"Looks like Fritz is getting a taste of his own medicine Pad." He did not know and did not care if he ever moved again when out of the gloom loomed a figure of a man, "Let's hope this feller's one of ours," he said quietly but the spike on the helmet told him otherwise.
"He's a Hun," Hugh whispered, "keep still!" but his warning was not needed.
The gas mask on the man's face gave him a frightening appearance, he moved slowly along the trench like some kind of monster, shuffling and dragging his feet, moving sideways like a crab. Hugh gradually lowered his eyelids, his hope was that the German would take them both for dead and pass them by. As he came closer Hugh could see the man's rifle pointed towards them but it was the sight of the armoured glove with a dagger welded to its knuckles which caused him to shudder. He realised why the man was walking in such a fashion, he had used that weapon before, he was positioned so as to be able to bring it slamming into force.
The dagger glinted evilly in the half-light.
Using his friend as a shield Hugh slowly withdrew his bayonet taking care that even the faintest click should not betray his movement. The German was taking no chances, he approached their bodies cautiously.
Hugh knew he had to cough, the poisons in his lungs were bubbling, they passed up to his throat and he coughed loudly spitting sputum from his mouth.
"Hands hocht! Kamerad!" ordered the German, his voice sounded metallic through the mask. He thrust the dagger towards them and covered any movement with his rifle.
"Take it easy now there's a good feller."Hugh started to position his dagger ready for a sudden lunge but he could see the German knew what he was doing, there was no way that he would be quick enough to get in the first strike before a bullet hit him.
"Seems like that's it Pad, it's all up.... kamerad," he said quietly raising his hands.
The man moved towards them and kicked the outstretched foot of Paddy.
"Rausch!" he ordered.
"Eh! Pack it in!" said Hugh getting to his feet, "Can't you see he's had enough!"
The German swung the rifle towards him, warning him not to move. Through the seat of his pants Hugh felt the ground trembling. It was a different feeling from the vibrations made by the shells and explosives. Soon the German felt it too, they both looked along the trench, within an instant a frenzied horse charged towards them, its leather traces and gun-carriage harness flew wildly all around, its eyes were mad and crazed with fear. Hugh flung himself on top of Paddy, the German jumped the wrong way, he screamed as the animal hit him and trampled him into the ground.
Men chasing the animal followed close behind, they saw Hugh, the outline of his flat helmet gave him away. "Englander! Schnell! Achtung!" bullets tunnelled through the smoke. Hugh picked up the German's rifle and returned their fire, forcing the figures to shrink back into the murk. Quickly he dragged the gas-mask from the dead man and tried to put it on Paddy but shots zipped towards them. He ejected the spent shells from the rifle and reloaded from his own magazine praying that they were of the same calibre, his prayers were answered and he fired back. With bullets drilling through the air all around them he dragged Paddy towards the safety of a dugout. Staying as low as he could he reached the shelter but as he laboured to drag his friend to safety a bullet seared across his shoulders furrowing through the skin. The pain gave him strength, he bundled Paddy in and quickly fastened the mask to his face.
The enemy were moving up the trench, Hugh leant out and fired a couple of rounds towards them forcing them to dive into dugouts, for a time he was successful but a stick-grenade tumbled towards him out of the smoke, it landed short. He darted back into the shelter as the grenade exploded blasting earth and mud through the air.
"Stuck like rats in a trap eh Pad," but as he spoke he looked towards the back of the dugout, "There's light there Paddy!" he exclaimed. Breaking through the cracks around a narrow door faint shafts of light sliced into the gloom. "I'm going to have to leave you here Paddy boy, they'll look after you a lot better than I can, you'll have a better chance with them than with me," he gave his friend a last embrace then for greater protection pushed him out of sight under some planking which served as a bed. Paddy lay submerged in the smoke, his breath barely rattling the filter in the mask. Hugh held the rifle out into the trench and fired off a few shots. A scream of "Ich schlag!" told him that a bullet had found a target, he waded back through the gas to the door. AThey'll be on you in a moment. I'll be seeing you Paddy boy, take care of yourself now!@ he called.
