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

by C. M. Harald

  'Kill the Germans.' Marsh shouted at his Tigers as he worked the lever to reload his shotgun. He was laid on the floor under the weight of the thrashing German soldier, not yet thinking about how he would get up. Yet above him, the zombies surged along the trench with a fury that he had never before seen in them. Their strength was superhuman at the best of times, but he had never seen them move with this degree of violence. The first German in their way had his throat shredded by a Tiger, while another pulled off an arm with a sickening tear. The German fell to the ground with a disbelieving look on his face. The Tigers did not stop to gorge on the victim, instead they launched themselves forward seeking new prey. The three tigers fought fiercely. Every time Marsh had seen Tigers fight, the urge to hunt and eat had been at the forefront. That was not the case this time. They seem to be killing for the sake of killing, efficiently and quickly. One German even managed to get his rifle up in time to protect himself with the bayonet. The attacking zombie did not even check its pace, impaling itself on the tip of the blade and then pulling itself up the weapon, the bayonet and much of the barrel protruding from its back. Quickly it was close enough to seize hold of the soldier and maul him. The Tigers where moving at least twice as fast as a normal human and the Germans stood no chance. When the zombies had obliterated all of their prey, in the trench, they stopped to sniff the air. The hunt for more flesh to render was on.

  The shocked and bewildered British soldiers looked around themselves at the fallen Germans. Several of the defenders had been knocked off their feet as the Tigers rushed passed, overwhelming the attacking Germans. Many of the British physically drew back from the creatures as they returned to their handler, Marsh. The defenders were particularly scared by the zombie that was moving with the rifle and bayonet still stuck through the stomach. The sight was unnatural as such an injury would have been agony for any human, likely instantly fatal as well.

  'What hell was that mate?' A muffled voice asked fearfully as a tiger walked past him. It came from one of the supporting infantry.

  'That was our secret weapon.' The voice was Welsh, and Marsh thought it was probably Taff Morgan.

  'That's a secret weapon?' The soldier asked, 'Why don't we have more of them? They're lethal.'

  No one answered as the defenders busied themselves checking for, and treating, injuries. Several of the soldiers readied themselves along the parapet expecting a further German assault. The green tinged mist still hung heavily around the trench and restricted vision in the direction of the German lines. There would be minimal notice if there was another attack.

  Marsh checked over the Tigers. They had taken quite a beating fighting off the German assault. He pulled the rifle from the stomach of the impaled Tiger, leaving a large hole from side to side that quickly filled with the internal workings of the creature. Several soldiers tried to peek through, more than one making tutting noises at how badly damaged the Tiger was. The post-combat bravado of the victors showed their clear relief at surviving the counter-attack. Other soldiers kept away, not just suffering the trauma of surviving combat, but in many cases fearful of the terrifying secret weapon. All three zombies had taken slashes from bayonets, one had even lost the fingers of its left-hand. The third Tiger had been badly beaten around the jaw, flesh hanging loose from the side of the mouth, teeth missing and bone showing through the pulped mess. Yet these Tigers had not been stopped by these injuries. It was a different type of injury that concerned Marsh. As he checked each Tiger he noticed that the eyes were becoming whiter as if a film was forming over the surface of each pupil. He could already tell that the zombies were compensating for this reduced vision with their senses of smell and hearing. How would he return them to the British trenches in this condition, unable to see the obstacles in front of them, yet able the sense every living thing across the battlefield?

  'That was close,' Lieutenant Simpson said through his mask, 'Are you ready for another attack?' Simpson was reloading his pistol.

  'You don't mean we're going to attack the Germans again do you, Sir?' Marsh asked incredulously.

  'No, no. Of course not.' Simpson shook his head, 'Will you be ready if the Germans attack us again?'

  'I'm not sure, Sir.' Marsh scratched at his neck, the seal of his mask irritating the skin, 'Look at their eyes. They can't see very well now, and the longer they're exposed to this gas, the more the damage'll be done.'

