Gas! Gas! Gas! (Royal Zombie Corps Book 3)

by C. M. Harald

  The German defenders in the trenches stood no chance, overwhelmed by the terrifying creatures that attacked with teeth and hands, clawing and biting at exposed flesh, ripping and tearing, rendering men down to bloody chunks of meat. Where organised resistance remained, shotgun blasts and the repeating fire of the Chauchat quickly broke it down. A sight straight from hell, covered in blood and waving a giant blade pursued two retreating Germans near Marsh. Marsh barely noticed his squadmate while he busily worked his way toward the blockhouse.

  As the ranks of British soldiers jumped into the trench, they were caught by the enfilading fire from the blockhouse, much as Marsh had feared. Scores fell wounded, or dead, within yards of their objective. They looked like long rows of freshly harvested corn. The slaughter was unbelievable and beyond anything Marsh had experienced, akin to the stories he had heard about the Somme offensive almost a year ago. He had to do something about the blockhouse, mentally summoning his Tigers for the advance along the zig-zagging trench line towards the building.

  At the final bend he caught up with the bloodied Davies, who out of breath, was leaning against the parapet. Davies was shielded from fire from around the bend. He was catching his breath, eyes huge, uniform and machete drenched in blood.

  'You look like hell Davies.' Marsh stated.

  'Can't go any further,' Davies puffed, 'The blockhouse has got the last bit of trench covered by that bloody machine-gun.'

  Marsh risked a peak around the corner. He could see the machine-gun slit in the concrete at the end of the length of trench. Before the blockhouse were several boxes and assorted pieces of wood made into a barricade. The barrier was just out of grenade range. He pulled his head back before the enemy had time to take an accurate shot at him. That did not stop several rifle bullets slamming into the exposed length of trench opposite him. Clearly there were German infantry behind the barricade as well as the machine-gun in the building.

  'It's tight. We'll have to rush it. I couldn't see a way into the blockhouse, so the entrance has to be around the back, or maybe on the other side.' Marsh thought out loud.

  'We rush it, we're dead.' Davies complained.

  'That's what the Tigers are for. They can charge it and take out the barricade.'

  'And what will they do about the blockhouse? They're can't chew through concrete can they?' Davies looked at a blood covered zombie that strolled up the trench toward them. Behind the reanimated corpse, a cautious Simpson followed with a small group of soldiers he had assembled.

  'Why have you stopped here? Shouldn't you be seizing the blockhouse Marsh?' Simpson used his most patronising tone, making it clear that he was convinced the answer was cowardice or incompetence and that this was evident to all.

  'They've got the trench ahead completely covered, Sir. There's no way we can get along there and get anyone close enough to seize the blockhouse. I was considering getting the Tigers up and out of the trench so that they could outflank the position.'

  'That's not an option,' Simpson said, 'We can't let the beasts out of the trench. The German second line will take them out.' He looked around the corner, in turn drawing rifle fire from the barricade.

  'Are you sure, Sir? That barrage should be keeping their heads down.' Marsh pointed out, unconvinced by Simpson's logic.

  'Don't bank on it. I want you to send the Tigers directly at the barricade. Once that's fallen, we'll then rush the blockhouse.'

  'There's a machine-gun covering the trench from inside the blockhouse. It's the one that caught us in the flank before we got into their trench, Sir.' Marsh outlined the problem.

  'Well it's a good job the Tigers aren't easily stopped by a machine-gun then. Although that will be a problem for us if we try to follow up. Can you give the Tigers an order to force their way into the blockhouse?' Simpson asked, finally realising he would have to rely on Marsh's expertise.

  'They'll use a door handle, if I tell them to, and they can definitely batter down a door. But, I bet there'll be some sort of heavy duty door that even they can't shift.' Marsh explained.

  'Can they use explosives? Could we give them a Mills bomb to pop through the gun slit?' Simpson was fishing around for a solution.

  'We could give them a live grenade, but then they'd have to cover the ground and pop it through, Sir. I doubt I could get them to do something as delicate as pull a pin on a grenade.' Marsh shook his head, dismissing the idea.