The door was metal plated with a brass handle recessed into its face, when he turned the handle and pushed, to his surprise it opened smoothly and easily on well-greased hinges. A grenade exploded in the trench as he moved through the doorway, the blast slammed the door shut behind him.
This was no dugout like those to which he was accustomed; the walls were engineered with precision, along the roof leading down a sloping tunnel were a number of electric light bulbs, the floor was covered with dry duckboards. It was quiet and still in the tunnel but the door could not hold back the smoke and gas, it puffed in the cracks and crept around his ankles. From the trench came shouting, Hugh propped the rifle against the door and kicked the butt end hard to wedge it into place. No sooner had he done so than the handle was turned and heavy boots battered against the metal plate. Harsh voices shouted, ABringen hammer!@
The tunnel sloped steeply downwards, an iron hand-rail set into the left-hand wall allowed him to steady himself as he descended. His lungs begged to cough and his eyes screamed with pain but he forced himself along with his bayonet extended before him. Even the dull thud of shells exploding above were lost as the tunnel deepened to such an extent that steps were needed, he could barely see through his blurry eyes but at his feet, flowing like water, the smoke and gas trickled past. A deep thumping bang told him that a sledge-hammer was being used on the door, quickly he moved on to where the tunnel opened out into a small chamber, all kinds of foodstuffs were collected there, "Cripes Jerry has it good," he said to himself. Sacks of vegetables and thousands of tins were stacked to the roof, great sausages and hams hung from vaulted beams set into the ceiling. The explosion from the land mine had loosened some of the beams, one of them hung down so low that he had to duck underneath it.
Leading from the chamber four tunnels made off in different directions, Hugh watched the gas rolling down into them, from the two tunnels on his left he could hear the noise of men hard at work echoing along the shafts, he realised that they must already be near the site of the explosion. To his right, away from the sounds of digging, he chose a tunnel that was less steep than the others and cautiously made his way down it coughing and spluttering as he walked. A short distance along the tunnel the sound of music arrested him, "Oompah, pah, oompah, pah pah.@ It reminded him of the band playing in the park on a Sunday afternoon, the sound was eerie in the midst of battle. Although his chest was wheezing horribly the sound was so peculiar that he had to see what it was. Peeping around a half-open door he looked into a small room which was fitted out as a hospital ward; on operating table was at the far end, surgeons were working away on the body of an injured man, the reek of ether and surgical spirits filled the air. Nearer to the doorway six small beds were bunched close together, in each bed lay an injured man, some were groaning in pain, four of the men were missing limbs. The music was coming from a phonograph scratching away on a small table. One of the patients glimpsed him and he cursed himself for his curiosity but the soldier was in such a weakened condition he was unable to cry out. Hugh slowly backed away but as he did so he witnessed gas rolling into the room.
He had to warn them, "GAS! GAS!" he shouted, several pairs of eyes turned towards him.
"Englander, Englander!" a male nurse shouted, then yelled to his patients, "Nicht im Bett!"
The alarm was raised, Hugh was exhausted, he staggered back to the chamber and followed the next passageway downwards but was so drained of energy that he fell against the damp earth wall, the sight
of a small scorpion hiding in a crack close to his face shocked him enough to compel him to stagger on until the passageway widened. Along one side was stacked row upon row of huge artillery shells, he could go no further, he crawled behind the shells and hid in a tiny gap against the earth wall. There he sat, straining to draw air into his injured lungs and suffering such intense pain in his eyes that he felt like tearing them free with his hands, water splashed onto them from his canteen gave some temporary relief. "Well this is a fine mess you've got yourself into Hughie lad," he said to himself.
