(IN this story, when the point of view changes between grayle and fredrick, it means that each character is writing there book of the events many years after world war one.)
1914 "Gas!" Those words were the daily routine nowadays. The steps, the fear, the swiftness, all of which would always be synced in the depths of your mind. The steps were simple, if you made them simple. You grab your mask, strap it on, grab your rifle, head to an officer to receive further orders. This routine was like mother's breakfast and morning routine. You never forgot it, and if you did, you were punished. So, instinctively I strapped my mask on, loaded my enfield, and ran. "Grayle, lets go!" Ryan whispered through the commotion. I followed, sprinting into what seemed an endless hole in the ground. I followed him, without questioning where we were going. There was a sudden blast, the roar of an 88. It caused me to jolt back, landing on my bottom. I slouched back on the trench wall.
My body pressed on the cold wall, a chill rising through my veins. Distant shouts in French, English, and German slowly faded. In the cold morning fog of France, I felt the most terrified I had, and ever will feel in my life. No, it was not the fact that at any minute I could have been shot by Germans from across the field. It was not the fact that a bomb could go off, or gas could come and my mark would fall off. It was the silence. Minutes ago screams filled the trench and gas creeped in. And suddenly, everything stopped. The voices turned to echoes, and echoes turned to silence. The whole ordeal felt like it took minutes, but in reality it took seconds. "Grayle!" Ryan yelled, the only sound. He extended his hand, reaching for me. He pulled me up, and I grabbed my rifle, we ran again. We realized there were no more shots fired. I looked behind us and saw a Frenchman, their circus clown uniforms, red and blue, like the bloody revolution. His hand was next to his foot, and he was looking down. I jolted my head, and asked Ryan "Is it clear?" Dust and smoke blocking my view of him.
"Stay here, I"ll go ask!" He must of ran like those creatures in Africa, cheetahs I think. Because I couldn't see him when he was talking, but right after his breath to finish his sentence, it was silent. I couldn't help but look back at the french clown, poor guy. "It's clear!" I heard a voice yell. Quickly, I unstrapped the first strap, the second and then the third, and stuck them in my pack. I climbed onto the edge of the trench, next to a dead Tommy gunner. (British gunner.) I looked out. Men dangled in barb wire, lying in the bloody sun. It was a horrid display of humanity.
Fredrik. Point of view change
"Kommandant (Colonel.) said we have too!" One of the other slodat said.
"Then we must!GEFREITER (Lance corporal.) , grab ze gas!" The oberleutnant (First lieutenant.) commanded. I grabbed my rifle, ringing the strap on my shoulder. I loaded a round into it, and cocked it back. I strapped my mask on, and grabbed a cylinder of hydrogen cyanide. (Prussic acid.) I trembled as I picked it up, one drop of this and your life was ruined. " Oberleutnant, I have ze cans!" "Good Gefreiter, carry it out of the trench." He ordered "Da ser." I replied. I walked out, holding it. There was always some guy who would mess things up. Today it was going to be Hans Fredrik. We all had our masks on, his was missing one strap. It was not stable on his face. He happened to step on metal debris, waking up a Tommy. Suddenly it became a giant commotion, because Tommy instinctively fired a round of his enfield into Hanz's can of hydrogen cyanide. Hanz started screaming and his mask fell off. As the Tommy yelled "GAS!" He should've yelled, "I SHOT A CAN OF GAS NOW GAS!" but he didnt. "DUMM GRUNZEN! (Stupid grunt.)" The Oberleutnant yelled. Shots fired, voices yelled. "What do we do!" I yelled "Suppressing feuer!" The Oberleutnant yelled. And so we suppressed fire, for about ten minutes. I kept looking back at Hanz, his hands twitching, his body covered in blisters. He wanted to be a film star, the ladies thought he had the face, but now he didn't have a face. "AGH!" He rolled around. I knew, the slodats (Enlists.) knew, the Oberleutnant knew. He was already dead. It was all on him. Eventually the firing stopped. "FALL BACK!" The Oberleutnant yelled, but before he ran back, he saw a french clown look up. He fired into his chest, smiling as he shot him. He then threw a grenade at the Frenchman. I saw a hand, and I ran back in the silence. This was a sorrowful day.
