Hello everyone, it's been roughly a year since I've posted. I've been working on this chapter for a while but rushed to finish it for Remembrance Day. I've always been fascinated by the battle of Ypres so this chapter explores that battle and its devastating effect. Note: when writing about Germany it is from the perspective of the soldier and does not reflect the views of the author. Read on.
X
It was warm for April, though Matthew supposed that was in contrast to his country's somewhat (that was putting it mildly) harsher weather conditions. France was just shaking off the dredges of winter and he could feel it in the sweat beading the back of his neck under his somewhat new uniform. Matt had only been on Francis' lands for a month and a little while but already he was beyond weary of the battlefield; the constant barrage of artillery, the endless mud, not to mention the scale of death. Something Matthew had never seen before; this wasn't the war of 1812.
When his soldiers had set out, the boats lining the harbour, it had been with ideas of glory, a quick spat over before Christmas. Matthew had felt their euphoria at the news of war somewhere by his heart, an emotion that fluttered and beat like the war drums crowding the streets.
The nation shifted in the trenches, glancing at the water seeped soil, at the soldiers milling about the barracks in a sort of endless spiral of boredom. Waiting for the next attack under the harsh light of the overhead sun.
Matthew regardless of his people's beliefs had known the war would be more than an honour mission to fight for a bit and gain a touch of glory. It wasn't another spat between England and France, or the recent war between Russia and Japan.
It was a war that encompassed more of the world over than anything Matthew had seen before and it scared him. The thought of the war sweeping across nations, taking lives and bringing with it a wave of destruction. Matthew wasn't ashamed to admit to such fear.
Not with the massive technological developments sweeping the fields, or rather bombarding the fields, and the early retirement of cavalry attacks. Bombs, machine guns, trenches, aerial and nautical warfare, the invasion of Belgium all of it compiling together to form one terrible picture, Matt didn't mind being in the fields, he didn't mind serving or as he preferred to think of it aiding Arthur (even if there had been no choice in the matter. The moment the Empire was at war so was Canada). What did hurt, was the sight of the young boys in the trenches and upon the battlefield accompanied by the thought of what was coming to his people.
He could easily understand Alfie's mutterings about the European nations and their penchant for war. The Northern country could also understand why his southern half had refrained from entering the war. It had still warmed him something fierce when Al had appeared at the docks, knowing his President wouldn't be happy but the blond was there regardless.
They had embraced a farewell of unspoken words as Alfred pushed a small lighter into Matthew's hands uncharacteristically serious as he lectured his brother on returning the keepsake. Matthew only hoped his brother could avoid the war entirely.
"Matthieu, mon Cher are you alright?"
A familiar voice that was like cut silver pulled Matthew from his drifting thoughts. Idly coming back to his senses Matt took a drag from the mostly dead cigarette and looked up catching a halo of familiar golden curls that reminded Matt of Peyton's fields stretching out for miles on end; God he missed his home already.
"Oui Papa I'm fine."
Matt replied after a moment where he could almost feel his father figure's concern at the silence or relative silence. Francis nodded his head and nicked Matthew's cigarette with a playful wink, smoking the cigarette with an inherent grace and poise that Matthew had always admired greatly as a child.
"There's word that the Germans are planning something."
Francis stated, his eyes flickering momentarily to the North line where the troops from Algeria were stationed, inexperienced in the typical European spring and unprepared for battle but willing to fight. The northern nation had met Algeria a few times, the nation was old with lines of experience around his eyes but a kind smile.
They were both stationed in Ypres, a border town that held access to the ports which were vital for France and England to ship in support and supplies.
Matthew hummed in acknowledgement his own eyes flicking to the troops around him before returning to the man who had practically raised him. The older nation crooked a smile at Matthew one that didn't reach his eyes before the blond stepped forward and placed a chaste kiss on Matt's forehead, ignoring sweat-stroked strands and the dirt of the trenches.
Canada quietly gestured with his fingers from his lips and France's blue eyes crinkled fondly before the man sighed and with a final wink turned away from the younger nation and continued through the trenches. Matthew watched France walk away as he pulled out a new cigarette and flipped his lighter, wondering idly if Quebec would join the war with the disdain of it the province held.
The young personification shook his head with a soft chuckle and looked at the same trench wall he had been staring at all night.
