The battery commander surrenders, convinced that,
no matter how artfully you may dodge, paper work will
always tag you around the corner.
The preparation of these lists for transfers was a delicate matter. That's why the subject wasn't changed when we slipped away from conscientious objectors a moment ago.
Some soldiers, clearly, could be better spared than others. A few, officers and men desired enormously to get rid of. But we couldn't picture running along at all without the greater part. It had been impressed upon us that by men was meant men of the first quality. At conferences on the subject developed a touching and sublime faith in human nature, an out-and-out belief that in the very worst of artillerymen resides a mine of extraordinary virtue only requiring the delving of the receiving officer. And, one might add, even in the very most conscientious of conscientious objectors…
The battery commander glances up from his roster. "Could we," he asks, "spare this man Richard Roc?” “It would be like amputating a limb," a lieutenant answers, "but it might be managed."
The battery commander grunts.
“Didn't realize he was as bad as that. What the deuce is the matter with him? Isn't he strong and handy?
Doesn't he look like a soldier?"
“If you look hard the other way."
The first sergeant says in a small voice.
"He's a conscientious objector, sir."
"Goodness gracious! I'd quite forgot that."
"Do we sit in judgment on a man's religion?" someone asks gruffly.
"My dear boy! It isn't a religion at all. It's a state of nerves."
"I don't care what any one says," the lieutenant puts
