kantorek views us as “Iron Youth” because of everything being extremely vague to my friends and me. Back in school, our teachers crammed our heads with full ideas of grandeur and the glamorous life of being a soldier. We were taught with details of education that didn’t pertain at all to being a good soldier. As a class of 20 men we signed up as man who proudly shaved their heads before going to the barracks. During training, we were taught that patriotism required suppressing our individuality and personality. Corporal Himmelstoss taught us that these were sacrifices that civilians do not require of even the lowest class of servants. He, formerly a postman, trained my platoon. He was a small, petty man who relentlessly humiliated his recruits, especially Tjaden, Haie, Kropp, and I. Eventually; we were forced to learn to stand up to Himmelstoss's authority without outright defiance. We all detested Himmelstoss, but I can say that his antics toughened our class. To this, the only thanks he deserves and which he will never receive. I believe that had Himmelstoss not hardened us, our experiences on the front lines would have driven us mad as well.

  3. I wrestle with the thought of Muller coercing Kemmerich for his boots. I then realized that Muller could make use of these fine boots, were as- I gulped at this thought- Kemmerich would probably never use them again. In the end I just accept the realities of war and see that Muller wasn’t inconsiderate, rather just being reasonable. Muller, like the rest of us, is sympathetic towards Kemmerich’s position. I finally accept that Muller doesn’t really want to take the boots, but knows they could aid him in his mission of staying alive. I sit myself by Kemmerich’s cot inspecting his declining will to live and his body’s refusal to cooperate with wishes of those around him. As I think of Kemmerich and his leg, he sits up painfully and whispers, “They’ve amputated my leg.” I had feared that Kemmerich would come to realize this and could only muster a feeble positive side to this dismal situation, “It might have been two, you were lucky.” He just stares at me as if wanting to say something but thinking better of it. This awkward silence frightens me and I break it with,” Wegeler has lost his right arm. That’s muck worse. Besides, you will be going home soon anyway.” I saw his face light up with fake elation that was obviously hiding his true thoughts on the matter of his death. To confirm my suspicion he uttered, “I don’t think so.” I tried to comfort him, but to no avail. We begin to discuss how he wanted to become a head forester once upon a time. “You still will have your chance,” I assured him. Technology these days have created artificial legs, arms, you name it.” The reoccurring silence renders me into thought until Kemmerich says, “You can take my lace-up boots with you for Muller,” I agree to and wonder what I possible say to encourage a dying man. An hour passed with few conversations taking place in such a sinister atmosphere. Throughout my attempts to damper the morbid mood, he still looked at me with eyes of one who knows the truth of the consequences of his wound. As if on cue, he began to hackle and gurgle. I threw myself upon the nearest nurse seven beds down and begged him to come hither. The man just sighed and stated, “How should I know anything about it, I’ve amputated five legs today?” He pushes me aside so as to move on to the next patient. The only thing I could do was to just watch his face slowly changes color from pale to paler. That night all of my classmates are by Kemmerich’s bed which holds a dead Kemmerich. As I near the hut, I see Muller’s downcast stare. I give him the boots he tries them on; they fit well.

  4. A group of new recruits arrives to reinforce the decimated company, making us feel as though we are seasoned fighters. More than twenty of the reinforcements for the Second Company are only about seventeen years old. That is two years younger than when my classmates and I enlisted. It seems as though the troops are getting younger and younger. This is horrifying to all of us because all these soldiers want to do is to just charge without thought. Kat gives one of the new recruits some beans that he acquired by bribing the company's cook. He looks to the boy and says, “Next time you come with your mess-tin and have a cigar or a grind of tobacco in your other hand, ya understand?” Kat’s ability to scrounge extra food and provisions amazes me and if it weren’t for Kat, we would’ve died on many occasions due to lack in food. He is a cobbler by trade, but he has an uncanny knack for making the most of life on the front. Kat informs us that in order to better our conditions, we need to tie wire around wooden poles to create a resemblance to cots. The netting is hard, but the makeshift cot is better than the actual floor. Kat then proceeded to go off into the woods for about an hour and when he came back, straw was sticking out in strange angles form his arms. Our new cots aren’t the most comfortable, but they will do; the only problem is our hunger. The world hears our stomach’s immense rumble. Kat believes that if every soldier got the same food and the same pay, the war would end quickly. Kropp however, proposes that the declaration of wars should be conducted like a festival. He thinks that the generals and national leaders should battle one another with clubs in an open arena—the country with the last survivor wins the war. I feel that that war isn’t a party, it is where boys are reshaped into men, and the fearful die first. I am apprehensive and believe that the thoughts of this war ending soon are soon to be doomed to darkness.

