The rumblings continued on-- distant explosions echoed throughout ceaselessly.
I could still hear the rampant, overlapping firearm shots;  unknowingly if it belonged to ours or the enemy.

I looked at a small calendar hung from the tent's post--April 23, 1915.
We waited still for a command from the higher-ups. The stretchers were empty; but the stains of the previous men it bore remained, dried-up.
Our tent too was empty, no casualties to tend to-----they all have been buried within the rain kissed clay earth.
I lit a cigarette and smoked it away from my colleagues as they were not that fond of tobacco smoke.
I am nothing but a common man, back before the Great War had started.
Worked as a surgeon's assistant in Versailles and as a farmhand in the outskirts of Luxembourg. I had never thought of joining the medical units of the army; I wanted to be an infantryman. But then, the army got its load of manpower; but not the same number as the men who would maintain them.

And there came the moment we waited. A cab went to our post and the officer it bore gathered us up.
An old fellow Frenchman was he, sporting a gray well-shaped mustache. Standing in front of us was no doubt a man of honor as expressed by the slick, deep blue overcoat he sports which was adorned with insignias, medals and decoratives aside from his well fitted hat and the spotless boots.
He gave us an immediate report of the front lines at Gravenstafel; our infantrymen comrades suffered much from the German offensive with the aid of chlorine gas.
Time after time, our men fell; dead before they can ever tell themselves if they were.
Reportedly, our men had been scattered throughout the no man's land--in heaps, with those who had died much earlier had been prey to decay.

Yves and LeMarque prepared our medical equipment; filling up the syringes, bottles and cans with medications, morphine in packs, containerized.

I stood in protest against the act---it was our lives at stake.

As in custom, a temporary armistice must be ordained to cease the aggression between two or more opposing factions, paving a way for medical or triage personnel like us to gather and tend the wounded or the dead.
If we were to go in the midst without a presence of such ordinance, we will be easy prey for gun or artillery fire, bare and unarmed.

They all had insisted that if we stood in wait for such armistice to be declared in the heat of the battle, we would soon pickup nothing but piled up corpses rotten and left for dead for all that time.

Of course, orders were the moving force in the military, whether you're in or out in the front lines. Orders that if followed accordingly, will prove yourself, leading to commendations as a good soldier; if followed not or opposed by your own free will in contrast to it will lead you to nothing but demerit, court martial or in some cases, death.

It was raining the next day; mud piled up, rolling with the tires of our canvas covered truck trickling with rain fall.
I sat by the entry way, with my knees and feet serve guidance and blockage for the supply crates and the stretchers to be in place preventing it from scrambling or sliding out from the constant bumps and sway from the mud-riddled road.
With me were Yves Guerin; Auguste LeMarque; Pierre Ste. Dupont and Giacomo Bruel, a French-Italian. All of us were part of the medical units of the French 45th Division.
There were two other trucks moving before us completing our convoy, the first one bear five infantrymen for protection.
We all were silent, not looking at each other's eyes.
I gazed outside looking at the tracks the wheels carved out of the thick mud. I could hear the distant booms and claps of explosion from the battlegrounds at Gravenstafel Ridge and the whistling of artillery shells as it strikes the earth like a meteorite.
A sheer feeling of foreboding death worried myself that it brought heaviness into my breath. I swore at that moment that Pierre felt it too as I felt the shudders of his shoulder as it made contact with mine.
I took a look at Giacomo but his eyes were downcast, while the others bore mixed feelings of concealed terror and nervousness that I can't elaborate. LeMarque turned his head and look outside, and as he glanced at me, he gave a smile--a gesture that wishes to say that everything will be fine and 'will' turn out to be fine at the least; but as he took his look away and bowed his head, a shadow of doubt flooded me; telling me that that smile was only a gesture of concealing the darkness and the feeling of unknown terror  that LeMarque feels inside.
We all somehow feel like we're all going down to our self-dug graves.

We drew near our point and our mission will soon be commenced--we're going in the midst of battle, carrying nothing but satchels of medications and stretchers, hoping or wishing that the enemy would not open fire at our unarmed state.
It seems heroic for those who would listen to this tale; but for the men who had done it, it was an act of numerous doubts and suicide.

Our trucks halted and we disembarked ourselves and the supplies needed for tending the wounded and the gathering of the dead.
A wearisome soldier approached and directed us to where they were holding their ground.
It was a vast farmland riddled with piles of rubble, vehicle wrecks and trenches; all of the sections of the land were divided by razor sharp barbed wires; leading me to think that warfare sure had some various impressive improvements for the past centuries--technologies that aimed not to maintain or sustain life; but to inflict suffering and death at each other for the sake of glory and power.
Men who belonged as lowly citizens, living their daily lives; struck by war, sending themselves fighting as pawns in a war as ordered by the most high who had their fingers pointed at them.
Many of us knew, that we as soldiers of our country, were merely pawns or pieces of a boardgame, moved by the hands of the most powerful and the most high force.
But it is still our choice that made us who we are today.

