Chamberlain looked down sullenly. The patient in bed fourteen had had to have his left arm and right leg amputated. The man’s life had irrevocably changed in a matter of blood-spattered moments. Chamberlain and Hedges approached the sprawled figure in bed fourteen. Blood still oozed into the man’s damp bandages. With a questioning eye, the soldier looked over the surgeon, who still wore his blood-stained apron.
“It hurts, Captain.”
“You’ll be all right, son,” lied the surgeon. “We’ll have some morphine for you.”
Dejected, the soldier turned to face the blank canvas wall, grimacing as he did so.
Chamberlain leaned over to Hedges and told him to get the young man some morphine. When the surgeon was informed that their morphine supply had run dry, Chamberlain told him to wrangle some rum. The brave man did not deserve to suffer.
It was just after 22:30, and the exhausted Captain Chamberlain collapsed on his cot. He stared at the flickering lantern above his head, weaving to and fro amongst the surrounding shadows. It was stifling in his “private quarters.” The only thing that separated him from his patients, and their snoring between bouts of agonized moaning, was a thick, muck-stained, canvas curtain. He shut his eyes, briefly, only to open them again. He cared not for what he saw behind those dark lids. Standing, he grabbed his British Consuls and lit one. He dropped the spent match into the dirt at his feet. He inhaled deeply and dropped back on his cot.
Fuck.
Suddenly, the alarm sounded and the rushing of feet was all around him. He got to his feet and threw his moist boots on. Pushing aside the curtain, Chamberlain spotted Hedges rushing for the intake area.
“Hedges!” called Captain Chamberlain. “What’s going on? What’s the situation?”
“Unsure, sir! Sounds like it was a gas attack on our poor lads. They’re just being brought in now.”
Without hesitation, Chamberlain grabbed his apron and field surgeon’s kit. Before hurrying to where he was needed, he paused a moment and listened to the patter of the rain on canvas, and then rushed to the operating theater.
The horrors were evident immediately and the stretcher bearers still brought in more wheezing boys.
“What’s the situation?” the surgeon quickly asked, while springing to action.
“Well, sir, it must be gas. That’s the only thing it could be. When we reached them, the ones that were still conscious were coughing up blood. Their eyes were the strangest color.”
Chamberlain listened as closely as he could while he worked on the first man. This soldier clawed at his eyes ferociously, between bouts of wet screeching. The surgeon tried to calm the frantic man.
“I know it hurts, son, but you’ve got to let me see.”
The soldier continued to screech and claw. Chamberlain looked back to Hedges. His dutiful assistant stood wide eyed, silent and pale. Chamberlain knew this was Hedges’ first experience with gas victims, He felt sympathy for his young assistant. Barely a man and being exposed to some of the worst atrocities known to man. He would weep for Hedges . . . later. Now, he needed the young man to be focused.
“Grab his arms, Hedges! Quickly, before he does more damage!”
Hedges did as he was told. He swept behind the screeching frame and firmly grasped the clawing arms. For the first time, the surgeon saw the cerulean shade of the soldier’s eyes. Not just the iris. Both the pupil and the cornea had taken on this ghastly shade. This was like no other gas he had ever seen.
From the corner of his eye, Chamberlain saw the soldier two beds down convulsing and clawing at his throat. He stopped his examination and hurried down, Hedges followed close behind.
This poor soul couldn’t make a sound. The surgeon knew what he must do. Dropping his kit to the dirt, he retrieved a scalpel. He instructed Hedges to, again, hold the man’s arms. When Hedges had the arms secure, Chamberlain began the tracheotomy. He preferred to do these sorts of surgeries with anesthetic, but time would not allow this. As he made the first cut, one of the patient’s arms came free and swatted Chamberlain’s scalpel. He felt the razor-sharp edge slice his thumb. He grimaced with pain.
“Hold his arms, damn it!”
Hedges secured the arm again with shaking hands. In a few moments, Chamberlain heard the sound of air passing through the patient’s new breathing hole. He sighed in relief and looked to the now breathing soldier’s face.