  5. My friends and I remember the recruits' barracks with longing now. Even Himmelstoss's petty humiliations seem idyllic in comparison to the actual front lines. His behavior is ten fold more bearable than the sight of the man next to you dying with treacherous screams. We’ve mused that Himmelstoss must have been different as a postman and wonder why he is such a bully as a drill sergeant. Kropp mimics Himmelstoss and shouts, “Change at Löhne,” recalling a drill in which Himmelstoss forced them to practice changing trains at a railway station. Kat hints that Himmelstoss is like a lot of other men in that he remarks, “Even a dog trained to eat potatoes will snap at meat given the opportunity. Men behave the same way when given the opportunity to have a little taste of authority. Every man is a beast, waiting to be unleashed, under all of their manners and customs. The basis of the Army is that one man has more power over another.” He also believes that the problem is that they have too much power. I somewhat agree with that semi-socialistic idea. During this speech, Tjaden arrives and excitedly reports, “Himmelstoss is coming to the front, he’s on his way right now.” In this statement, one could hear the thrill of jubilation. Everyone knew the hatred Tjaden had towards Himmelstoss for his training methods towards Tjaden. I further explained the story to those who had yet not known of this unfortunate humiliation. Tjaden was a bed wetter, and during training, Himmelstoss set out to break him of this habit, which he attributed to laziness. He found another bed wetter, Kindervater, and forced them to sleep in the same set of bunk beds. Every night, they traded places. The one on the bottom was drenched by the other's urine during the night. The problem was not laziness but bad health; this rendered Himmelstoss's ploy ineffective. The man assigned to the bottom often slept on the floor and thus caught a cold. We all plotted our revenge upon Himmelstoss. One night on a dark road as Himmelstoss returned from his favorite pub, we lay in waiting for the perfect ambush, hidden in the shadows that were ubiquitous through the night. When he approached, we threw a bed cover over his head, and Haie punched him enjoying the pain that was being inflicted upon Himmelstoss. Furthermore, we stripped him of his pants and took turns lashing him with a whip. To muffle his shouts and to obscure our identities, we through some pillow cases over his massively ugly head. After the enjoyable beating, we slipped away, unnoticed and undetected to any forever. An old buffer was pleased to describe us as, “young heroes with the brains of a peanut.”

  6. We all were assigned to lay barbed wire at the front, an extremely dangerous task We carry wire and iron rods to the front and then lay the wire; trying to sleep until the truck arrives to drive us back to our huts. Kat's prediction that they would be bombarded is, naturally, correct. Everyone scrambles for cover while the shells land around them. As I run, I see a poor recruit’s helmet hanging off to the side and I attempt to place it on the poor guys head, but the boy cowers under my arm. “All right there boy, don’t worry, “I said, trying to confront him uselessly. Words are no use for pictures provided all the words needed to destroy a man’s sanity instantly. I placed the helmet on the recruit's behind to protect it from shell fragments. Then I proceed to run; I didn’t want to get caught sleeping in the middle of the bombardment. The worst thing I could do was just hiding in one spot. After the shelling lessens, the recruit comes to and notices with embarrassment that he has defecated in his pants. Following my return to the recruit to inspect his health, I see his issue and explain, “It happens to the best of us one time or another. Have no shame boy. Just get yourself cleaned up as soon as possible.” The night continues with the dreary disposition brought upon us by man’s actions, but at last the horrific sights end for one evening, or so I had thought. Upon assessment of our losses, Kat and I came across the same recruit who I had previously tried to assist. His hip was blown open and Kat confirmed my thought, “Shouldn’t we just put a revolver in this poor soul. He will die a painful death on the stretcher otherwise.” I just nod and confirm my affirmation, “Ya, we ought to put him out. He as a soldier deserves to die a peaceful death, not like this.” As Explosions start up again, we ready our sweaty palms and just wait. Wait for what? Only God knew the answer to that question, we however, are partially asleep and feel dead to the world.