  'Well we've got most of the protection squad here, plus the riflemen. Get the Tigers moving directly at the barricade and then the bunker.' Simpson ordered, 'It'll have to be enough to overwhelm them.'

  Marsh did not like the idea of sending the Tigers directly at a machine-gun at point blank range, but Simpson had a valid point that the zombies could take a lot more punishment than the humans. The barricade in the trench needed taking out before the blockhouse was assaulted and the Tigers were perfect for the job.

  'Go!' Marsh shouted simply, as he sent a more complicated mental command to each of his Tigers.

  The Tigers ran roaring around the corner as if excited, having been ordered to attack the humans behind the barricade. Immediately the machine-gun opened fire, not the short-bursts used for careful longer-range shooting, but a sustained and desperate fire, hoping to halt the Tigers. The exposed wall opposite Marsh was hit by dozens of bullets within the first few seconds, mud flying into the air. There were splattering sounds as flesh was rendered by bullets and one Tiger was briefly thrown back against the wall by the impact of the stream of bullets. The Tiger did not stop for long, standing upright before again running toward it's objective. Screams came from further up the trench and the sporadic rifle fire ceased. The machine-gun had switched target to an area nearer the barricade so Marsh took the risk of glimpsing the action. The Tigers were indeed at the barricade, tearing apart the defenders. Two Tigers lay on the ground, no longer moving. Although his view was obstructed, Marsh knew that the two Tigers must have received head wounds, the heavy machine-gun rounds penetrating the armoured helmets at such close range.

  'They've stalled at the barricade.' Marsh shouted to Simpson above the noise. He quickly described the scene before adding, 'They seem to be out of sight of the gun at the moment, but if they move forward, they'll be targeted again.'

  'Send them forward. Get them to the blockhouse.' Simpson ordered.

  Marsh looked around the corner again as he silently issued the instructions to his Tigers. He knew he did not need a line of sight, but he wanted to see what would happen as his orders were followed. He was responsible for these Tigers. If he could keep them in the fight, the lives of other British soldiers might not be spent in a futile assault. The zombies stood upright, turning as one towards the blockhouse before snarling and running at it. The machine-gunner had been waiting and opened fire again, smashing one Tiger with a stream of bullets before the heavily damaged creature climbed back to its feet to continue the advance.

  While the defenders were distracted by the Tigers, Simpson seized the opportunity to lead a squad of riflemen at the barricade. Half a dozen men rushed by, almost reaching the barricade when, at the last moment, the machine-gun turned it's attention to these new targets. The Tigers, having disappeared behind the blockhouse, were no longer an effective diversion. The first of the soldiers, including Simpson made it to the barricade, finding sufficient cover behind it, but the last two soldiers fell to the ground riddled by multiple bullets.

  Marsh ducked back behind the bend to avoid becoming the next target. He could hear the fists of the Tigers banging on the iron door of the building, unable to break in. Panicked German voices came from the blockhouse and the machine gun fire ceased. Slowly the voices became calmer as they realised that they were safe from the ineffective assault of the Tigers.

  'Simpson!' Marsh shouted, 'What's going on? Can't you get any closer?' There was no immediate answer and the silence was again punctuated by a short burst from the machine-gun.

  'No! We're pinned down.' Came the shouted re
ply in the silence that followed the machine-gun, 'Can the Tigers get in?'

  'No, I'm moving them back a bit incase there's a counter-attack from up the trench.' Marsh replied.

  A few minutes passed with no change to the stalemate. Whenever Marsh or Simpson sneaked a look at the blockhouse, they were met with a burst of fire. The time was ticking away and the trench had not yet been secured. Every second brought the inevitable counterattack closer. If the Germans made their move now, Marsh knew that they would be successful.

  There was a huge crash as the back of the blockhouse exploded as if hit by a shell. Within seconds Simpson took advantage of the surprise, getting his soldiers up and running, Marsh and his team followed on. Marsh did not even think to order the Tigers into the building, it all happened so fast. Even as the men entered the building, much of the rear collapsed. They quickly found that the defenders were either dead or too badly injured to offer any further resistance. Marsh crawled out though a small gap while the riflemen stayed behind to give first aid to the surviving Germans.