On a nearby knoll, our allies planted themselves. They were all covered in rain and mud.
Few were the remaining defenders while the others were wounded, sick; and some of them had completely lost themselves.
A hastily made trench kept the wounded from the line of fire. The mud and rain water smudged floorboards were strewn with the bodies of our soldiers--the dead, the sick and the wounded were all mixed up.
There was a putrid stench of sulfur and decaying flesh wrought about the trench; and as I looked at the soldiers' eyes, I couldn't tell if they could still see the difference of life from death.

The trench was not that a mile long. It only measured three and quarter yards long from point to point, eleven meters wide and eleven feet deep. The other medical volunteers had already began their operation on the men in the trench.

I carefully stood watch, propping myself on the parapet of the trench leaning myself on the dirt stretching my head so I could take a glance of the surface. I gazed far ahead to the horizon where a several meters away a battle ensues--I could barely see nothing but mist, smoke and rubble that partially blocks my line of sight.
LeMarque and Dupont lay by as we waited some time--our group was tasked on taking care of the men who were still in the middle of the battle.
We waited still with heavy breaths, chest beating against the ground and the rain clattering on our helmets.

Amid the scrambling noises of the rain storm and the battle, we heard a voice directed at us screaming for emergency.
The machine gunner on the trench pitched his weapon on the direction; and the riflemen quickly leaned on the parapet of the trench pulling out and back the bolt of their rifles--we braced ourselves on what to come.
The mist parted ways; as four of our men, coming from the battlefield, staggered with the wounded clinging on their shoulders. Three soldiers got up and quickly tapped my shoulder gesturing that we should come with them to aid our comrades.
We emerged from the trench without thinking twice about it and we ran across bending low against the whizzing of bullets and the rattling of machine gun fire from a distant.
The fleeing soldiers told us that they can bear the wounded themselves and there are more in the battlefield that needs to be looked upon.

With three armed men leading us, together with Yves, Giacomo, Dupont and LeMarque; we rushed into the front lines stooping low from mound to mound, cover to cover bearing the stretchers. The gunpowder smoke was too thick for my eyes to see and the mud building up our feet slowed down our pace.
We pressed on--LeMarque was in front of me with the stretcher in our midst held by our hands by the handle on its four corners.
I glanced on its fabric, drenched in rainwater thinking that sooner or later I or one of us will be the one it has to bear.

The batteground was at hand. I could see the tremendous amount of destruction wrought upon the place that once had been a peaceful farmland by the village.
The ground was carved out and scorched with barbed wires lining along the earth like a maze and the bodies of both parties scattered across buried in mud.
From a broken line of wall out of sandbags and broken furniture riddled with holes, there were our soldiers, struggling to survive.
I could see the wounded and the dead placed by a narrow ditch behind them; I could hear the cries of anger, agony and grief and the faces of which had been abandoned by hope. .

Given with cover, we rushed to their side, taking a look at the situation.
Too many were the dead than the wounded.
Giacomo, an experienced doctor back in Marseilles, gave first aid those who were not that too serious; like arm and leg shot, sprained, dislocated, and those who were a little far away from death.
LeMarque and I placed our stretcher on the soft humid ground and began to pick those who have been dead for hours--victims of human carnage. We gathered them, piling three corpses on our stretcher and began our stride back to the truck. Yves and Dupont followed by, carrying five on their stretcher.
We made three rounds, losing count of how much bodies we already had transported.
My arms grew sore; and in each time we head back to gather for more, the more the chances grew high for us in getting shot at.

A several minutes had passed, and it seemed the tide had shifted against the German troops.
Our men charged with a loud cry of bravery, that I thought, was supposed to give a shrill of intimidation and a boost of courage, to revive their wavering spirits; and of course, to hide their fear of the enemy.
We followed into their midst and we've all
took the enemy trench.
It was a brutal moment for all of us, a scenery of pure carnage and madness; witnessing men cursing, bashing, stabbing and shooting each other--a grave moment to be endured only by a true madman.
The battle raged on, deciding which side where control of the trench would fall.
It was never expected and was too sudden, as I felt deep sorrow and utter grief as I saw one of my friends, namely Pierre Dupont, gurgling by a gunshot wound on his throat. I shouted, calling out Giacomo; but he was a little too far and it was too noise congested for him to hear.
Yves rushed to my aid and he looked at me with sorrowful eyes, slightly swaying his head from side to side--Pierre Dupont is dead.

