that he’s wounded, the swine
will get his comeuppance back on the front line.
For here I’m the boss!
If a man’s a dead loss,
over his dust we’ll erect a neat cross.
Army doctors don’t bother
to check men’s disorders.
Those who recover are just cannon fodder.
They all join the forces,
we can’t allow choices,
for all of our boys is — just human resources.
(Exit.)
(Engineer Dr. Abendrot from Berlin appears.)
ENGINEER DR. ABENDROT
If we are to gain final victory at last,
and finally break the constraints of the past,
the decisive campaign has still to be fought,
so we’ll call upon science for moral support.
What is the use of the bomb or grenade,
or the most lethal gasses that we have yet made?
The gasses blow back and destroy our own force,
and the enemy gasses affect us far worse.
The arms race should not be a matter of chance.
Science must make the decisive advance.
We face men of iron from legends of old,
who tempt us with offers that glisten like gold,
but such worthless metals we’ll just cast away,
for our new inventions will carry the day.
We still dream of fighting with daggers drawn
in an era when flamethrowers define the norm,
but why wield the sword when explosive devices
like mortars and landmines prove far more decisive?
High-flying metaphors cover for crimes
that were not even thought of in earlier times,
but war’s not a tournament for the victorious
when the methods employed are actually chlorious!
Who rides into battle like a chivalrous knight
when chemical weapons determine the fight?
Inspired by the legends of German folklore,
we deploy ultramodern weapons of war,
and to prove we’re not Huns, if all else fails,
we echo motifs from Grimms’ fairytales.
As narrator-inventor it’s my impression
that naughty children should be taught a lesson.
If they think we’re barbarians, they’ll have a surprise:
our electro-technology will open their eyes.
Poets may sing of “red sky in the morning”,
But “Evening Red” is the ultimate warning!
Abendrot, Siegfried — my name’s dark as sin,
For Death is a master that hails from Berlin.
“There once was a maiden”—that’s a good start
for stories that tug at the listener’s heart,
There once was a made-in-Germany plague
so toxic the record provokes helpless rage.
That virus our doctors sought to contain,
but where is it now, when we need it again?
Scientists rapidly sense the demand,
and we have the ear of the High Command.
For all your needs we can fake an Ersatz:
cookies and coffee and meat in choice cuts.
To cook up a substitute death I’d be willing,
and market it under my name — what a killing!
The gasses that we have deployed in the past
affected our own men — that method can’t last.
From now on we’ll slaughter whoever we please
by means of our substitute lung disease!
No need any longer to make any sound,
as we turn the whole earth to a burial ground.
It’s easy to strengthen our front if we try.
Whole armies will perish without knowing why.
One press on the button’s enough to expunge
hundreds of thousands of enemy lungs.
We don’t need to shout now, we just hold our breath,
and our victims will silently go to their death.
We scientists follow the military’s bidding,
the proof of our weapons will be in the pudding!
Defeatists may try to stab us in the back,
but our miracle weapons will counterattack.
Our methods will take even Death by surprise,
as we engineer one last throw of the dice,
and — whoopee! — the enemy’s out of the hunt,
while we settle accounts on the Western Front.
The huge piles of corpses will prove that we’ve won,
and we shall have conquered our place in the sun.
I imagine already a sunset crowned red,
as Abendrot’s howitzers heap up the dead.
Both the army and navy must concede defeat,
for with the new science no God could compete.
(He releases chemical weapons with the touch of a button. Three brigades succumb without a sound.)
Children, my children — the news you have heard:
you’ll not find salvation in the arms of the Lord!
The Watch on the Rhine need no longer be sung
after this Götterdämmerung.
There’ll be no more restrictions on how wars are fought.
Global destruction’s the final resort!
(He disappears.)
(Darkness is falling. Hyenas with human faces appear. Their spokesmen Fressack and Naschkatz take up position to the left and the right. They crouch over the corpses and speak into their ears.)
FRESSACK
Should you need something, you just have to ask.
Don’t be deterred though my face is a mask.
First you faced the enemy, now you have — seen us!
Don’t be afraid for we’re merely — hyenas!
What we are doing here let me explain:
we’ll ensure your sacrifice wasn’t in vain.
Cash you don’t need now but we’d like to save.
Why take your valuables into the grave?
NASCHKATZ
Count yourselves lucky that you’ve been slain!
Military losses bring financial gain.
You risked your lives willingly out in the field,
While we assessed what investments would yield.
While our aim was profit, to fight was your task,
now there’s just one more thing we’d like to ask.
For why shed your blood without any reward,
when on the meat market the prices have soared?
FRESSACK
You can trust us to get everything right,
soon the Kaiser’s army won’t force you to fight.
What do we care about grenades and mortars?
Making a profit is what war has taught us.
You no longer need to feel hunger or cold.
The sleep of the dead is a joy to behold.
Please listen carefully — this is God’s truth:
Food and fuel prices have gone through the roof.
NASCHKATZ
Let us tell you in whispers: you owe us your thanks,
for death during battle brings wealth to the banks.
As our capital grows we spend money like water,
we’re making a bid for the business of slaughter.
Count yourselves lucky that you’re lying there,
while banknotes and bullets just fly through the air.
Of your heroic actions such tales will be told!
While you’re soaked in blood we’re just swimming in gold.
FRESSACK
In the Annals your fame will last till judgment day!
Easy death achieves nothing, and someone must pay.
It wasn’t us, the money men, that provoked the war,
but as you marched away we already knew the score.
Of the profits we have earned no poet will be singing,
but the ears of fallen soldiers with praise are always ringing.
In years to come your children will have wondrous tales to tell,
while our kids must be contented with stocks and shares to sell.
NASCHKATZ
How narrowly my children missed conscription in the war!
As luck would have it none was drafted by the army corps.
Though the first was far too honest to ask for intercession,