The soldier returned the look with a malicious grin.
The surgeon continued down the line, providing what aid he could to these maimed soldiers.
At 01:30, Chamberlain slumped back into his quarters and drew the curtain shut. He fell on his cot and shut his eyes. Sleep took him away before he even felt the tingling in his thumb.
The following morning, Chamberlain awoke refreshed. He was uncertain how long he slept, but however long it was it had definitely done the trick. He stretched tired limbs and threw on his boots. Taking the prime opportunity before the work truly began, he snuck out of his quarters, past the rows of still sleeping patients and out the canvas flap.
When he was outside, he withdrew his British Consuls and lit one. The first inhale was like heaven. He felt calm wash over him. That was when he looked at the hand that cradled his cigarette. On his thumb, a dark hue had begun to form. Puzzled, he drew his thumb closer. On the tip, where he had nicked it with the scalpel, a blackish blister had formed. When he poked it, blue pus seeped from it and pain shot through his arm. So intense was the pain, that he’d dropped his cigarette in the still moist dirt. He returned quickly to his quarters.
After wrapping his thumb in gauze, he headed out to the Mess. Before he could start the day, he needed coffee and perhaps some eggs. That was if there were any eggs to be had. Rations had been in short supply for the last few months and he knew restrictions would become more drastic in the weeks to come.
Stepping into the Mess, he looked about at all the faces. Nearly all were emotionless. Men shoveled food into their mouths without really paying attention. However, in the back-left corner, a group of officers were sharing a laugh. Chamberlain ignored all those around him and walked to the meal line. Judging from what food he could see, eggs were entirely out of the question. He saw some misshapen loaves of bread and a vat of gray gruel.
So much for a real breakfast.
He took a few slices of bread and spread a little butter on each. Turning, he glanced about for Hedges. Through the sea of faces, he spotted his assistant. Hedges sat near the tent flap and uninterestedly spooned gruel into his mouth. Chamberlain sat down beside him.
“Good morning, Hedges. How are our patients doing today?”
Hedges stopped eating and looked down sullenly at his food.
“There’s something not right about them, sir.”
Chamberlain picked up one of the slices of bread and bit off a chunk.
“What do you mean? I know this is your first time with gas victims. The body does strange things when it’s hit with that substance . . .”
Hedges shook his head.
“No, sir, there’s something else wrong with them.”
Chamberlain took another bite of bread and felt his stomach grumble. It felt like everything was curdling in his stomach.
“Well how do you mean?” asked Chamberlain, trying to conceal the nausea. “What exactly is wrong with them?”
“I went in to check on them earlier, sir. All of them have developed this blackish rash all over their bodies. I brought them all gruel this morning and fed them. Not a single one of them kept that food down. They all were retching the strangest vomit I’ve ever seen. It was the same color as their eyes . . .”
Chamberlain tried to stay focused, but his vision had become blurry. His stomach felt like a butter churn. He knew he wouldn’t be able to keep up the calmness much longer.
“I don’t know what kind of gas does . . .”
“Would you excuse me, Hedges?” Chamberlain quickly asked.
Without waiting for an answer, he stood on w
obbly legs and stepped out of the tent. His stomach felt like it was on fire. He knew he needed to be further away to not draw attention. His shaking legs carried him an additional ten feet before he evacuated his stomach contents into the dirt. Relief washed over him. When the purging had stopped, he wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his uniform. He looked down at his puddle of vomit and stopped. The putrid concoction which lay in the dirt was a deep cerulean shade. He kicked dirt over top of it and returned inside the Mess.
The morning was full of extensive surgeries. Chamberlain performed several amputations and cauterizations, treated further gas victims, and reset many broken limbs. He had sat down at a desk and was beginning to fill out the necessary charts and paperwork when his thumb began to throb. Wincing with pain, he began to unravel the gauze. Each layer he pulled away, the strange cerulean fluid had soaked through. When he reached the final layer, the gauze was slick with the sticky, foul smelling fluid. His entire thumb had changed color. The initial slice was now oozing. Horrified, Chamberlain moved his paperwork and rushed around to find more gauze. Careful not to spill any of this bodily based infection on anything, he quickly rewrapped his thumb.