  7. The lice here are unbearable, Tjaden scrapes 30 plus into an old cigar tin. There is nothing to do except wait for what is to come. Our bodies are naked to the warm air surrounding us and our only light comes from a candle slowing dimming with the hopes of every man in our circle. Hai has lice with red crosses on their heads and we think he brought them back from the hospital at Thourhout. The conditions are gloomy as well as our talks of peace. They sputter with Kropp’s indignations, “It will not come so stop your dreaming. Dreaming is for schoolboys; we however, are men accustomed to war.” The rumors flying are true; Himmelstoss has at last arrived to our anxious recruit team. Tjaden has been meditating for hours to come up with the correct words to throw at him. We notice that Himmelstoss has only been here for one measly day, and already his monotonous voice rings clear as a door bell. He was caught tormenting his recruits excessively and has been sent to the front as punishment. Muller randomly interjects all our thoughts and asks, “What would you guys do if the war ended now?” Kropp says “just shut up man, it will never end.” Muller then persists and says, “the only way to make to this war is to just wonder about dreams gone by.” Kat starts the pondering out loud and disuses his wonderful wife and children, where as the younger men mention women and getting drunk. Haie says, “Well, there are the women, naturally, but after that I would finish my term with the Prussians.”

  8. Himmelstoss returns with the sergeant-major to punish Tjaden. The guys and I played the ignorance card with the authorities, but the sergeant-major solves the problem by declaring that Tjaden must report to the Orderly Room within ten minutes. The men resolve to torment Himmelstoss at every opportunity that arises from their frequent run ins. Himmelstoss returns later to demand that they tell him where Tjaden is. Kropp insults him, and Himmelstoss storms off with the air of a little princess who didn’t get her way. Later that evening, Kropp and Tjaden are put on trial for insubordination. Paul and the others tell the court about Himmelstoss's cruelty toward Tjaden during training. After hearing their side of the story, the presiding lieutenant gave Tjaden and Kropp light punishments and lectured Himmelstoss about his inexcusable behavior. Tjaden receives three days open arrest and Kropp receives one. The boys and I visited them in the makeshift jail and we would play cards with cards often. That along with war are the only things that we now know how to do. Playing cards is our outlet that allows us to release the atrocities left swirling in our minds out into an enveloping abyss. Kat and Paul bribe a driver of a munitions wagon with two cigarettes to take them back to the house where they heard the geese. Paul climbs over the fence and enters the shed to find two geese. He grabs both and slams their heads against the wall, hoping to avoid a commotion. The attempt fails, and the geese cackle and fight with him furiously before he manages to escape with one goose in hand. Kat kills it quickly, and they retreat to an unused lean-to to cook it, eating quickly for fear of their theft being discovered. They keep the feathers to make pillows. Paul feels an intimate closeness with Kat as they roast the goose. They eat their fill and take the rest to Tjaden and Kropp