X
The morning stillness hung over the battlefield accompanied by a tenseness that Matt could feel in the dampness of his bones as he stood still and alert. Howard stood across from him, dirty blond hair glinting pale in the faint sunlight as the province smoked a cigarette with something close to nerves.
Matt shifted on his feet and tightened his grasp on the gun beside him as they waited. The first round of artillery was always jarring, crashing into being as if right beside you as the shells sunk into the muddy earth and sent dirt and debris flying.
Howard flinched and Matthew flashed the province a reassuring smile even as his eyes searched the barracks, wondering if a runner would appear carrying their orders. They were crazy brave those that ran messages, and Matt knew Nova Scotia had taken up the job due to their smaller stature and light build.
The shells continued to collide with the earth in loud crashes and bangs, deafening and striking never knowing where or when they would arrive. Then they stopped and a silence hung over the battlefield, Matt placed his helmet on his head (his fair hair was practically a beacon) flashed a ghost of a smile at his province and climbed to the outer edge of the trench, peering over with careful eyes. No Man's Land stretched out for a few kilometres filled with barbed wire and craters thick with mud and debris. It was a desolate view one that held no life in its grasp and tolerated little of the same.
Creeping across the barren pock-marked stretch of land was a thin cloud, blowing with the wind, it was a pale green or yellow in colour and seemed to move slowly. Matthew furrowed a brow at the strange sight, biting his lip as he considered the strange cloud, something about it tugging at his chest. The nation wondered what the bastard Huns had planned.
Slipping down from the upper wall the nation turned towards Howard who was staring at Matt with something dark as he smoked the cigarette before he passed it to Matthew and asked, "How's it look?"
"The usual shite, but there was a green fog of some sort drifting towards the north trench line."
Matthew responded earning a grimace from the province at the mention of the strange smoke, that or the Germans. Releasing a sigh Canada settled against the wall and shifted the damp cloth sticking to his neck as he pulled out a cigarette. There was nothing to do but wait, they couldn't move till the orders from the High Command were given.
Howard after a minute pulled out a deck of playing cards and began to shuffle them with a grace and speed that Canada knew the man had picked up from his meetings with the Prime Minister, Robert Borden. The quick flick of cards shuffling back and forth helped to fill the silence for only a little while before Matt couldn't help but glance towards the north where Algeria's troops were located, couldn't help the way his foot tapped an unsteady rhythm as he puffed on his cigarette.
Ontario was the same, tugging at his uniform and shifting every few seconds even as he continued to win at the card game with an ease that should have frightened Matthew but only made him proud.
The other soldiers also remained alert as the silence continued, someone coughing in the distance reaching their ears as the men glanced towards the battlefield and towards the communication trenches with thin lips.
The runner appeared from the rear, one of the entrances that were linked to the line of communication and support trenches behind the front line. The soldier was slightly out of breath a pink flush on pale cheeks visible beneath the brim of the man's helmet. The soldier paused searching out the soldiers for rank before landing on Matthew who had the visible insignia of a lieutenant stitched to his uniform. The man with hair like the orange blossoms of spring darted forward and saluted quickly standing patiently for all the urgency spread in every inch of his being.
Matthew saluted in return and nodded for the runner to deliver the report. The man took a gasping breath and relayed, "General Alderson has ordered your company to move to the north trench line to cover the retreat of the Algerians. Poison gas has been suspected in the retreat and has caused multiple injuries. The order has been spread that the gas can be halted by pissing on a cloth and keeping it to your face."
The young nation grimaced at the information and orders the runner had delivered. Poison gas, the thought of it made Matt frown, it went against the very nature of the Hague Convention. But of course, what could one expect from the honourless Germans.
With a salute, the runner nodded and sprinted down the zig-zag path of the trenches carrying his message to the others. Howard stepped up beside Matthew a white-knuckled grip around his gun as Matthew turned his attention to the soldiers around him.
"Gather into your squads and prepare to move out. We're defending the north trench from the Germans who have used poison gas. Spread the word to piss on a cloth and be ready in ten minutes."
The soldiers nodded or saluted depending on the man and darted into action gathering helmets and waterlogged boots, tugging out pieces of cloth or handkerchiefs. Howard handed Matthew his helmet the dull metal reflecting the light as he tugged it over his hair and snapped it into place.
The province stood beside Matt for a moment staring down the row of trenches with clear eyes that seemed to reflect the youth the province held for all of his experience. Matthew bumped his shoulder gently against the younger personification's shoulder and cracked a half-smile.