The time came when the moment I never would like to be involved came into play--
I looked up and hear the whistling noise of something zooming fast across the air.
I felt a chill across my body that I could feel my heartbeat grew wild in grave terror on what is about to come.
I sprang from my feet and I took Yves' arm and I pointed to the sky, exclaiming to him that a large artillery bombardment is coming.
It struck the ground, near the trench, and all the men around its radius were crushed or blown away. Another fell right into the trench floor, and the men cried and fled. I took Yves, placing Dupont's corpse on our stretcher and began our escape.
We all pulled back, running away from the trench, rushing across the no man's land heading into our previous position. The shells continued to fall in rapid succession, exploding upon contact; sending fragments and debris across the air, wounding fatally all who stood in its way. The ground shook and the men wailed.

It was a sheer moment of pure horror that I tried to endure.
But that moment that I had placed my terror upon, had not shown its true form yet.
As we continued to run, a shell had struck and blown ahead of us. I maneuvered out of the way, away from that enemy designated bombardment.
We pressed on until I stumbled from a mud build-up that caught my feet. The stretcher slipped out of my grasp and I struck the ground face down; the momentum caught Yves off balance but he managed to remain in his stance. Dupont's corpse was thrown off the stretcher caused by my clumsiness out of plight of terror.
I struggled to get up back to my feet until another artillery fire struck the ground, a few spans away from our spot. Yves was thrown away across the air by the force of the blast; and I covered my eyes way too late to witness him entangled by the barbed wires.

I crept along the dirt, as I felt my left leg became numb. I took a glance at it; and I saw my own blood oozing from an incision caused by a metallic fragment.
I quickly bandaged my wound without even giving a proper dressing and started my limping flight away from that spot of death.
I took a quick survey of my surroundings; finding nothing but fleeing soldiers and dead bodies lying still on the bare, rain soaked earth. I tried to look for my other comrades, but I did see nothing that could tell me it was them.

The Germans continued their offensive, as I heard another whistling noise come across the gray afternoon sky. I bolted my self away, expecting another bombardment.
And woe, I was correct--a shell struck the earth, a few distant behind me.
I leapt and leaned into a small shallow ditch covering my head with both of my quivering hands. I waited still until silence filled the air.
As I lifted my head to take a view, an ominous yellow cloud rouse from the earth.
It brought an acrid stench from it as I inhaled its foreboding presence. I felt a struggle from breathing, realizing that the upcoming cloud was a shroud of poisonous gas.
I bolted from my feet and resumed my fleeing flight; this time, to avoid the cloud of certain death.
I limped along the dirt of the farmland, struggling to breathe. My lungs grew heavily; coughing as I made each staggered step.
I dared not to take a glance behind, for I was certain that the poison gas was not that far from reaching me.

The rattling of machine gun fire came again from behind. Bullets sped by, spreading everywhere.
I began to hit the ground, crawling until I crawled not on the dirt but on the decaying corpses of unfortunate infantrymen.
The accursed gas had overtook me.
I remained still, flat and faced down as I held the lapel of my coat against my mouth and nose and closed my eyes.

Time went by and the hellish element paced on, growing much intense as it passed by.
It is then that I accepted that I was a step away from death.
It is not an act of suicide that I resorted into; but this was the only option that I had left. Whatever could happen, death surely had his eyes on me; and that time was too short--very short.
I bared my face and staggered myself at my feet. I could see nothing but yellow fog-like mist as I opened my eyes.

There was nothing ahead of me--not a sound, not a soul. The stench had left my senses but the rain continued to fall.
I spun around me, still finding nothing. It was like I was in a narrow chamber of yellow gas cloud.
I began to press on slowly, stretching my arms before me. My chest beating much louder with unknown fear than it had before.

It is then when I heared a rush of footsteps against the mud, headed towards me followed by struggled fatigued breathing.
A man suddenly slams me from behind. And as I look upon him, he was nothing but a German soldier, armed to the teeth but with a face wrought with great terror. Another soldier followed by and both of them took a pitiful look towards me.

I was left frozen at my feet, knowing that they will have to do what must to be done to an enemy.
I closed my eyes and embraced my fate. Gunshots cracked into the air that gave me a sudden shudder. But then, quickly I wondered why I have not felt a single bullet run through my body. Another couple of shots were fired and I opened my eyes; and I saw the two Germans, shooting against the  air around the veil of the yellow mist; blindly setting loose fiery lead into the blank yellow air, pushing back until they fade into it.
I was left wondering about the strange behavior of the two men that it gave an eerie sense of fear creeping through me, deep into the bones.

