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We’re sitting around, shirts on our knees, stripped to the waist in the warm air, our fingers working on the knee. Haie has a particularly splendid species of louse: they have a red cross on their heads. Because of that he maintains that he brought them back from the military hospital in Tourhout, where he claims they were the personal property of a senior staff surgeon[115]. He also wants to use the grease that is very slowly accumulating in the tin lid to polish his boots, and roars with laughter for a good half-hour at his own joke.

But today nobody takes much notice. We have something else far too important on our minds.

The rumour turned out to be true. Himmelstoss is here. He turned up yesterday, and we have already heard his familiar tones. Apparendy he was a little bit too vigorous with a couple of recruits on the training field. He didn’t know that one of them was the son of the chairman of the district council[116]. That did for him.[117]

He is in for a surprise. For hours Tjaden has been running through the things he wants to say to him. Haie keeps looking speculatively at his gigantic paws and winking at me. Beating up Himmelstoss was the high point of his existence; he told me that he still dreams about it. Kropp and Muller are having a discussion. Kropp has managed to nab a mess-tin full of lentils for himself, probably from the sappers’ kitchens. Muller gives it a greedy look, but gets a grip on himself and asks, ‘Albert, what would you do if all of a sudden it was peacetime?’

‘There’s no such thing as peacetime,’ replies Albert curtly.

Muller persists. ‘Yes, but if… what would you do?’

‘I’d bugger off out of it[118],’ grumbles Kropp.

‘ Course[119]. And then what?’

‘Get blind drunk,’ says Albert.

‘Don’t talk rubbish, I’m being serious —’

‘Me too,’ says Albert, ‘what else would there be to do?’

The idea interests Kat. He claims a portion of Kropp’s lentils, gets his whack, then he ponders for a long while and offers the view ‘Well, you could get drunk, of course, but otherwise it would be off to the nearest train – and home to mother. Bloody hell, Albert, peacetime…’