  9. The attempt to control these hideous rats fail and the next day, our cheeses are all gone. The second option we had was to hang our bread from the ceiling. Kropp hung a thin wire from the ceiling and tied this to a piece of bread. This, we thought, would limit the number of rats eating our bread. That night, on a cold, brisk, cloudy sky, hung a big fat rat swinging to and fro. Off to the left, was an adjoining area in which we heard the yips and screeches of a cat and a dog which were being killed by a countless crowd of rats. The next day the soldiers received Edamer Cheese. We each got almost a quarter of cheese for the week. This was our delicacy for the night. This was supposed to calm our restless troops for the night. No matter what we did, we were not comforted. We have found a new war with such an unexpected enemy; rats. The gang and I overhaul our bayonets, for we understand the consequences of being caught with a bayonet that has a serrated edge. In the following sector, most of the men were found whose noses were cut off and eyes plucked with their own saw bayonets. Kat and I save most of the recruit’s lives by taking their horrid serrated bayonets and give them the normal bayonets. At the moment, our time is no better served than to just sit and relax as we ponder what are lives will end to. At last the light has pierced our never-ending darkness, and we are able to see again. The light, however, isn’t enough to blanket out the sounds of bomb. But, then again, nothing can drown out sounds of bull readying for a charge, or a wolf calling for his pack. As if on cue, a shell lands in our trench and the inexperienced recruits begin vomiting and turning green. So far, only one recruit has gone completely insane. They have yet to come to the realization that your trench becomes a living grave, where one must step on the dead, and use the deceased for cover. That is all the action that commences for days.

  10. A few days later, the action once again arises and we hide behind our diminishing trench. The trenches have gone from a human and a half deep to just being barely able to protect us. As I make my rounds, I see Himmelstoss cowering in a small corner of the trench. “Get up and be a man, you brute. Are you normally this easily frightened,” I yelled at him. As I continue, I see a recruit going absolutely ballistic and he looks as if he will try to make a run for it, I intercept him saying, “Where in God’s name do you think you are going?” He just stares at me with eyes of unrest and uneasiness. I understand his deposition, and disclose that the bombardment will hopefully end soon. Finally, the shelling lessens. The moment of retaliation has come, the attack has come. No more hiding in the dark like the rats that we detest so much. My comrades and I throw grenades out of the dugout before jumping out. We observe that the French attackers have suffered heavy losses from our German machine guns and grenades. The soldiers kill with a mindless fury after days of waiting helplessly in the dark while the bombs fell above them. Helplessness drives a man crazy. We successfully repel the attack and reach the enemy lines. We wreak havoc and destruction like the savages we know we have become. After the annihilation, we grab all of the provisions we can carry then we run back to our positions to rest for an hour. I, like the rest of my comrades devour the tins of food they have gathered, noting that the enemy has far better provisions than they do. “And they wonder why we are collapsing left and right,” I mutter to myself. Kat seemed to of heard me and just gave a subtle nod in his agreement. The struggle begins to cease, as our vision becomes hampered by the incoming fog of a new day. Following this mutilation of people on both sides, I see embark on a silent journey to the past in which those memories will never be found again. It saddens me that we must lose our childhood memories just because we are forced into premature manhood. I gaze over the men sitting and dining on their feasts from the British and silently internally cry for their memories they do not yet know will perish with every horrid sound uttered from man’s knowledge. I fear that all of us are lost, lost to an outside world who is likewise lost. As this thought leaves my mind, we are told to march forward. And so a line which looked greater in numbers in the previous day, trudged on into the wilderness.

  11. They have taken us to a filed depot so that we may collect ourselves following that brisk battle. Now, for the first time in a couple of days, we are off duty. As the guys and I lounge the best we can, we spot a dejected looking Himmelstoss walking up to us. As we sniff the air of sulfur, iron and death, we do not detect an air of authority and we are very surprised. The front changed Himmelstoss in a good way. I am beginning to bend to action of getting on good terms with him, for I watched as he supplied Haie Westhus with food. By the end of the day, all of us, including Tjaden are on his side now. The main reason we are won over by him is he gave us two things every soldier needs: good food and peaceful rest. A feeling of depression escapes with every minute we are in comfort. We shall, however, never forget the deeds done to us and who brought us our doom. Kemmerich is dead, Hammerling is dead, Myer is dead, Max is dead, Haie Westhus is dying, and our class of twenty-two, but now our class is diminishing with every fire cast down upon us. As my buddies and I walk around, we see old posters lined up on the wall. One poster particularly fancies us, for it portrays a pretty girl in a light autumn dress with a face that radiated the youthfulness we once knew. Beside her a boy stood in a whit tux, we tore his body down off the poster and just left her by herself standing up there on the wall. I stare at the woman and ask, “How old could she be; 20, 22?” The other men just drooled, letting their desires appear on their sleeves for all to glimpse.