Chamberlain was terrified. He had never seen any infection spread like this before. He couldn’t think of any diseases or virus that shared these symptoms. He left the desk and made his way to the intake ward. He needed to see if he could communicate with any of the gassed soldiers.
The closed section just off the operating theater held twelve patients. Three of these were the gassed patients the surgeon sought. When Chamberlain entered the room, an overpowering stench filled his nostrils. The room reeked of rot and the sickly sweetness of infection. The room was lit only by a single dancing lantern held high on a hook in the center of the tent. Yet this was not the only luminescence in the dank room. Shimmering from the floor, Chamberlain could see cerulean flashes. The flashes came from the corner where the three soldiers “slept.” Chamberlain crept in close.
He couldn’t explain what he was seeing. Tendrils, covered in small spikes, had burst through each of the three men’s uniforms. These tendrils emitted the flashes. What confused the surgeon even more was that these tendrils had crept along the floor and had twisted and wriggled their way up beneath all the blankets of sleeping soldiers in sight. Chamberlain came to the nearest soldier and threw back the blanket. There he saw the tendrils had burrowed their way deep into the sleeping man in the next cot. The sleeping man did not seem to notice.
Chamberlain quickly tossed the blanket back over and turned to leave when he took a glance back at the gassed three. The one in the middle, the one who had smiled so maliciously at him, was wide awake and watched the surgeon with his glowing eyes.
“Hello, Doc.”
Chamberlain stared in shock at the thing that was once a British soldier.
“You’re probably wondering how long it will be before you too will be like this. Don’t worry. It won’t be long now. You’ll need to feed.”
“Wha . . . What?” stammered Chamberlain.
“You may not understand now, but you will in time. Our kind has lain dormant in the soil since time immemorial. Your war has brought us back. You will find your place amongst our hierarchy and you will help propagate our species again. We are of the earth and our time has come again.”
Chamberlain could take no more. He dashed from the room and out again into the open air. Tears rolled down his face. When he wiped them away, to his horror, his tears had changed in color.
18:30 hours rolled around and Chamberlain finished composing his letter. He put it in the envelope and wrote “Hedges” on its bare front. He stiffly stood. His vision was blurred. The infection, or whatever it was, had spread down his arm. He knew he did not have much time. He pulled out the last British Consul in his pack and lit it. Forcing his rigid legs to move he made his way to the intake ward. He carried a canister of kerosene beneath his arm.
At 19:00 hours, the fire in the intake tent had been reported. The only time that week the skies had not opened into a torrent, was the night of the fire. While soldiers and ambulance drivers attempted to douse the flames, it was of no use. The fire burned too hot. The only thing they could do was to ensure that the surrounding tents did not also catch fire.
Lance Corporal Hedges cleared the tears from his cheeks. He knew, just knew, that his superior started the fire. There was simply no other explanation. He made his way to Captain Chamberlain’s quarters. He saw the letter immediately. He grabbed it from its perch and tore it open. The words he read, made him question his superior’s sanity:
Dear Hedges,
I know you wonder why I did it. This is to be expected. Those men were no longer human. They carried with them some form of ancient infection or organism. I can’t be sure what it was, or is, but I know they must die. I too must go with them. Their being has crept into me as well. I cannot let this spread. The Hun is one thing, but something like this could destroy all of mankind. I want you to know Hedges, you were the finest assistant I have had in all my years. If you survive this war, and if the God above is a just man, you will go places. Can you please find my son and tell him that his father died an honorable man? His name is Pvt. Julian Chamberlain, First Battalion, Sherwood Foresters, Twenty-Fourth Brigade, Eight Infantry Division.
