In mid-April, the early morning breeze drifted gently through Ypres, carrying with it a hint of chill from the damp sea air. Inside the Allied trenches, most soldiers were still asleep; only a few sentries remained vigilant, yawning as they gazed across No Man’s Land toward the German lines.

Suddenly, a thick, yellow-green wall of fog rose over the deserted land, about as high as a man, rolling ominously toward the Allied lines with the wind.

Felix, on watch, rubbed his eyes. He thought he might be seeing things after a sleepless night, but as he squinted to confirm, he turned to nudge his fellow soldier Klein, who was dozing against the trench wall with his rifle in hand.

“Klein, wake up—am I seeing things? Yellow-green mist.”

Klein murmured, “You’re just seeing things. Weather’s been fine for days, no way it’s fog.”

“It’s real—right in front of us!” Felix kicked Klein again.

Reluctantly, Klein opened his eyes, irritated at being disturbed, assuming Felix was making up an excuse to wake him. But as he lifted his head and peered over the edge, he saw it—a wall of yellow-green mist, rolling toward them like a tidal wave, no more than a hundred meters away.

Klein gasped. “It doesn’t look like fog.”

“Then what is it?” Felix asked, his voice tinged with unease.

“I don’t know!” Klein replied.

“We should report this…” Felix suggested, but he was interrupted as an acrid, sharp smell hit his nose. He started coughing uncontrollably, his eyes stinging, his throat feeling as if it were on fire.

Klein was affected too, and Felix quickly realized it had to be from the “yellow-green mist,” which had yet to fully engulf them but was already causing such a violent reaction.

The words “poison gas” suddenly flashed through Felix’s mind. Without hesitation, he grabbed Klein’s arm and pulled him along the trench, shouting, “We need to warn the others!”

“Not enough time!” Felix replied, grimacing. If they stayed to warn everyone, they’d all be caught in the gas. They had to reach the second line of defense to give any hope of minimizing casualties.

Felix’s quick thinking was correct. Of the over three thousand men in the first line, only a few dozen survived, unprepared for the gas attack. The second line was saved by the sentries’ urgent warning, but even with the alert, the entire Ypres salient, including the British 5th Army and French 20th Army, was forced to retreat in disarray. A 10-kilometer-wide breach opened in the front lines.

In this assault, the Germans released over 6,000 canisters, totaling 180,000 kilograms of chlorine gas, leading to 15,000 cases of poisoning, with 5,000 fatalities. The German 26th Army surged forward through the gap, facing almost no resistance as they advanced toward the Ypres-Comines Canal.

At the Northern Army Group headquarters, General Foch awoke at his usual hour of six o’clock. After a brief wash, he began his morning jog around the village—a habit he maintained, as he believed a general’s physical fitness was essential for maintaining his troops’ fighting spirit.

Usually, Foch would complete a half-hour run, but this morning, he was forced to cut it short. He’d just finished a lap and was reaching for his canteen when Morini, his aide, ran up to him, visibly distressed.

“General, sir, there’s an emergency! You must return to headquarters immediately.”

Foch frowned, irritated by Morini’s demeanor. As a staff officer of the army group, Morini should always remain composed, regardless of circumstances.

But Morini was too shaken to notice the reprimand. Gasping for breath, he said, “Gas, sir. It’s gas!”

“Is Charles still going on about that gas nonsense?” Foch replied with a groan. He thought the warning had already been dismissed; he’d been assured the rumor was likely German misinformation intended to disrupt Allied morale.

But Morini shook his head, his voice trembling. “No, sir! The Germans… they’ve released poison gas!”

Foch, taking a sip from his canteen, choked in surprise, coughing as he processed Morini’s words. Stunned, he managed to gasp, “Poison gas? Are you… are you certain?”

“Yes, sir,” Morini affirmed gravely. “At Ypres. Heavy casualties, massive retreat—Charles was right. The Germans have indeed launched gas warfare.”

Unable to contain himself, Foch tossed his canteen aside and sprinted toward the headquarters.

Back in France, news of the German gas attack in Ypres spread quickly, sending Paris into an uproar. People reacted in outrage at Germany’s use of poison gas on the battlefield:

“This is inhumane! They can’t do this!”

“This isn’t war—it’s slaughter!”

“They’re nothing short of demons, ruthless killers and butchers!”

Charles was on leave, resting at home, as he’d been granted an extended leave following his return from Gallipoli, allowing him time to recuperate and attend to personal matters.

He was sound asleep when an urgent knock sounded at his door, followed by Laurent’s voice shouting, “Colonel, the general requests your immediate presence at headquarters!”

Charles jolted awake, instantly alert. For Laurent to come up to his room rather than sending word through Deyoka meant the matter was serious.

He could guess what had happened—gas warfare had begun. Only this would make Laurent appear so anxious.

As Charles quickly dressed and stepped out, Laurent, pale-faced, confirmed his suspicions. “It’s the gas, Colonel. The Germans used poison gas. You were right!”

Expressionless, Charles simply nodded and followed Laurent downstairs.

Waiting at the bottom of the stairs were Deyoka and Camille, who had caught wind of the situation and watched Charles with worry.

Surely they wouldn’t send Charles to the front again, Camille thought anxiously, though she didn’t dare say it out loud. Instead, she moved to intercept him, a poor excuse forming in her mind.

“Today’s your day off, Charles,” she said, weakly. “You should be resting here, at home.”

“It’s alright, Mother,” Charles reassured her. “I’m only going to Paris, nowhere else. I promise!”

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep