It smells like death.
There are bodies rotting in the trenches and his men ignore them as best they can, have to if they want to work through the smell and the sight of decomposing flesh.
The bodies have been stripped of munition and their supplies and given to his other men, but death seems to follow closely— bullets, bombs and gas catching each man quicker than the last.
Arthur is no stranger to death, but its swiftness is something he isn't used to. He's never seen this man-made death work its way over so many men and for the first time in a long while, he'd say he was a little frightened by his old friend.
The rotting smell is strongest near him, and he is sure those thousands of his dead men will linger over him long past than the war's end, but he knows his dead will linger over his enemy far longer.
"You alright, Captain?" It's a boy too young to be here, sallow face, sunken eyes and a wound that won't heal until he's dead.
And Arthur has tried to heal his own—shot himself and woke up with a scar on his temple and the same memories he wanted rid of, but death was the prize of his men and something he would always chase after in envy.
"Captain?"
"I'm alright, boy."
He isn't, though. His right foot is numb and he knows what that means, but his men deserve medical attention before him, so he leaves the rot to set in.
"With all due respect, sir, you smell awful."
Arthur has two cigarettes left and hands one to the boy. The smoke masks the smell, if only for a few moments.
"Gangrene," he says simply. He scratches his temple and feels the pucker of scarred flesh.
The boys nods in return. "Think you should cut it off before it gets too far, sir."
..
Underneath his boot, the skin is blotched with red, from the rot and from blood.
The boy gags, whether from the sight or the overwhelming smell and Arthur dismisses him to get a doctor.
..
It's amputated a few inches below his knee and it's an awful sight, red wrinkled scars and large stitches. The bandages dirty quickly, but they don't have the supplies to re-wrap the wound each time blood seeps through.
Arthur wonders if it will become infected again, and for his men's sake, hopes it doesn't.
He's relied on them quite enough.