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We have almost grown accustomed to it; war is a cause of death like cancer and tuberculosis, like influenza and dysentery. The deaths are merely more frequent, more varied and terrible.
The men have grown accustomed to death and the horrors that surround them. They are now hardened soldiers.
It is this, for example, that makes Tjaden spoon down his ham-and-pea soup in such tearing haste when an enemy attack is reported, simply because he cannot be sure that in an hour's time he will be alive.
The soldiers have learned to appreciate even the smallest of pleasures because they may not be alive for another.
The cooling-water evaporates, we hastily pass round the case, every man pisses in it, and thus we again have water, and are able to continue firing. But behind us the attack crashes ever nearer.
Urine becomes sustenance and a way of survival.
All Quiet on the Western Front