I wasted no time, and I began another staggering flight back at our allied position; but I was too exhausted--mind and body.
But then, still I managed to gather my remaining strength of will. I continued my limping trot, pulling my wounded leg, gasping heavily for breathable air.

The wretched yellow mist had completely barred the visibility, that it failed me to see a row of barbed wire, stretched across the air. I had nearly fell onto it as I managed to quickly halt myself; and luckily, I fell backwards.

As I remain still, I heard a strange ruckus not far from where I lay.
Curiously, I crouched slowly; headed to where could it possibly be.
The strange rumblings drew closer as I am; and as I came nearer, I saw a familiar symbol that awakened my weary mind--an insignia of a red cross.
Hoping it could be one of my comrades, I cautiously draw a bit much closer.
It was LeMarque; lying on the ground.
I called out his name; but he gave no response.
I rushed into him; but as I did, an unseen force suddenly pulled him back, deeper into the mysterious yellow mist.
Astounded and terrified, I stepped back, aghast.
A sudden heavy gush of air move about and above the otherworldly environment. A tremendous sound echoed through the air like a flapping of enormous unseen wings.
I swayed my head around, pursuing a sight of this strange entity that lurks about.

Trapped within the turmoil of the macabre landscape, I began another set of desperate strides; galloping along the miry earth, in despair and in the verge of uncertain death.
Whether I survive this time unscathed or at the cost of a limb; at least I could make it out alive away from this never ending curtains of this yellow nightmare.

As I came struggling for breath from my weary heavy chest, a violent hellish jerk caught my wounded leg.
An unseen abhorrence in the guise of unimaginable structure of an enormous pair of pincer-like claws grabbed my thigh, lifting me high in immeasurable speed.
I let a grave cry of immense horror as I hovered in the air, fearing that my pitiful limb might be torn out from its socket.

I could not see the wholeness of this strange being that seemed to be my own angel of death. Its apparent wings flapped with great force but the air and the yellow mist could not be swayed away.
I was left, suspended upright sailing against the monochromatic wind, with my death waiting there at the end just for a short a while.
Reaching for a small knife in my waist satchel, I struggled and bended myself up, reaching out for the grotesque claws that mangled my numbing leg.
Gathering what's left of my wavering strength, I gave the creature's claw with forceful blows with the knife--halting not until it surrenders from gnawing me, carrying me into some unknown destination. Warm blood sprayed down drenching my face from the horrendous wound I gave the unseen creature; but the grip of its claws was left unchanged.
I slashed and slashed and slashed it until I was coated by both mud, rain and the creature's stinking blood.

A terrible echoing shriek flooded the air;  and suddenly, the creature gave up, letting go of myself. I fell back on the ground, slamming on the roof of a decrepit cab then tumbling down back to the face of the dirt.
Having nothing to lose, I hopped along, pulling my numb leg and scoured away from that wretched place.
The diabolic being still hovers above the air; its wings flapping angrily. I heard it swooped low above the ground; like a biplane preying on fleeing pigs.
My lungs soon felt scarcity of air; brought by intense fatigue, grief, terror and loss of blood. I lumped, sliding down the mud covered ground.

The yellow mist soon started to fade away. The rain turned to drizzle; and the afternoon sun revealed itself. I crawled and hunch by a mound. There's nothing to see but the dead and the rubble; not even the sight of the strange creature that assailed me.
Several footsteps came from behind me.
From a dead soldier nearby, I grabbed a rifle as a precaution, unknowingly if it's still loaded or even ready to discharge.
I took a deep breath before I decided my move.
I let out my breath, yelling some words for help.
I waited for response but there came none.

From the mound, I leaned myself and struggled to stand. I spun around and raised my arms. There stood from me were not my comrades; but a whole squad of German storm-troops. I could not see their faces, for it was covered by gas masks. They were all yelling at me but I couldn't understand their tongue.
The only word I could hear them say repeatedly was Walkure! Die Walkure which I was clueless about.
I stood still; everything's swirling around me. The last thing that I heared was the pulling and pushing of bolts.

I stood and prayed. I prayed for my soul, for I saw two personas of death. And then I knew from the start that I surely was bound to die; but to which I did not know why and I didn't want to bother myself about it either.
I cried out to the heavens for my grieving soul; unless if they could hear me against the claps of gunfire that echoed through the air.
Oh, God! Oh, God, Let me in Your door!
I have seen to much hell--I have felt too much torture! I am to die; I am dying!
Absolve me, atone for my sins!
I could hear the wings of death coming for me!