The stench of mud, sweat, and death clung to the air in the trenches of the Western Front. Rain had turned the ground into a thick, sucking mire that swallowed boots and hopes alike. Soldiers huddled in silence, their faces pale beneath layers of grime, listening for the distant rumble of artillery that never truly stopped.
Private William Hart stared at the photograph in his hand, its edges worn from countless moments like this. The smiling faces of his wife and newborn daughter seemed like a distant dream, almost too pure for the hell that surrounded him.
"Gas!" The panicked cry rippled through the ranks. Chaos erupted as men scrambled for their masks, fumbling in the dim light. Within seconds, the yellow-green cloud rolled over the trench, a silent, deadly tide that left no room for hesitation.
In this war, bravery was not the absence of fear—it was the ability to move forward despite it.