In the passageway the search was on, "Rauschen! Schnell!" yelled German soldiers. Two of the soldiers who passed were arguing, he heard them getting angry and listened as a tussle turned into a fight, he took off his helmet and spied from behind the shells, they were tugging at something, he knew what it was when one of them yelled, "Verschenken gas maske!"
The panic in their voices was plain to hear, slowly but surely the gas was crawling downwards, it had already risen to knee height, soon it would fill everywhere. Hugh thought of using his bayonet and trying to get the mask from the men but an officer ordered them away, he sat in the rising smoke and made a decision, "If I've got to go I'll take some of these fellers with me, they'll have fireworks here like they've never seen before."
He pulled down a shell and tried to unscrew its tip but it would not budge, he tried using the bottle-opener set into the handle of his bayonet but he could not move it.
All the while soldiers without masks were rushing past, trying to get as deep down as they could to escape the creeping terror. Peeping from behind the shells he saw that they too had tied soaked handkerchiefs around their faces. Some of the men had been caught out up above, they had bandages over their eyes and coughed and spluttered as they stumbled downwards with one hand on the shoulder of the man in front.
The land mine had dislodged earth in the trench wall behind him and revealed old wooden timbers, using his bayonet he began hacking out the timbers and heaped them together. Deeper he dug, by ramming the bayonet in with both hands he forced chunks and splinters of timber free. The gas rose rapidly, with what little strength he had left Hugh worked in a frenzy, by the time the gas had risen to waist height he was exhausted and could only push the timbers together against a shell with his boot
"Well here goes nothing," he croaked as he took out his lighter. He held his breath and ducked into the smoke but his damaged lungs could not hold air, he came back up gasping and feeling so sickly that he thought he was going to pass out. He realised that the only way he could get a fire going would be to set light to a piece of wood first. Taking his bayonet he made another stab into the timbers but this time the bayonet and his arm disappeared deep into the hole he had made. The bayonet hit a chunk of stone then broke through into water. Beads of sweat broke from his brow as the water began to rush out, he knew it would give his hiding place away. Desperately he removed his helmet and pressed it hard against the hole but the water sprayed out completely drenching him, behind it he could feel the pressure building up. He held on for as long as he could but suddenly he was pushed to one side and a powerful jet rammed into the shells behind him.. They rocked backwards and forwards then clattered to the floor like skittles. Freed from any restraint the water blasted across the corridor and powered into the earth wall, cutting out mounds of soil and earth.
"Schnell!" came the shouts from below, an officer ordered a squad of soldiers to investigate but they were bowled over by the shells which clanged downhill on a slope of mud.
Hugh watched as the water widened the hole. The flow increased until what must have been thousands of gallons gushed down the corridor. Shouts of "Hilfe!" and "WASSER!" came from men trapped below, their shouts became screams as the water rose to ceiling height then they stopped. Soon afterwards it ceased to flow. Looking down the tunnel Hugh could see the water levelling off, some men were scrambling round in the muddy mess, they were the lucky ones. Occasional escapes of air bubbled to the surface as the liquid filled the gaps and crevices down below. Realising that he had but moments before rescuers discovered him Hugh poked his head into the opening made by the water. It was pitch black inside the hole but when he struck his lighter he was stunned. The flickering light revealed the inside of some sort of shaft, an old mining shaft he thought but the lack of light above told him that escape that way was out of the question. He looked downwards and saw just beneath him a pile of bleached white bones. Startled he almost dropped the flame.
From behind him came more shouts, "GAS! Achtung!" the rescuers backed away when they found that the water which had flowed down had backed a huge volume of gas upwards filling the tunnel. Hugh was about to try to save himself when he saw a helmet amongst the bones. It looked similar to the German's helmets but was slightly larger and without the spike, something about it attracted him. He squirmed his body into the hole and reached down, his fingers just managed to grasp the helmet and he dragged it free from the mud which clung to it. A skeleton arm broke free, the fingers of the hand were wedged into two holes in the back of the helmet. Hugh forced himself back out of the hole but the whole tunnel had filled with black smoke, he could not even see the helmet in his hands. As the gas again entered his body he began coughing and could not stop, he coughed until he felt his lungs were going to separate from his chest. He held the helmet with both of his hands, then as if wrestling with his pain he began moving it closer and closer to his face. The skeleton arm was still attached when he placed the helmet upon his head. The moment he did so a feeling of calmness came over him.
