Over The Top
Despite the cracked lenses, you decide to wear the mask and go temporarily blind rather than risk incurring the wrath of the lethal gas. The effects of the deadly mixture of chlorine and phosgene are well known to you: burning of the eyes, swelling of the throat, and the inevitable congestion of the lungs leading to eventual death.
Within seconds, the greenish cloud envelops you and cascades into the trench. You look left and right, but are unable to make any sense of the warped shapes reflected through the mask’s shattered lenses.
– “George!” you yell out.
– “Right beside you, old boy!” comes the muffled reply.
– “My lenses are cracked. I can’t see a bloody thing.”
– “Don’t worry about it. If the Jerries attack, just shoot straight ahead.”
Somehow, the thought of firing blindly in a given direction is not very comforting to you, except for the fact that there are hundreds of your buddies standing along the trenches, awaiting the German onslaught.
For over two hours, you stand atop the firestep, waiting for the attack. Then, the “All Safe!” is heard, and masks are removed along the entire front amidst much cursing and laughter. Finally, the order to “Stand Down” is also given, as it is clear that the Germans, again, are not going to attack.
Looking at your watch, you realize that it is late afternoon and that you are famished. Back inside your dugout, you see other men breaking out biscuits, opening cans of bully beef and drinking from their water bottles. You cook some Macanochie stew (a rather glutinous blob of gristle, fat and bone) and make a small pot of tea. Wolfing down your meal, you quickly clean up then settle back on your cot to catch some much needed rest.