The Washington times., 1931-12-14
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A Story Of the Aftermath
Or the World War

The nearer the day comes Tor
the trial, the more often I
think of Albert. And suddenly,
one day, clear and vivid before
me, I see a wall of mud, loop
hole, a rifle with a telescope
sight, and behind it a cold,
watching, tense face: Burno
Muckenhaupt, the best sniper
in the battalion, who never
missed.
I Jump UP. I must go and
see what he is doing-what he
makes of it all now.
A high house with many
flats.
A shrill bell, far too noisy
for the door. Hesitatingly some
one opens. 1 ask for Bruno.
The woman admits me. Muck
enhaupt is in his shirt sleeves
on the floor, playing with his
daughter. a little girl of 5 or
thereabouts, with straw-colored
hair and a big blue bow. With
silver paper he has laid down a
river over the carpet and set
little paper boats on it. Some
have tiny tufts of wadding
fixed on them; these are the
steamers, with little celluloid
dolls for passengers. Bruno is
contentedly smoking a long
curly pipe. On the porcelain
bowl is a picture of soldier
kneeling and taking aim, with,
the legend: use Eye and Hand
for the Fatherland"
"HulIo, Ernst" says Bruno,
giving the little girl a pat and
leaving her to go on with her
play. We go to the sitting
room-a sofa and chairs of red
plush, crocheted antimacassarS
spread over the backs, the floor
so polished that 1 slip on it.
Everything is neatly in its
place; big conch shells, knick-
knacks and photographs on the
sideboard. and among them, in
the middle, on red velvet under
q glass dome, Bruno's medals.
We talk about the old times.
Have you still got your
craftsmanship card?" I ask.
But what do you think,
mani" protests Bruno reproach.
fully. That has an honored
place!"
His Best Time
He brings it out from the
drawer and turns over the
pages with evident enjoyment.
"Of course, summer was always
my best time-you could see
then till so late into the eve
ming. Here-no, wait a minute
yes, June 18, four head
shots; 10, three; 20, one; 21,
two: %, one; %, none-wash-
out! They got wise to it and
were more careful-but here,
look you, the 26th. A new lot
came up who hadn't heard tell
of Bruno-nine heads! What
do you say to that, now?"
He beamed at me. And
all in two hours! It was conf
cal. I don't know how it was;
perhaps I was catching them
under the chin and blowing
them out--but, anyway, they
shot up one after the other,
breast-high above the trench
like so many billygoats. Iut
see here now-June 20, -,:O2
p. M, head shot-mo joking,
mind you, Ernst!-.I had wit
nesses-see, there it is: Con
firmed. Company Sergeant
Major Schlie.' Ten o'clock at
night! Almost in the dark!
That's shooting for you, what?
Man, but those were the times"
Eyes, Bruno" I say, "the
shooting was marvellous, no
doubt about it. All the same
what I mean to say is, don't
you feel a bit sorry for the
poor blighters sometimes?"
"What?" he says in amaze
ment.
I repeat what I have said.
"Of course, Bruno, one was
right in the thick of it then
but today it all looks rather diff
ferent somehow"
The BOlShevik
He pushes back his chair.
Man! Why, you're bolshevik,
I declare! It was our duty!
Orders! What" Thoroughly
offended, he wraps up his scor-
ing book in it's tissue paper and
puts it back in the drawer
again.
I pacify him with a good
cigar. He takes a few puffs
and is reconciled. Then he be-
gins to tell me about his rifle
club that meets every Saturday.