It was an indescribable calmness, everything around him seemed to slow down; the gas no longer cut into his lungs, he could breathe freely, his body felt no pain, his eyes no longer hurt, "What's happening?" he called out as vitality flowed through his veins, he clenched his fists together with his new found strength. He knew something strange was happening but his thoughts were for his friend. "Paddy!" he shouted and immediately began making his way upwards. As Hugh walked he realised something else, he could see clearly through the murk, men were scrabbling round in agony, tearing at themselves in their pain. Those with masks were shouting in panic and fear as they tried to find the bodies of their comrades whose horrible screams filled the foul air.
Hugh returned to the underground chamber, in one corner he saw three German officers wearing gas masks, they were hiding from their own men. Two of the officers carried tools from the site of the explosion, "Maybe they're too busy looking after their own skins to worry about me," he hoped but he would have to pass very close to them.
He crept past but the smoke was thinner, as he placed a foot on the first stair a heavy blow across the back of his head knocked him to the floor, smashing the skeleton arm. If he had not been wearing the helmet it would have caved in his skull. As he landed he rolled to one side, a pick-axe handle smashed into the floor where his head would have been. He kicked up hard with his feet and caught his attacker in the stomach. The man was sent flying through the air and did not stop until he smashed into a pile of tins. The other two officers backed off when they saw what had happened, "Schweinhund!" shouted one of the men.
Hugh ran up the stairs, incredibly he felt he had only just started to run but then was at the top, a soldier blinded by gas begged, "Hilfe," as he passed reaching out a hand for help. He dodged around him and carried on until he reached the doorway, the door, smashed off its hinges, was a mangled mess of metal. Quickly he ducked through.
Back in the chamber the two officers picked up their injured comrade who was groaning in pain. "Kommen!" said the more heavily built of the two. He used the pick-axe to smash a padlock from a steel locker which was packed with freshly greased rifles, taking one each, they ran up the stairs. They had only reached the fifth step when the German halted. "Mein Gott!" he shrieked.
Within the smoke before him was a snake-like pair of eyes, the evil contained in the eyes froze him to the spot.
"Was ist da?" questioned the man beh
ind him.
The smoke around the eyes began to pull itself into shape, rapidly a fiercesome face was formed, the blackened skin and jagged teeth only highlighted the horror of the eyes. The rest of the body began to appear.
"Teufel hexe!" screamed the German then launched himself backwards slamming into the man behind, they both tumbled back down the stairs.
Hugh entered the dugout cautiously, it was completely filled with gas but was empty of men. "Paddy!" he called, he reached under the bed and there was his friend where he had left him, at first not even the slightest sound came from the mask but as he pulled and tugged the body out from beneath the bench he was rewarded with a faint rattle as air passed through the mask's filter.
ALet's be getting yer out of here lad.@ Hugh lifted Paddy easily to his shoulders, his strength surprised him as he moved out into the trench, he could hardly feel the load he carried. The trench was no longer a safe haven beneath a poisonous cloud, it was now part of the cloud. Within that cloud Hugh could see men dead and dying or, for those lucky enough to wear masks, crouching down into dugouts waiting for the wind to blow the gas clear. Hidden to them he passed them through the murk until he found a ladder without anybody near it, without any effort he climbed up carrying Paddy. The casualties he witnessed in no-man's land were countless, wherever he looked the smoke seemed to clear revealing visions too unspeakable to mention.
Grimly he walked back to his own lines a rifle shot away; past the bodies of the Crusaders, past the bodies of men mown down like ripe corn; through the devastation and destruction he walked, a survivor of a massacre.