Rumors return the men’s attention to a possible offensive. As they pass the shelled remains of a school, they see a hundred sweet-smelling pine coffins stacked against it, preparations for their own casualties. Nightly, the British strengthen both troops and munitions—ominous reminders that the war shows no signs of ending. Paul grows morose and superstitious about his fate after narrowly escaping death in either of two foxholes while passing from one to the other. German artillery is so worn that shells fall on German troops. Fat rodents, which the men call “corpse-rats,” gnaw the men’s bread. Detering makes a game of outwitting the creatures.
The law of averages seems to work against the men’s chances of survival. Dispersal of Edamer cheese and rum suggests that hard times lie ahead. From nights of persistent shelling, green recruits vomit from fear, endangering the others with the spread of panic. Although no attack begins, the men grow numb from the continual din of barrage.
Paul’s trench is almost obliterated by exploding shells, which also hinder the cook from transporting rations from the rear. Two parties attempt to locate food, then return empty-handed. Exhausted by the lengthy bombardment, lack of sleep, and inadequate food, the men battle insurgent rats, which scream in terror. One soldier, overcome by claustrophobia, loses control and is forcefully subdued. His reason destroyed by falling shells, he rams his head against a wall.
On the third day, heavy gunfire projects beyond Paul’s dugout as the French launch an attack. The trenches, blown apart, attest to the fierceness of the fight. Like robots, the men fall back to more stable positions, surprising the Allies with fierce resistance, then plunge ahead in renewed effort. Paul sees glimpses of carnage as he rushes to capture enemy positions. He and the others, after an hour’s rest, consume French rations of canned corned beef, bread, and cognac.
At nightfall, Paul clutches a dew-sprinkled gun and walks sentry duty in a cathedral courtyard under cover of mist. After the day’s battle, he has difficulty recovering his composure. He allows his mind and emotions to focus on the poplar avenue, which evokes nostalgic memories of home, of innocent play: “We loved them dearly [the trees], and the image of those days still makes my heart pause in its beating.” Overcome with melancholy, he longs to immerse himself in the serenity of nature, but concludes, “[W]e fear and love without hope.”
As the war drags on, Paul loses his sense of time. He and the others attempt to retrieve the wounded, one of whom pleads for rescue but lies hidden from the search party. The offer of a reward for finding him fails. In searching, Albert is slightly wounded. The dying man calls faintly for a woman named Elise, then lapses into weeping. Against a backdrop of fleecy clouds, fresh winds, and blue skies, the dead putrefy, sickening the survivors with a sweetish smell.
The next day, Paul tries to comprehend why Haie joins souvenir hunters in collecting parachute silk and copper bands. The carefree larks and butterflies seem out of place in this No Man’s Land. Although the cannons have stopped shelling them, spotter planes strafe them with gunfire. Eleven men die hideously. Lacking transport to proper burial sites, Paul and the others heap the dead three layers deep in shell holes.
Inexperienced recruits fail as reinforcements and die because they have no survival skills. Himmelstoss, panicked by the reality of front-line duty, nurses a slight wound until Paul forces him out of the dugout with insults and a rap on the head. At a lieutenant’s order, Himmelstoss joins the others. Paul becomes disoriented. In his words, “[W]e run, we throw, we shoot, we kill, we lie about, we are feeble and spent. . . .” Paul and the other experienced infantrymen teach recruits how to use their ears to determine which projectiles are incoming and where they will land. Haie, severely wounded in the back, drags himself along, acknowledging to Paul that death is near. As autumn arrives, the line maintains its hold on the trenches, but roll call reveals that only thirty-two out of a hundred and fifty men of Second Company survive.
