"Olaf Stapledon - Rare stories" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stapledon Olaf)

was nervously anticipating an apocalyptic "big battle," which finally erupted on the Somme in early
July. As both on-the-spot war journalism and as an anti-absolutist argument for continuing to serve in
the ambulance unit, the article is interesting in its own right. It also stands as an early statement of some
of Stapledon's characteristic philosophical and literary themes.
CERTAIN YOUNG AMBULANCE DRIVERS sat together drinking cocoa and smoking. They talked
of motors, guns, the condition of England, and finally of conscription. That was the burning subject.
Some were determined to claim total exemption; some would be content with compulsory alternative

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service. All sighed for peace as the only satisfactory solution.
The door was opened by a Frenchman, who gave the order. "A gas attack has begun. You must send five
cars to help your friends at W. Take helmets and respirators. Everyone else must be ready for work here."
Outside, in front of the old grey church, engines were soon started. The sun had set. Venus and Jupiter
shone close together in the twilight. It seemed that those bright spheres could never be theatres of war.
Yet what if this earth should after all be the first world to throw off this primeval strife?
From the east came a roar of guns, continuous, like the noise of a waterfall. At that distance the
cannonade sounded not savage, but methodical, deliberate. It seemed not the cry of nations madly
fighting, but the roar of machinery, the final expression of Western civilisation. Was this the great battle
at last, or only another little experiment, resulting in pain, death and the conquest of a few ditches?
A group of drivers stood before the cars awaiting orders. "It's come at last," said one of them, "what we
have been waiting for." "No, too soon," said another. A staunch pacifist cried, "Go it our guns," and
checked himself in shame with the apology, "It's nicer to hear ours than theirs, somehow"; but another
broke in, "It's awful, it's ghastly, no matter whose guns. It's just a huge hideous dog fight." After a pause
he said, "Think of the pluck, though! And a fellow can't go into that fire without some ideal."
All stood impatiently quiet, awaiting further orders. Some perhaps had need to screw up their courage in
preparation for expected shell-haunted runs, and all were humbled by the thought of the incomparable
devotion of the fighting men. Helpless anger at the war fought against a longing to share fully the great
burden of danger.
The old grey church stood quiet as ever. Its spire dimly soared into grey sky. Its clock tolled the hour
deliberately, ringing through the noise of war. The aloofness of the church seemed a symbol of that
consciousness of all humanity which sometimes flashes on the mind to make war ridiculous. The quiet
church declared peace ultimate, war merely a stage.
Another order came, and cars dispersed to evacuate the sick and wounded from the hospitals. Men and
baggage were safely stowed, stretchers strapped into place; rugs and hot bottles comforted the lying.
One driver, who was without a car, helped his friends to load, and chatted with the patients in his best
French. So sudden an evacuation must needs perturb weak men recovering from wounds. To chat with
them is to cheer.
The moon rose red from the enemies' lines, and climbed among tall trees. She seemed indeed a hostile
moon, lighting the attack. She might end the lull that had come with the darkness. Someone seeing her
murmured with quaint urgency, "Couchez-toi, la lune." He added, "Our people at W. will be busy to-
night. Helmets and respirators are no farce there. Some of those roads will be hot enough if this is really
the battle. And one is always short of sleep at W."
Gradually the hospitals were emptied. The last man, with a bad foot, had to go sitting, for lack of space.
There were still cars in reserve and others expected from headquarters. What would be the next order?
Must all move forward to a rendezvous arranged in case of heavy fighting? Some hoped for that and "a
good dose of the real thing till we are done up and have to rest."
"But why, why, why," cried one, "why must there be any attack? Think of the live men to be snuffed
out! Think of the smashed bones and tom-up bodies! Think of the blood! Plenty of soaking stretchers for