  'We've done it.' Marsh said.

  'Lucky artillery strike, that's all it took.' Simpson's grin began to falter as he looked up the trench.

  'What do you think lads?' An Irish voice called. Marsh saw Mullen swaggering down the trench, shotgun casually propped on his shoulder. A massive grin was plastered on his face.

  'Bloody hell. Did you do this?' Marsh asked, returning the grin as he got up, brushing dust and mud off his uniform.

  'Indeed, it was I. You was taking your time about things, so I thought I'd hurry things along a bit.' Mullen enjoyed the attention he was getting.

  'What about the machine-gun on your side? Was there one? We were pinned down.' Simpson asked.

  'There was a bloody great big one, Sir. We were stuck as well. Then I saw this great big trench mortar the Germans had left us as a present. Got one of my Tigers, tied a great big mortar round to him, it was at least thirty pounds, then charged him at the blockhouse. Kaboom!' Mullen mimed the expanding explosion with his hands.

  'You got a Tiger to set a bomb?' Simpson asked.

  'No, Sir. The Tiger was the bomb.' Mullen grinned, 'I set the fuse where he just had to hit it and off it went.'

  'You told him to hit a fuse?' Marsh asked, 'That's quite a bit of skill you have there. A damn smart way to take out a fortification.'

  'Think it through, this could be an excellent way of using the Tigers to take out....' Simpson was interrupted by shouts of, 'Gas, gas, gas!'.

  Everything stopped aside for the panicked struggle with gas masks. The masks had to be removed from storage pouches, each soldier removing their helmet, pulling the box respirator over their head and hanging it from their neck with the mask pulled over their head and the helmet finally replaced. Marsh was terrified as he put his mask on. The small of the rubber, and the chemicals used to neutralise the gas, was overwhelming. The air in the mask rapidly warmed as he breathed in and out, the hose from the mask pulling in air from the respirator on his chest. He could barely see out of the small eye-pieces and he carefully adjusted the balance of the mask so that he could see slightly better. This was the first time since training that Marsh had used a mask, the fear of the unknown putting him on edge.

  As soon as Marsh was ready, he checked on Mullen before moving on to the rest of his squad. In training it had been drilled into every soldier that they should protect themselves first, then check on their buddies. Everyone was wearing the masks correctly and Marsh remembered that the gas itself was not that dangerous. However, it would probably precede a fierce counter-attack by the Germans. Listening to the muffled voices around him, he was able to work out the direction of the threat. Looking toward the German second line trenches he could see a large greenish cloud floating toward them. Chlorine, if he remembered his training correctly. He knew his mask could easily cope with the gas and the Tigers would be fine since they did not breath, chlorine being one of the gases that asphyxiated the victim. Nevertheless, it was still a terrifying and unnatural sight, made worse by the claustrophobically restricted vision of the mask. It would be hard to fight in these conditions.

  The cloud floated across the landscape, blown by the gentle wind. Clearly the Germans had gas cylinders at the ready, to release the gas, in the event of a British assault in the area. The green cloud hung thickly in the air and Marsh wondered if the Germans had mixed phosgene in with the chlorine, as was their reported practice. Phosgene was a far more dangerous gas, but again, it killed by affecting the lungs, so there would be no impact on the Tigers. However, anyone who's mask failed would be in for a lethal dose.

  'Marsh!' Marsh recognised Simpson by his size and uniform rather than by his voice. Everyone was striped of their identities by the masks, and it was hard to clearly hear what was being said, 'Get the Tigers ready. If the Germans advance behind the cloud, we'll need to be ready to repeal them. They may even come through the cloud and the Tigers will give us the edge if we end up fighting hand-to-hand. I know you've not trained to use them defensively, but it looks like we have no choice.'

  'Ok Sir, I'll spread the word.' Marsh used the opportunity as an excuse to again check the masks of the soldiers around him. For once, Simpson was making sense and Marsh wanted his men ready.

  As the cloud poured into the trench, much like a liquid, the soldiers grew more nervous. Davies had his machete out; Marsh was readying with his shotgun; Matthews had his trench shovel ready in one hand, a bayonet in the other and his rifle propped against the parapet.

