When you visit our website, if you give your consent, we will use cookies to allow us to collect data for aggregated statistics to improve our service and remember your choice for future visits. Cookie Policy & Privacy Policy
Dear Reader, we use the permissions associated with cookies to keep our website running smoothly and to provide you with personalized content that better meets your needs and ensure the best reading experience. At any time, you can change your permissions for the cookie settings below.
If you would like to learn more about our Cookie, you can click on Privacy Policy.
The men rise quickly in fright, and for a while at least, they forget about their all-consuming thirst that has weakened them but also brought an angry longing over them. Thirst can dominate a man and make him scratch with his fingers on the cold, hard floor. “What is it, Jorgensen?” Catroux asks loudly. “What is going on out there?” They stand panting and awaiting his answer from outside, where Jorgensen is standing guard. “Jorgensen?” Catroux’s voice is loud and authoritative. “Where are you, Jorgensen?” No answer. “Rifles!” orders Catroux, and in the dark, the men hunt for their rifles, pick them up and load it. Catroux walks up to the hut’s door with his revolver in his hand. “Jorgensen!” he shouts through the darkness, and then he quickly moves away from the door, just in case s