  'You want to pull back?' The words were loaded and it was clear what Simpson thought of the idea.

  'They won't be as much use to us if the enemy attacks again. If they can't see, they'll not be able to move around very effectively.' Marsh did not know how true this was, but he was struggling to get the general idea across to Simpson, 'I may be able to move them around if I work closely with them, but the slightest obstacle on the ground may have them over.'

  'Not so indestructible then are they?' Simpson sounded as if he may be gloating underneath his mask.

  'Hey, Sir.' It was Mullen, at least judging by his voice. He had worked his way back from the other blockhouse, having checked on his own charges, 'Fought 'em off, Sir, but we've taken some casualties. Are going to pull back?'

  'How are your Tigers?' Simpson asked.

  'Not good, Sir. There's not many of them left and those that are.... Well, they're bloody blind.' Mullen waved his hands in front of his gas mask lenses in an exaggerated mime.

  'We might be able to get them back to our trenches,' Marsh said, 'I can lead them so they don't trip over any obstacles.'

  'I don't think we'll be able to stand another German assault, Sir. I think Marsh is right, we need to lead the Tiger back behind the lines.' Mullen recommended to Simpson, 'What are your orders, Sir?'

  Simpson thought it over before replying. They had taken their objective but the casualties had been high, not just for the Tigers but also for the supporting infantry.

  'I need to go and check with the infantry CO.' Simpson said, postponing the decision. He walking off to find the officer without another word.

  'What the bloody hell does that mean?' Mullen said loudly to the officer's back, disgusted by the indecision, 'We haven't got all day you know, Sir.'

  The whistle of incoming shells made everyone dive for cover. These turned out to be a mixture of high explosive and airburst shrapnel, with the open trench offering only minimal protection.

  'I think that's your answer.' Marsh said, 'We won't be able to stand up to much more of this and if the Germans follow it up with another counter-attack, we'll be slaughtered'

  'That's right. Let's get ready to pull back the moment Simpson says we can.' Mullen ran off, crouching low down in the trench.

  As far as Marsh could tell, the costly attack was falling apart. First the casualties, then the gas, and now the Germans preparing for a second counter-attack to seize back their position. As the artillery barrage rained down upon them, Marsh made preparations to get his troops and Tigers back to friendly lines.

  Simpson did not hang about once the decision to withdraw was made for him by the infantry officer. In fact, when he found the infantry commander, overwhelmed by the casualties his men had suffered, Simpson had been asked why they were not already withdrawing. The speed and organisation with which his unit got ready to pull back, surprised Simpson. They seemed to have been ready to run all along. The supporting riflemen, seeing the preparations for withdrawal, also did not hang around as they were desperate to escape the German bombardment. Within minutes of Simpson's return, the British troops had exited the captured German trench, disappearing into the gas laced mist. Their number was much depleted, with a great many of the survivors injured.

  Volunteer

  "It was when I was at Wipers I learnt not to volunteer. I'd been wanting to go out on a trench raid and I spent days getting up the guts to do it. My mates had told me not to, but what did I know. I was only fifteen. Bill asked me 'Why'd you bloody go and do that?' He thought I was right stupid, and I suppose I was. Bill caught a packet the next day.
Of course, I didn't find that out until later as I broke my leg during the raid and had to be evacuated across no-mans-land.

  Last time I ever bloody volunteered for anything."

  Transcript from an unbroadcast radio interview with Philip Saunders. published in Graham, D 'A study of child soldiers in the Great War.' (2016, New York)

  'Sir?' Marsh stood at attention in Colonel Hudson's tent, 'You can see from the last attack that charging directly at the enemy, alongside our own troops, leaves us open to the enemy's defensive fire for far too long. They were able to whittle down our numbers to such an extent, that by the time we made it to the German trenches we had already lost too many Tigers.'

  'Ah, I appreciate your concern for the well-being of your Tigers, Marsh. But we did seize the objective,' Colonel Hudson said, putting down the pen he had been using to sign a pile of documents on his desk.