  'Can you smell the chlorine? Something like hay too?' One of the riflemen asked in a worried voice before coughing.

  'Shit, you're mask's not working.' A neighbour said, turning towards the man and throwing down his rifle to check the hose connection on the box respirator, 'The hose is shredded.' The neighbour said, waving the lose end, hit by shell or bullet, possibly damaged in the hand-to-hand fighting.

  The soldier was struggling to stand up. The coughing had become so bad, most of the soldiers around him turned to watch with morbid fascination. Several thoughtfully checked their own packs for something that could be used to help repair the hose. Others checked their own mask and respirator again, terrified that they would be the next victims of the gas.

  'Put this over his mouth and tell him to close his eyes.' Matthews handed over a thick cloth that he had just poured water on, 'It'll stop the chlorine, but the phosgene will still get through. He'll need to be evacuated quickly. Can you handle him?'

  'I can get him back.' The neighbour said, before following Matthews' instructions.

  'Where'd you learn that?' Davies asked Matthews.

  'Back in the days when both sides first used gas, we had to improvise masks. The chlorine'll still bugger up his eyes, but a damp cloth will stop it getting into his lungs. Phosgene though,' He shrugged, 'Who knows and it'll take hours to show unless he's had a really big dose.'

  'What was that about his eyes?' Marsh asked.

  'It's with the Gods. Chlorine damages the eyes. He'll be lucky to avoid at least temporary blindness. Could be permanent.' Matthews replied.

  'What about the Tigers? Will it affect their eyes? Marsh had not considered that the gas that disabled living lungs, would harm his zombies.

  'Didn't think about that. They're dead aren't they? Shouldn't be a problem.' Matthews was not in the slightest concerned.

  'But they use their eyes to see what they're doing. They'll keep trying to function without them, but then they'd just be dependent on sound and smell.' Marsh knew the zombies had keen senses, and he had seen many occasions when a Tiger had picked up the scent of a distant battlefield, carried on the wind.

  Marsh called his remaining Tigers over, checking their eyes to see what harm was being done. All three had sore looking eyes, the moisture in their eyes reacting with the chlorine in the air to form an acid that had begun to burn.

  'Here they come!' The shout came, before Marsh had time to think through the actions he needed to take
.

  The German troops were advancing rapidly from their second line trench, emerging from the green tinged cloud only a few yards from the trench they had lost to the British assault. Marsh could not tell how many there were as the men continued to emerge from the mist. With their masks they looked like creatures from another world, yet they were clumsy as they charged. Like the defenders, the attackers were unable to see all of the obstacles in front of them due to the restricted vision of their masks. Clearly experienced troops, the Germans were trying to use what cover there was, but Marsh knew that the effort of moving rapidly while wearing a gas mask would quickly tire them out.

  There were a few precious seconds in which some of the defenders were able to get off an aimed shot. Yet, the majority of the defenders had no time to react, the first Germans were quickly on top of them. The assaulting troops jumped into the trench, bayonets leading their assault. A British rifleman was driven through by a German bayonet as a soldier leapt into the trench. The British soldier was thrown back off his feet by the momentum of the charging enemy. Another masked horror knelt on the parapet, quickly emptying his rifle into the clustered defenders. Elsewhere, a corporal parried a bayonet thrust, a second and then a third before he was stabbed through the leg by a second German who had got behind him.

  Marsh looked around, taking in the violence around him. Matthews was on the floor wrestling with a German soldier, both with blades drawn. Yet, Matthews clearly had no intention of fighting cleanly and was using his stiletto to cut the hose on the German's gas mask. Elsewhere, Davies was beating off the attentions of another German, his machete biting deeply into the wooden butt of a German rifle. Morgan and Simpson were stood back-to-back defending themselves from all around, Simpson using a bayoneted rifle that he had acquired from a fallen soldier.

  A German leapt over the parapet, intending to land on Marsh, who fortunately had his shotgun facing in the right direction. There was a crash as the shotgun fired, shredding the right arm of the attacking soldier, who due to his momentum still landed on Marsh. The man screamed in agony, unable to continue the fight, as they both fell to the floor of the trench.