  12. We continue our walk until nightfall, then we stripe down until just our boots remain and jump into the river below. As we enjoy the cool refreshing water, we begin to hear three women across the river. They stare at us as if they’ve never laid eyes upon a man before now. We also stare back because we for sure haven’t laid eyes on a real woman in months. Our initial attempts to communicate fail dismally, but Tjaden grabs bread and other miscellaneous food from our encampment and holds his hands up revealing the food to them. The women throw us clothing and despite the language barrier, we chatter endlessly throughout the night. They call us “poor boys.” Though I am inexperienced, I hope to recapture a piece of my innocence long over due with a woman who does not belong to the army brothels. We are all overwhelmed with the chatter mainly because we have the least amount of French under our belts. As we heed the women’s words carefully, we realize that they are actually being very friendly. The little brunette runs her long pale fingers through my hair and utters, “La guerre grand Malheur--- pauvree garcons.” We continued our flirtatious ways for what seemed ages. Time doesn’t exist in our endless blissful night. That night was a night in which I realized what I had become, and what I truly longed for. I wanted bliss; stop the destruction of war, and the terror that precedes it. After our miracles, we throw on our boots to once again and we lightly set ourselves into the cool waters below.

  13. As I climbed the steps and entered my mother’s room, I gain a resemblance of Kemmerich; I blocked it before any sadness could creep inside. As my mother also asks of the war, I lie and state that everything is going great and that I think we can win. I turn the tables and question her about her health. “Oh, as good as can be expected from an old lady like me. But dear boy, what about you, are you injured.” I informed her that I was just on leave and we continued discussions until nighttime. As I went into bed, I realize that the noises of war have deserted me. The comforting “boom, boom” and men screaming are not present, which scare me. My father paraded my around town the next day, wanting me to wear my army uniform for his colleagues. I preferred the suit that barely fit me to my uniform. The following morning, I grasp the duty I must reform for Kemmerich. I ready myself and walk to his mother’s house. As I enter, she instantly begins to cry, for she knows my news. “You said you would protect him. Well, where is he then?” I couldn’t bear to look her in the eyes, but I knew that I was obligated; she deserved that much. She releases the biggest question to me when she stutters, “Did he die peacefully or not?” I forsake the truth and give her the best news of the morning, “Yes, I swear it, he died peacefully. I swear it and may I never come back if it is a lie.” I hated myself for doing that, but it needed to be done. I give her one last sympathetic look and exit the room on the edge of depression. That night, I just watched as my mother struggled to breath and I kept replaying Kemmerich’s death yet again. I wanted to be sure that I there was truly and absolutely nothing I could’ve done for him. I honestly wish that another man received this torture of a leave and not me.

  14. That night, I board the train and a few hours later report to the training camp. Next to the camp I find a prison for captured Russian soldiers, who are reduced to picking through the German soldiers' garbage for food. I can’t fathom how the Russians find anything, for us German’s must lick the food until the last crumb is gone. I see that nothing about them suggests that I am fundamentally different from them or should have any reason to want to kill them. They seem like ordinary men in a horrible position. Many of the Russians are slowly starving, and they are stricken with dysentery in large numbers. Their soft voices bring images of warm, cozy homes to my mind, but most people simply ignore the prisoners' begging, and a few even kick them.  The spirit of brotherhood among the prisoners touches me deeply. It reminds me of my buddies back home in the trenches. They live in such miserable circumstances that there is no longer any reason for them to fight among themselves. I feel that I cannot relate to them as individual men because I know nothing of their lives; I only see the animal suffering in them. People I have never met, people in positions of influence and power, said the word that made these men my enemy. The question I ask is why these men are now my enemies from one uttered word?” Because of other men, we are both required to shoot, maim, imprison, and kill one another. I push these thoughts away because they threaten my capacity to maintain my self-control over my loose and uncontrollable feelings. I break all of my cigarettes in half and give them to the prisoners. One of the prisoners learns that I can play the piano and he comforts me by playing his sweet melody to me through the fences.

