“I have made a mistake,” the orderly repeated.
Samarc's hand came up to him, and the pull that meant he wanted to speak. Peter invariably paled before this ordeal. Not through words but sounds were the meanings tortured out.... Samarc meant to take the field. In the usual course there would be no coming back for him at nightfall, because he had “ceased to kill--”
“But must your officers know?” Peter whispered.
...The officers would know if it were the same old crew, because they knew Samarc's work. This was the substance of the answer.
...They would take off the bandages to be sure that he required further hospital care. He could not endure that. The bandages must never come off.... He would rather be afield.
Peter saw the grim finality of it. Samarc wasn't changed. He meant to end it. It was not only Spenski, but the havoc under the cloths....
A young assistant surgeon at a near cot was rather too hastily laying bare the lint from a severe shoulder wound.
Exchange with Samarc had of course stopped. Peter, thinking deeply, watched with but half attention until the assistant surgeon briskly rebound the wound, and began tugging at the soldier to get on his feet. The wounded one whimpered his weakness.
The order was repeated. “Into your clothes, man. Scores are already in the column with wounds worse than yours.”
The man groaned, stirred, but fell back. Peter had seen the wound--not a desperate one, but enough to lay a man up for a fortnight at home, and this could not have been more than three days old. There wasn't much chance of malingering.
“Come, come!” the young officer urged angrily.
The soldier tried to raise himself, but did not make good work of it.
A quick scream from the man on the cot. Peter did not know what the doctor did, but he smelled acid. All was cloudy before his eyes. He was a bit surprised a second after to feel the Russian's neck in his two hands:
“None but a beast would take from the stable a horse crippled like that,” he was saying.
The assistant was but a boy. Peter caught this before lasting damage was done. He left the place half crying, threatening to kill Mowbray later. His superior appeared. Peter smiled at him. Samarc was up, drawing on his clothes.