Thank You Hedges and God speed,
Captain Noel E. Chamberlain,
Royal Army Medical Corps
WHIZZ-BANG ATTACK
By Sergio “ente per ente” Palumbo
“I don't want to go in the trenches no more,
where the whizz-bangs and shrapnel they whistle and roar . . .”
from “I Don't Want to Die,”
Popular WWI Song
It is well known that the earliest military uses of chemical weapons were tear-inducing irritants rather than fatal or disabling poisonous gases, and they were deployed during the First World War. The initial tries on both sides—the so-called Central Powers (the German and the Austro-Hungarian Empires, the Ottoman Empire, and the Kingdom of Bulgaria) against the Entente Powers (the French Republic, the British and the Russian Empires)—that had been eagerly put into practice turned out to be largely ineffective. Italy and the United States joined the Entente only later and other countries like Japan, Belgium, Greece, and the Czechoslovak legions were secondary members. The fact was that the small quantities of gas actually delivered were not even detected by the enemy soldiers in the trenches. Another thing that happened was that the chemical froze and failed to have the desired effect, as it occurred in January 1915—which was the first instance of large-scale use of the new terrible weapon—when Germany fired eighteen-thousand artillery shells containing liquid xylyl bromide tear gas on Russian positions on the Rawka River, in Poland.
Anyway, before the Germans could employ a deadlier gas as a killing agent, something else was waiting to happen while the war was increasing its fierceness on many bloody battlegrounds throughout Europe. Such a secret story, however, had never reached the media nor been told so far, and many would clearly deny that such events had ever occurred. But this is what I, now a very old soldier, already in my 100s, once told a middle-aged researcher working for one of those neglected or ill-reputed TV programs showing strange facts and weird situations that were never truly exposed to the viewers worldwide but could have changed the course of history. Or perhaps even the life of the whole of mankind.
Those occurrences were never broadcasted, for some unknown reason, and such accounts never got into the newspapers in the end, but the following is what I said. Believe it or not. . . .
The Western Front was the name applied to the battle zone in France, where the British, French, and Belgian troops faced the armies of Germany. Eventually the American forces would join the others on the Western Front. But there was an Eastern Front too, in Poland and down to Serbia, where Russian armies faced those of Germany and Austria-Hungary.
As a matter of fact, the Western Front was not the only theatre wh
ere the British army saw action during the Great War but it was by far the most important. After the battles of 1914, both sides held an entrenched line that stretched from Nieuport on the Belgian coast, through the flatlands of France, continuing through the wide expanses and into the high mountains, until it got to the Swiss border. The British held a small portion of this four-hundred-mile long line, varying from some twenty miles in 1914 to over one-hundred-twenty early in 1918. During the war, the disputed area that lay in that sector had been courageously held by the French Army. Its strategic importance made it the staging ground of a lot of bloody battles that had already taken place. But many more battles would soon be coming. . . .
The boundary of the front had remained almost the same until the present year, which was 1915, even though several thousand soldiers had died in other local attacks or coup de main operations. History shows that from the moment the German army moved quietly on August the 2nd 1914 to the end of the war, the fighting in that part of France never stopped. There were some short, quiet periods, just as there were more intense, huge-scale battles.
By the end of the fierce confrontation of November 22nd, 1914, the two sides were in siege warfare that included extensive use of underground tunnels, shelters and emplacements, counter-battery artillery fire, and mining (which was also used offensively). The continuous trench lines of the Western Front presented all army commanders with a serious problem: it had been proven that the way to win battles was to 'turn the flank' of the enemy (that is, to go around his position)—but there was no flank on the Western Front, for either side! At one end was the North Sea, at the other end four-hundred miles away, the Alps. So, the Front settled in for a long period of trench warfare.
The British army was still very much the lesser partner on land at first, and took part in many attacks of increasing scale as the army grew in size. Casualties were very high and little was gained in terms of territory; the British lost the main part of their pre-war regular army while being greatly outmanned and outgunned. It became clear that enemy positions could be broken into, but not broken through, without the deployment of much larger forces.
Year's Best Body Horror 2017 Anthology Page 30