  'Yes sir, but that was at the expense of a complete wiping out our offensive capability. We lost every single Tiger in that attack either to enemy action, or due to them no longer being combat effective as a result of blindness caused by the chlorine gas.' Marsh paused before taking the risk of reminding the Colonel what he thought should happen, 'Sir, We should be sneaking close to the German trenches, then launching a lightning assault. That way we will keep our own casualties down while quickly seizing the objectives. These are pretty much the same tactics that are used in successful trench raids.'

  'And how will you secure the trench? Is it not still the case that we will need to move large numbers of troops across no-mans-land so that we can support you and consolidate the position?' Hudson asked.

  'Yes Sir, indeed. If we assume the success of our assault, we should coordinate the support troops leaving our trenches at exactly the same moment that we launch our attack. By the time we have the enemy trench secured, the infantry will have moved up to hold the territory' Marsh said matter-of-factly.

  'And what of the gas?' Hudson asked, curious to hear Marsh's solution to the unexpected problem the chemical weapon had caused.

  'Goggles, Sir. Driving goggles, just like with those makeshift gas masks which were being used in '14 and '15. That would protect the Tigers eyes from chlorine. The other effects of the gas aren't a problem for them.'

  'Sounds like that would do the job. I must also say, I was very impressed by Mullen taking out the blockhouse. A stroke of genius to attach a bomb to a Tiger and then send it at the target.' Hudson leaned back in his chair, lighting a cigar, having just offered one to Marsh, 'If it saves lives, we can afford to trade Tigers like that. It's another way that we can use them and it's a way that is sure to strike fear into the hearts of the enemy.' Marsh smiled in response to the Colonel's praise of Mullen, someone he was quickly coming to respect.

  'I'm looking to work with Mullen and his abilities. I suspect that like me, he can instruct the Tigers by thought.' Marsh said.

  'Ah, that's interesting Marsh. I had been wondering when we would turn up someone else who would seem to have the advanced abilities that you possess.' Hudson said, 'While you gentlemen have been working hard on the battlefield, I've had Lieutenant Scott travelling around trying to find other potential handlers. He's had little success, as you will no doubt be unsurprised to hear, and you are still something of a mystery. Why do you have the ability to control the Tigers by thought? A skill that others do not possess, yet you do?'

  'I've no idea Sir, but I think Mullen may be like me. I wish I did know why I've got these skills as then we could find more people like me and make better use of the Tigers that we have.' Marsh replied.

  'What do you need, to see if you can develop Mullen's skills?' The Colonel picked up his pen and a pad of paper, ready to note down any requests.

  'Time and opportunity, Sir.' Marsh thought about his requirements, 'I could do some basic things with him and a couple of Tigers, but once we're beyond that, we'll need to try things out on a larger scale with a full combat group. Then after we've worked out what we're doing, we'll need to try those things out against the enemy. Maybe some small scale raids would help at that stage, Sir.'

  'And naturally you'll be testing out your ideas for combat as well?' Hudson looked up from the notes he was taking.

  'Of course, Sir. One of the main reasons for changing our tactics was due to the problems of Tigers getting out of control. If I can develop Mullen's skills, there will a lot less chance of that as my Tigers never seem to move beyond the range of my thoughts.'

  'And how long is that range?' The Colonel had undertaken a few basic experiments on this, but not got very far in toward the establishment of any clear rules.

  'The Tigers I've worked with have never gone too far. I've tried half a mile and can still control them.' Marsh thought for a while, 'I'll look into it when I'm working with Mullen.'

  'You know that Lieutenant Simpson is still not very keen on your approach to combat. Why is that?' Hudson asked, aware of the ongoing problems between the two men. He was certain he knew the answer, but he still wanted to check.

  'The Lieutenant still believes in traditional conventional tactics, Sir. He's part of the old regular army and his thinking is still very much based around those ideas.' Marsh was careful not to expand more, especially regarding Simpson's dislike of the use of the Tigers. He could easily have been blunt, but he was certain that the Colonel could read between the lines.