A half hour later their company was moving through the trenches towards the area the Algerian troops had been defending. As they drew closer a queer smell filled the air one that reminded Matt vaguely of the fruit Al was always so proud of that his country grew. Beyond the strange scent, the sound of their fellow soldiers suffering soon became apparent, coughs and the moans of the dying.
The trenches were filled with a fog that was slowly thinning with the winds but sunk into every crevice in a pale green hue nonetheless. The soldiers quickly moved forward some holding cloths against their mouths as they all moved into position, the medics checking the bodies lying still with death before moving them against the walls. Other medics ran forward loading the injured onto stretchers as their pained coughs echoed through the damp air. Even with the cloths over their mouths, Matt could taste the gas burning his tongue, itching through his skin, burning his eyes. He could feel the gas seeping into the lungs of his men as they moved forward to guard the trench line spread too thin.
Silence, thick and poignant as the gas, broken pitifully by the sounds of dying men. It was a tenseness that was stretched between the two opposing forces. Howard sidled beside Matthew, peered over the barbed wire as he coughed weakly into a cloth, crimson staining the pale grey. It was burning in both of them, in their soldiers, killing then and sinking into the trench, lingering. They waited for the Germans to take advantage of their weapon. The trench line had been broken for nearly half an hour before his troops had arrived. But the Germans had hidden in their trenches. And now they waited.
Howard coughed again and Matt spared the province a concerned glance through blurry vision. He was pale, his eyes red, blood staining his lips as his breath wheezed through his lungs. Matt cursed quietly and guided the personification down the trench wall and onto the packed muddy floor. All around Matthew, his men were dying and it was quiet. There were no artillery shells splitting the air, no guns ringing out. Just the sound of pain.
"Matt."
Howard called weakly his voice hoarse. Matthew pulled his gaze away from the bodies curled into themselves, the bandages stained crimson, and the silence. Howard was cold in his arms and something in Matt beside the burning in his heart and the blurriness of his vision ached. He knew Howard wouldn't truly die, that was the curse of who they were.
But death was far too real when held in one's own arms. Matt gently trailed his fingers over Howard's features and hummed a lullaby amidst the blood in his lungs, waiting for the artillery to sound. He wondered if being a colony was similar to being a presence. Did England feel it every time one of them collapsed on the battlefield, choking on their own blood?
Howard stilled in Matthew's arms, he could feel it the moment the province stopped breathing. It was a sensation akin to falling through thin ice (it had happened once and never again). The young nation blinked away the tears and his ragged breath as he settled the body on the ground. Howard would wake soon, but in the meantime, the artillery was starting.
A deafening boom shattered the air and Matt grabbed his gun, adjusted the cloth tied around his head and vaulted up the trench line. They were coming across No Man's Land, the green gas curling around their feet in the pale sunlight. Matt aimed and opened fire.
X
"Matthew you can't! You can barely see, hell you can barely walk and Ontario is still in the med bay."
"The Germans won't be able to see either. Dammit, I'm going to fight beside my soldiers Francis! Besides your forces are supposed to be part of the reinforcements."
In the shadows of the command tent, France leaned back and stared at him. Stared at the burning determination that was spoken about in whispers by nations familiar with Canada and sighed. The young nation he remembered was grown, forged in a crucible of fire.
"It's tantamount to a suicide mission. There's no reconnaissance, it's dark, and there's no heavy artillery."
The older nation argued and Matthew frowned and shook his head. Scrubbing a hand over his features and the ache in his eyes Canada reasoned, "The Huns won't expect this, we'll be able to reclaim the old farm. Besides if I die, I come back, they don't."
Wasn't that the crux of the matter, the reason they didn't want nations fighting their own war. Francis shifted as if preparing to argue once more.
"Hey, Lieutenant Matt are you coming?"
A voice called out in the humming fragrant darkness of France's night. Matthew placed a hand on his father's shoulder and let the silence speak before he turned away. The sound of his boots echoed in the night as Matthew ran to catch up with his men. France stared for a long time after the retreating form of the young nation.
X
They waited in the silence, the trees crept up all around them disturbing the stillness with a gust of wind and whispers. The 16th was just arriving, creeping over the dense forest ground, falling into formation as the Generals conversed with each other in the rear. Hughes had given the order a scant fifteen minutes before to organize into four lines 30 yards apart. It made Matt strangely nostalgic, recalling the rain pouring over his features soaking into the red of his military uniform.
