Neither France nor Germany appeared to be the enemy, but
a thing called "They," a mysterious power that worked its will upon them
both from a place they always spoke of as "Back there." One day the talk
fell on courage. A young French soldier was holding forth when Joan
entered the hut.
"It makes me laugh," he was saying, "all this newspaper talk. Every
nation, properly led, fights bravely. It is the male instinct. Women go
into hysterics about it, because it has not been given them. I have the
Croix de Guerre with all three leaves, and I haven't half the courage of
my dog, who weighs twelve kilos, and would face a regiment by himself.
Why, a game cock has got more than the best of us. It's the man who
doesn't think, who can't think, who has the most courage--who imagines
nothing, but just goes forward with his head down, like a bull. There
is, of course, a real courage. When you are by yourself, and have to do
something in cold blood. But the courage required for rushing forward,
shouting and yelling with a lot of other fellows--why, it would take a
hundred times more pluck to turn back.
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