  15. I return to the front to discover with elation that Kat, Müller, Tjaden, and Kropp still alive and uninjured and I give them some of my delicious pancakes. Because of the need for information about the enemy’s whereabouts, I volunteer to crawl into the abyss beyond our area. I discover some information, but then upon my return get lost. During this mission, the bombardment begins and all I see are dead bodies lying amidst the soil and ash. I promptly dive into a random hole to help protect myself from the French or the British. As I sit there I begin to feel fear creeping into my skin in the form of goose bumps. The departure from the war has led to me becoming complacent in the comforting sounds at my home town. Through my contemplations of my life, a Frenchman jumps into my hole and I stab him as he falls to the hard soiled earth. As I sit there, I hear his ragged breathing, but am too afraid to just finish him off. I wait until he his still which lasts from night until morn. In the morning, I just converse with the soldier, “I am regrettable sorry, so sorry. Why did you jump into this hole? I had to kill you.” As I continue my babble to the dead man, I investigate as to who it is and find that he is a printer. Once this war is over, I want to become a printer. I hesitate to open his wallet further. The more you see of a man you killed, the more you have sympathy for him; you begin to know the man. Ignoring my hesitation, I investigated further and his wallet revealed that he is named, Gérard Duval I decide to copy his address down and write to him if this war ever ended. “I swear it Gérard Duval, I shall become a printer and write to your family,” I half mumbled under my breath. Now I just sat there allowing the dust of gunfire an bombs to envelope me. After the conclusion of mid-day, I realize that I must fulfill this promise to the fallen soldier. Despite Gérard Duval being the enemy, I come to think of him as a fallen comrade. This was my last thought as I sat up and began heading in any direction away from here. At last I see people of familiarity and silently walk beside them. Their game disgusts me after I have met Gérard Duval. They are picking off men and seeing how far they will fly in the air. None of them realize the closeness you begin to share with a dying enemy.

  16. The next mission we are sent on is guarding a supply of goods at an abandoned and destroyed village. As we are cooking our breakfast and making a good meal for ourselves, the enemy sees the smoke and we hide behind cement blocks to dodge the bullets flying at us. Yet anther attack begins and this time it was our own fault. We grab as much food as we can muster and run for a bombed wagon. Kropp and I are both injured in the leg region of our body. Kropp is threatening suicide if they cut his leg off! At last we are rescued and taken to a catholic hospital. We then are laid up and Kropp’s fever is looked at. He developed the fever out on the battlefield. After being in the hospital for a day or two, I realize that the battlefield really is in the hospital not out on Earth’s topsoil. It amazes me the amount of men lying in uncomfortable cots and what their ailments are. Lewandowski, for example, a forty-year-old soldier, is recuperating from a bad abdominal injury. He is excited that his wife is coming to visit him with the child she bore after he left to fight two years before. He wants to take his wife somewhere private, because he has not slept with her for two years. But before she arrives, he develops a fever, so he is confined to bed. When she arrives, she is nervous. Lewandowski explains what he wants, and she blushes furiously. The other patients tell her that social niceties can be dispensed with during wartime. Two men guard the door in case a doctor or one of the nuns arrives to check on a patient. Kropp holds the child and the other patients play cards and chat loudly with their backs to the couple while the couple makes love in Lewandowski's bed. The plan is carried off without a problem. Lewandowski's wife shares the food that she brought for her husband with the other patients. I view this from my own bed with my healing leg still keeping me confined to bed. I notice that the hospital begins to use paper bandages due to the scarcity of cloth bandages. This again reinvigorates the type of war we are dealing with. Due to my injury, they have sent me home once again. I am dreading it as I walk from the train station and up these familiar steps once more. My mother just cry’s as I tell her of my injury and my attempts to calm her fail horribly. The leave from home is even more difficult than I imagined it would be.