It was a mess, that much Matthew could observe from what he knew of military tactics. He knew Francis had been right, but in the end, he would fight with his men regardless of what the Higher Command ordered or decided were intelligent military tactics.
No artillery, no reconnaissance, and a game of Broken Telephone. The 10th and the 16th hadn't communicated on the attack. There was nothing on communication from the remnants of the Algerian forces on reinforcement.
The men shifting around him weren't aware. There was Ryan Smith glancing at a photo of his gal back home, a model he liked to boast when he wasn't missing her. There was Bill Johnson staring up at the trees and searching for a hint of wildlife long fled amidst the guns and heavy artillery. So many of them who wouldn't see the dawn, or the soil of their home again.
The command rippled through the line, Matthew in the second wave straightened and tugged at the collar of his uniform, it always felt too damp. Rising from the chilled packed earth they moved forward, the shuffle of foliage beneath their feet and occasionally the snap of a branch seemed earth-shatteringly loud as if echoes of the earlier battle. They moved forward until they encountered the hedge of wire.
The company pushed forward snapping the barbed wire and immediately a hail of bullets split the night whole and swallowed its silence. Matt dropped to the ground with the others before the company sprinted forward charging towards the German defence line. The Huns out of the darkness came to meet them.
They clashed like the tide breaking upon the cliffs in British Columbia in a haze of darkness that felt like a night terror. Bursts of gunpowder and artillery lit up the night like fireflies and the troops shoved forward.
It was brutal and wild as Matt fought, at some point he had lost his gun. Whether it had been torn from his hands or lost in an explosion he didn't know. There was a bullet in his thigh, though the pain had long since numbed to a dull burning that was overwhelmed by the burn behind his heart and the feeling of lives drifting from his fingertips like sand. It was always worse when Matt was standing amidst the death.
A flare went up, bright and crimson casting everything in harsh lighting. Matt stumbled and dropped to the ground as others fell around him. Bullets and artillery roared overhead crying out in the night as Matt's bones shuddered beneath his skin.
A German soldier loomed in front of him, his hat cast his features in shadows so that he felt inhuman; perhaps he was. Matt shoved his elbow into the soldier's jaw and slammed his fist into the man's stomach. The soldier wheezed and dropped to his knees, his fingers slack on the barrel of his gun. Matt stared at the soldier for a moment, the High Command had delivered the orders to treat their prisoners nicely in some attempt of following the Hague Convention.
Matt jammed the butt of the man's own gun into the back of his head. The soldier collapsed and Matt studied the gun for a moment before he turned and continued moving forward. All around him in the half-light of the early twilight hours Matt could make out the shape of bodies on the ground.
Oblong Farm, that's the name Henry Williamson gave him when asked, was captured sometimes before the dawn, they flooded forward chasing the Germans out as the woods heaved around them barren and skeletal. Matt crouched against a brick wall, letting it support him as he gasped for breath blood staining his fingers and filling his senses with the taste of copper.
The dawn broke through the skyline in hues of pale gold and cerulean. It was utterly beautiful and for a moment Matthew forgot about the war, about the suffering, the death.
The order rippled through the soldiers they were retreating to the southern position. Matt wanted to be angry that they were retreating but he could feel the weight of the lives lost tonight heavy on his chest like broken ribs.
Matt tipped his head back for a moment and let the weight of those alive pulse through his senses. Shouldering to his feet Matt offered a hand to Scott, young, too young, with a brother who didn't make it through the night. For now, only the horror of war darkens his eyes, the loss of it hasn't come home.
The light of the sun began to scatter through the trees, they need to move quickly. Matt tucked the stolen gun over his shoulder and with a nod to the soldiers, their eyes as wide as his own, they move forward.
X
Matt breathed through the mud, the gas, the blood as they defend the Salient. The Germans were focusing their attention on the Canadian line. Artillery fired and shattered the air ringing through his skull. They wouldn't give in, that wasn't who Canada was.
A shell landed. Matthew breathed and rose to his feet and picked up his gun. They kept fighting.
X
Thank you all for reading. It's important to remember that this year (2018) is the centennial of the Armistice of the First World War. There were over 1 million casualties in World War 1 and over 6 million in World War 2. Below is the information about the battles depicted in this chapter. Lest We Forget.