  'I understand that the two of you have clashed on more than one occasion?'

  'He trained me back when he was an NCO, Sir. I didn't fit his idea of an effective soldier.' Again Marsh held back on the full truth.

  'A common problem when promoting from the ranks is that the man does not adjust to his new life.' Hudson said, 'However, with the sheer number of casualties we have suffered, it is necessary to promote experienced soldiers into the officer corps. Despite what you may have heard, the casualties among junior officers are the worst across the whole of the Services. We have an enormous officer vacuum that can only be filled with battle-hardened junior ranks. Furthermore, as an experimental unit, we are very limited in whom we can recruit and promote. Someone like Simpson, or your friend Scott, are immensely valuable to me as they get to the cusp of the issue and get things done.' Hudson looked carefully at his man, seeing through to the unsaid opinions, 'Are you still able to work with Lieutenant Simpson?'

  'I don't see why it should be a problem, Sir.' Marsh could think of several reasons, not least the extra duties Simpson liked to give him, but these were not things that the Colonel was concerned with.

  'Then you will continue working under Lieutenant Simpson while Lieutenant Scott is pursuing his other duties. You are to train Mullen, and when he is ready, trial your combat approach in both practice and combat conditions. In the meantime, you may, as may the whole battalion, be deployed should the General Staff require it.'

  The most interesting event during the next fortnight was the opportunity to discover the range over which the Tigers could be controlled. A couple of experiments were undertaken, one where Marsh had a line-of-sight to the Tigers and another where buildings, ground and trees were in the way. The Tigers were left with Wells while Marsh walked off to issue his commands. Every hundred yards, Marsh would stop and mentally instruct his Tigers to change their behaviour. The time of the command was logged, knowing that Wells was at the other end logging the times different behaviours were observed. To there great surprise, Marsh was able to mentally control the Tigers at a mile range, with obstructions not having any effect. In a follow-up experiment it was shown that the zombies always stayed in range of the handler, if they had freedom of movement, with other handlers showing a far shorter range. It was also discovered that a confined Tiger would be removed from the handler's control should the handler move out of range.

  The same experiment was repeated by Mullen, who discovered he had a range of three-quarters of a mile. Furthermore, Mullen rapidly progressed in his mental handling of the Tigers, becoming increasingly able to match Marsh on the sophis
tication of instructions. Between them, they experimented on the different types of commands they could issue and found that the Tigers could follow almost any instruction that did not require sophisticated comprehension or dexterity skills. This led to a great deal of thinking on the use of the Tigers for specific battlefield tasks, such as the bomb delivery that Mullen had improvised.

  Another area that Marsh and Mullen experimented on was the emotional element of the mental orders. During the attack on the blockhouse, Marsh had noticed a particular speed and savagery in the behaviour of his Tigers. This had emerged during the closely fought German counterattack. The more he thought about it, the more Marsh was convinced that his own fears had driven the zombies to their aggressive behaviour. This was a complex area to experiment with as the Tigers did not seem to respond to faked emotions. It was in this respect that Lieutenant Simpson proved to be particularly useful.

  Simpson had continued his campaign of bullying Marsh at every opportunity. The Lieutenant would regularly pick up on any minor fault in Marsh's uniform. This was often as Colonel Hudson had authorised Marsh to continue combat experiments which meant that Marsh would frequently get dirty in the field. Simpson also regularly complained about the unsporting use of zombies in combat and regularly placed obstacles in the way of the experiments that were undertaken. Mullen was not particularly bothered by Simpson's behaviour, happy to unleash any tension with a stream of insults and curses, frequently within earshot of the officer. Marsh, however, was cut more deeply by the behaviour, the weight of his own drive to be an effective soldier, borne from his brother's death, undermined his confidence alongside Simpson's criticisms. Marsh still knew he could not be the effective soldier that Simpson, and the army, required. Yet, he was an effectively handler of Tigers.