Battlefield Priest's Diary

Chapter 129 Night of the Mist
a.

The Verdun region had just experienced its first rain, and the moisture from the falling rain seemed to have diluted the smell of gunpowder on the battlefield.

At midnight, the French soldiers slept soundly in their trenches, a rare occurrence, for a simple reason—the Germans, for the first time ever, did not shell the trenches.

The sentry on duty hid himself in the bunker, observing the outside while preparing to enjoy the "fruits of his labor"—about a third of a glass of liquor.

The supply of alcoholic beverages has been largely cut off, but a small amount of alcoholic drinks are still provided to the sentries to help them warm up at night.

Although the quantity was small, it attracted many soldiers, and some drunkards would even take over other people's shifts just to get that little bit of alcohol.

The drink was very weak, clearly diluted, but the sentry still tasted it cautiously.

As the diluted, inferior liquor went down his throat, the sentry sighed softly. Anyone with eyes could see that supplies were becoming increasingly scarce. It wasn't just the liquor; now, only the sentry could still get a few green vegetables.

Many people are showing signs of night blindness.

I wish tomorrow was Easter.

Footsteps sounded behind him.

"who!"

The sentry instinctively reached for his rifle, only to find himself aiming at a long loaf of bread. A priest, wearing a cross around his neck and dressed in a black robe, was smiling at him.

"Father El! I didn't expect it to be you." The sentry hurriedly lowered his gun.

"You've worked hard on the night watch. Easter is coming soon, so I brought some food for everyone," the person in the black robe said kindly.

The sentry was flattered; the man before him now held absolute prestige on the battlefield, yet was so approachable.

As I received the long loaf of bread, a feeling of surprise welled up from the bottom of my heart—the bread was made with white flour.

“Father, this…”

“The last bag, and then we’ll all eat black bread together,” the priest said with a smile, looking nothing like he was about to suffer.

The sentry bowed his head in silence, a look of gratitude on his face. Although food was scarce, he was sure the priest could still eat white bread, and given his achievements, no one would complain.

Bread was limited, and each sentry post could only receive one loaf. The sentry woke up his sleeping comrade, and people looked at the white bread in front of them with surprise and delight.

Each person broke off a small piece, and someone lit a candle in the can. Everyone sat around in the cramped trench waiting for the priest to lead them in pre-meal prayers.

However, they didn't expect an unexpected surprise—each of them would receive a small piece of dried meat.

Quack! Quack! Quack!

The cries of crows could be heard outside, but the priest in black robes ignored them.

Under the soldiers' watchful eyes, the priest began a brief pre-meal prayer.

"If we are destined to fall tomorrow, may our sacrifice not be in vain..."

Protect us, dodge the whistling bullets.
May the light of the Lord, however faint, still shine in this abyss…

Amen!"

The soldiers raised their cups, and after praying with the priest, they drank the "coffee" in their cups.

The soldiers shared a meal in the dim candlelight: a piece of white bread, a small piece of dried meat, and a drink made from chicory root and acorn powder.

Some people sang folk songs about homesickness, and as they sang, the soldiers began to imagine what would happen after the war ended.

Someone laughed and said they wanted to open their own shop.

Some people said they wanted to go back and learn to drive a tractor, then find a job on a farm.

As the veteran looked at the young man behind the priest, someone couldn't help but tease, "Pierre, what do you want to do after the war? Go back to studying painting?"

A gentle look appeared on the young soldier's face. "I... I actually have a girl I like. I just received a letter from her. Maybe after the war ends, I'll try to propose."

Upon hearing the word "marriage proposal," the entire crowd became excited!

"Oh my gosh!! How romantic!! Little Pierre's spring is coming! Let's raise a glass to him!"

The veterans roared and raised their cups, spilling the "coffee" inside.

On this damp night, a warm atmosphere surrounded everyone.

Quack!! Quack!!
The long, drawn-out cawing of crows rang in his ears, and the smile on the black-robed priest's face gradually disappeared.

He walked alone outside the sentry post, and a crow flew onto his shoulder.

This is not Odin; it was just domesticated from a local crow, and the information it conveys is not complex.

Its call only means "very big" or "a lot".

"What did the Germans produce? How many did they have?" Qin Hao frowned as he looked at the crows in front of him.

A gentle night breeze blew, and his gaze fell upon the cross swaying in the wind.

The next moment, a certain possibility suddenly flashed through my mind.

"Notify everyone to consolidate their positions! Have the soldiers find the towels!" the black-robed priest shouted to those around him without warning.

Boom! Boom! Boom! !

One dull thud after another echoed across the opposite position, and something in the sky emitted a peculiar sound—not the sharp whistling of artillery shells, but a low, viscous whistling sound.

"Everyone retreat! Everyone retreat!"

"It's a German poison gas bomb!!!"

Boom boom boom!!!
The first wave of poison gas shells exploded ten meters in front of the trench. There was no fire, only a cloud of yellowish-green mist surging out of the crater. At this time, the wind was blowing towards the French positions.

Strange gas rolled and surged toward the French positions.

“Sinking to the ground, heavier than air,” the black-robed priest muttered to himself. The next moment, he waved his hand across the night-time position and shouted to those around him, “Uphill! Everyone uphill!”

In the darkness, French soldiers frantically sought higher ground to avoid the chlorine gas, while German artillery fire roared into the night.

When Qin Hao returned to the underground dressing station, it was a scene resembling hell.

Vomiting, extensive redness and swelling of the skin, difficulty breathing, violent coughing, and in severe cases, incontinence, with a nauseating smell permeating the air.

At least several hundred people have developed varying degrees of poisoning symptoms.

"Lieutenant Colonel, where are the gas masks?! We need gas masks, lots of them!" The priest in black robes looked at the commander.

At this moment, the French lieutenant colonel remained silent.

He pointed to several large wooden crates beside him, his face extremely grim.

The priest in the black robe walked over and lifted the lid, only to find that there were only a few M2 gas masks inside; the rest were all gauze masks soaked in sodium carbonate solution.

The latter has proven to be almost ineffective against poison gas; soldiers wearing it in the gas were practically committing suicide.

"Fifty gas masks and 300 gas face shields, that's all," Lieutenant Colonel Eugen said bitterly, almost as if announcing a death.

On April 19, 1916, the German army launched a mixture of poison gas, mainly chlorine, at Verdun, catching the French army off guard and causing heavy losses.

There are only three days left until Easter.

(End of this chapter)