The sun rose from behind the clouds, illuminating the Ypres front line, painting the ground with a shockingly vivid red, blood and corpses scattered.
At this time, the soldiers of the 43rd French Army Division were enjoying breakfast—mashed potatoes, freshly delivered from the rear by the mess squad.
It was delivered more than an hour late compared to usual, already cold as ice.
This was the logistics team's fear of poison gas; they dared not take a single step across the "thunder pool," even if the soldiers repeatedly emphasized that the gas was visible.
The soldiers complained as they spooned the clumped mashed potatoes into their mouths:
"They're avoiding us like the plague."
"Yes, they dropped off the food and quickly turned back."
"I just patted Jamie's shoulder and he screamed and ran off; he must think the gas is contagious!"
...
The soldiers burst into laughter, tinged with bitterness.