The Battle of Ypres
This battle occurred on April 22 in 1915. It was one of the first major attacks on the Western Front as previously the Central Powers had focused on Russia. The Canadians, British, French-Algerians were some of the main combatants in the battle. It is famous for the use of Chlorine gas, which is incorrectly reported to be the first use of gas in the First World War. However, this is incorrect gas warfare was used before World War 1 in colonial battles. And France used tear gas in the start of World War 1. Moreover, the Germans first attempted to use chlorine gas in the war in Russia. However, in sub-zero temperatures (such as those found in Russia) chlorine gas freezes rendering it ineffective. This is the reason why when the gas was first used in the battle it was so powerful. No one expected its deadly effect, the Germans or the Allies. Chlorine gas is an incredibly effective weapon when used correctly, it burns soft tissues such as the eyes, mouth, and lungs (it was also rumoured to have a fruity smell). At that point in the war gas masks had not yet been invented.
The attack occurred at 5pm, the gas was released in the direction of the French-Algerian trench line. The Upper Command thought the greenish/yellow gas was a smokescreen for an attack by the Germans. This is why the soldiers were unprepared for the attack. The gas was heavier than oxygen and settled in the trenches leaving a large gap in the trench line as the soldiers fled. It was the Canadians who reinforced the line preventing the Germans from taking it. Which would have been a devastating defeat for the Allies. The town of Ypres was a major port for the Allies.
The Germans were shocked by the effectiveness of the chlorine gas on the allied forces. This prevents the German forces from mobilizing quickly and allows the Canadian forces to fill the gap in the trench line.
The Canadian forces under General Alderson shifted to cover the gap, using cloths had been urinated on to defend against the gas (Ammonia which a property of urine neutralizes chlorine). It is thought that Capt. Francis Scrimger of the 2nd Canadian Field Ambulance may have passed the order to use urine.
The Battle of Kitchener Woods
That night the 10th Battalion was assembled and ready to go at 11pm. The assault was meant to retake lost ground. The 10th and 16th Battlion both had over 800 men that were ordered into 4 lines, which would allow 4 waves of attack.
At 11:45 the troops moved through the forest in silence. However the troops stumbled onto a line of barbed wire, the soldiers broke through the wire and attracted German artillery. The two battalions surged toward the German position.
As the battalions crashed into the wood, having lost many senior officers in the charge, soldiers of both battalions thoroughly intermingled, and fell on the Germans with rifles, bayonets, and even rifle butts and bare hands. Algerian troops accompanying the Canadians led the attack towards the right, towards their former positions. The Germans began to surrender, but many were still shooting, and there were relatively few attackers and as a consequence, according to the battalion's second in command "very few prisoners were taken and many lives were lost by the enemy forces." The Canadians had hit the boundary of two regiments, the 2nd Prussian Guards and the 234th Bavarian Infantry, and taken one of their colonels prisoner.
By midnight, it was over, fifteen minutes after it had begun. A German prisoner paid the 10th the ultimate compliment, acknowledging to his guard "You fellows fight like hell" as he was marched to the rear. Inside the wood, the 4.7-inch guns of the 2nd London Heavy Battery were found - with the bodies of some of their crew lying intermingled with German bodies - lying abandoned after a ferocious fight.
The battalions reorganized, but the fighting was only beginning. A German redoubt in the southwest corner of the wood was still holding out. Further attacks on the German hold-outs were brushed off by machine-gun and small-arms fire.
By 2:30a.m., Lieutenant-Colonel Leckie of the 16th Battalion realized that there were too few men on the ground to hold the wood, and he ordered a withdrawal to a trench on the south edge. During a roll call in the morning, of the 816 that had set out the previous night, only 193 were left on their feet. The 16th Battalion was down to 268 all ranks.
The Battle of St. Julien (mentioned briefly)
The fierce battle of St. Julien lay ahead. On April 24, the Germans attacked in an attempt to obliterate the Salient once and for all. Another violent bombardment was followed by another gas attack in the same pattern as before. This time the target was the Canadian line. Here, through terrible fighting, withered with shrapnel and machine-gun fire, hampered by their issued Ross rifles which jammed, violently sick and gasping for air through soaked and muddy handkerchiefs, they held on until reinforcements arrived.
Thus, in their first major appearance on a European battlefield, the Canadians established a reputation as a formidable fighting force. Congratulatory messages were cabled to the Canadian Prime Minister. But the cost was high. In these 48 hours, 6,035 Canadians, one man in every three, became casualties of whom more than 2,000 died.