All Quiet on the Western Front Rewrite We were quiet on the ride into the foreign village, taking in the sights that would be ordinary to anyone else. The thought of simply being somewhere far away from the front was conversation enough. The passengers included myself, Katczinsky, Tjaden, Kropp, Müller, Detering, and a new, young soldier by the name of Arnold Kirchner. Kirchner is 18, but has a boyish face that presents him as no older than 14 and his eyes have had a permanent craven nature since he first arrived. When the vehicle rolls to a halt, we exit and begin to make ourselves comfortable in a makeshift dugout. We were feeling more opulent than any of us had in a long while since we settled down in our dugout and stocked in with sufficient
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We spent the night laughing until our ribs ached and we grew hungry. We gathered a few ingredients for a feast and flexed our culinary muscles, roasting pigs and making pancakes. Our hungry and temporarily carefree living lead us to neglecting to cover our tracks. The smoke rising out of the chimney was a beacon giving the enemy a direct path to us. Bombs started falling like raindrops and poor Kirchner’s panic-stricken look returned to his face. He was the first to run for cover, blazing through the streets like he didn’t know any other way to handle the situation. The rest of the group follow him, carrying the food we’d prepared in their arms while I continued cooking the pancakes. I heard a foreign cry ring out as I finished the towering stack of pancakes. I ran out to the sight of Kirchner lying on the ground, clutching his ankle. I asked him if he had been hit and he told me that he had tripped and twisted his ankle in his frenzy out of the kitchen. I dropped the pancakes and helped Kirchner stand to his feet and start moving towards the direction in which the rest of the men had ran. Tjaden and Detering were waiting for us, Müller had gone back for the pancakes, and Katczinsky was finding a secluded place for us to take cover since the dugout was in plain sight. My senses must have been lacking, my focus on Kirchner, as I didn’t hear Detering’s calls to
We spent the night laughing until our ribs ached and we grew hungry. We gathered a few ingredients for a feast and flexed our culinary muscles, roasting pigs and making pancakes. Our hungry and temporarily carefree living lead us to neglecting to cover our tracks. The smoke rising out of the chimney was a beacon giving the enemy a direct path to us. Bombs started falling like raindrops and poor Kirchner’s panic-stricken look returned to his face. He was the first to run for cover, blazing through the streets like he didn’t know any other way to handle the situation. The rest of the group follow him, carrying the food we’d prepared in their arms while I continued cooking the pancakes. I heard a foreign cry ring out as I finished the towering stack of pancakes. I ran out to the sight of Kirchner lying on the ground, clutching his ankle. I asked him if he had been hit and he told me that he had tripped and twisted his ankle in his frenzy out of the kitchen. I dropped the pancakes and helped Kirchner stand to his feet and start moving towards the direction in which the rest of the men had ran. Tjaden and Detering were waiting for us, Müller had gone back for the pancakes, and Katczinsky was finding a secluded place for us to take cover since the dugout was in plain sight. My senses must have been lacking, my focus on Kirchner, as I didn’t hear Detering’s calls to