  17. I have noticed that for my fellow soldiers, life is no more than the constant avoidance of death. I have found that I will duck just before a bomb or bullets will wiz by through air which was momentarily my head three seconds ago. It is as if the guy’s and I have become clairvoyant, constantly eluding danger at the last moment. We have to reduce ourselves to the level of unthinking animals because instinct is the best weapon against unrelenting mortal danger. It helps us survive the horrendous conditions of trench warfare without losing our minds. However, the war wears us down despite our precaution prevent insanity from ruling our lives. Eventually, one by one, some of us begin to crack. One day Detering goes for a walk and spots a cherry tree blossoming. He takes a branch from the tree with him, reminding himself of his orchard at home, which is full of cherry trees. This gains some jests from the other soldiers, but he ignores them because any semblance of home restores failing hope. He deserts the army a few days later. Foolishly, he tries to go back home instead of fleeing to Holland, and he is captured and tried as a deserter. The Second Company never hears from him again. An enemy shoots Müller point-blank in the abdomen. His agonizingly painful death lasts half an hour. I become the next bearer of Müller's boots, which once belonged to Kemmerich. These boots that I now carry hold a special place in my heart, for they are the essence of Kemmerich and Muller. I feel their presence when I where the boots. As our struggle for winning the war continues to fade, so do the number of provisions. We are slowly being mutilated by our enemy and by our own government. War continues around us as Kat and I are once again observing the youthfulness of these new recruits. They come now, some of them, no older than 14 years old. With these new recruits comes more failure on the battlefield. As I look around me, I see that Kat has left my side and found provisions. He is hit in the leg by a mortar, and I try to carry my friend away from battle. There isn’t a stretcher available plus Kat wouldn’t have accepted the stretcher. Kat knew that the youngsters were robbed of a life and that he had already had a great life, so he was willing to give up a stretcher for him and give it to another person. I carry Kat a seemingly eternity to the dress station. Upon entering the station looking for assistance, a man said, “Why did you waste your strength carrying this man? Clearly he’s been dead a while.” “What No!! But how?,” I scream to the heavens. My last friend is gone. The only man in whom I felt the closest to has now forsaken me for a better place. As I reach behind Kat’s head, I feel a hot sticky substance oozing out of his cranium. I had thought that just his leg had been hit, but in fact he was hit with shells in the back of the head. War was filled with irony that only God could dig through.

  18. The autumn of 1918, I experienced the bloodiest part of war, and shall never forget it. The war continues to rage on and on, but now that the United States has joined the Allies, Germany's defeat is inevitable, only a matter of time. In light of the extreme privations suffered by both the German soldiers and the German people, it seems likely that if the war does not end soon, the German people will revolt against their leaders. The justification for this revolt was easy, our leaders deserted our efforts. Out on the front line, gas wars continue. I was foolish and didn’t realize that I smelled harmful gasses that eventually gave me a 14 days leave. I wavered with the idea that I should return home mainly because I feared the non-stop questions that I knew were to be flying if I went home. Albert and I are the only remaining classmates out of 22. His leg was amputated and now he is trying to cope with his good leg in Germany. All those I knew were no longer with us. No jests filled the air, only screams of defeat by the Germans. After years of fighting, my serenity finally comes in October of 1918, on an extraordinarily quiet, peaceful day. The army reported later that day contained only one phrase: “ALL QUIET ON THE WESTERN FRONT.” As Paul dies, his face is calm, “as though almost glad the end had come.”

More Related