Some commotion caught his attention, pulling him from reading a letter. The soldiers had gathered at the edge of a parapet. Some were looking over it, seeming to forget they could become targets for French snipers. Above them, the Leutnant shouldered his rifle. What madness! A gunshot rang out from the other side of no man's land, followed by a shouted insult. Laughter rose from both sides. Appetites around him were ignited. "Meat! Fresh!" whispered excitedly a young dark-haired soldier who turned toward him. "I've never tasted any," murmured a comrade beside the first while swallowing. The Leutnant signaled him to be quiet, concentrated on his shot, his breathing regular and deep. He followed the agile and swift movements of the deer, always one length ahead. The lost animal jumped over the barbed wire before looking at them, lowering its beautiful antlers. He had eaten venison. Once, at a hunting uncle's place near Colmar. He approached in turn, driven by the others' excitement. To his right, Friedrich was following with his eyes the animal lost in no man's land. He said nothing. Silent, as rarely before, focused on this apparition. "It's beautiful." His voice had been nothing but a thin breath, but he had heard it clearly. Friedrich hadn't said good, he had said beautiful. The animal's majesty had penetrated the rough soldier's mind. More gunshots came from the other side. Mockery in French and German. Killing out of defiance, hunger, amusement—what was really the goal? To prove one was better than the others? The animal was running. Would it escape? With its wild grace, it flew over a crater created by artillery. Its muscles moved powerfully beneath its skin. Pure flesh, alive in the chaos of steel and death. The Leutnant was following the deer through the scope of his rifle. His finger settled several times on the trigger. Everyone held their breath before releasing it each time that finger lifted. The Feldschreiber brought a hand to his chest. His heart was skipping beats and he felt strangely nervous as if he were holding that rifle. Several times, he heard Conrad grumble: he would have got that beast long ago. The officer pressed the trigger, very slowly. His secretary knew he was going to kill it. He didn't want to. He could feel it. It was only for show. He didn't want to. He held his breath and pinched himself. The hunter's arm twitched. The shot grazed the animal's tail, which disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. That deer was alive and free. They were still locked in this prison of mud. The Leutnant climbed back down like all the others. He watched him stop at his level and lean toward him. "You made me miss my target," he noted without formulating any reproach. "You didn't want to kill it. You were admiring it. If you had wanted it dead, you would have asked one of your Wolves to do it." The Leutnant nodded and his lips trembled as if to form a smile before tightening.
