Harry trudged wearily away from the front. He had been there for a total of one month and he was ready to die.

Over ten thousand deaths had occurred out on the field and many people were still unaccounted for.
People who hadn't joined the war would demand that their brothers, sisters, uncles, cousins, fathers, mothers, aunts and friends be identified if they were reported missing in action.

They never did find even an eighth of the bodies that were meant to be found.

In the dead of the night when the valley was dark and all except the large spotlight on the death eater hill was off. Soldiers would climb out of the trenches and look for anything that could be used for identification.
Even a spatter of blood was put in a plastic bag just anything that could be recognised and tested for identity. The soldier's identities had become their most valuable possession in war, so if they died at least somebody would know and care that they died.


Harry and his troops were immune to all noise. Coughing like hags and dragging their feet in ankle deep sludge they didn't hear the shell go off.
Somebody smelt it and started warning the others in a panicked voice.

"Gas! Gas! Quick!" a woman yelled before she slammed on her gas mask.

The death eaters quickly realised they needed more of an advantage. They used poisonous gas. They stored them in metal shells and aimed them at anywhere near the trenches and fired. Two sniffs you would live, three sniffs then your dead.

Harry jammed the rubber into his mouth and clipped the nose clip.

"Steady, just put your gas masks on" Harry said trying to steady his breathing.
A few of the soldiers were floundering and raving madly.
He wanted to tear his mask off and help them. He wanted to save their lives.
Watching helplessly he saw them one by one fall to the ground, gagging and coughing up blood, the whites of their eyes showing and their hands shaking.

One lunged at Harry clawing at his throat. Harry gently held onto the other soldier's hands while tears slid down his cheeks.
There was no glory in dying like this.

Harry ordered five of his troop to load the dead bodies onto the wagon that had held their artillery.
The thick green haze of the poisonous gas surrounded them. Looking through the green goggles on the gas masks weren't helping either. They were blind.


The dead corpses of the deceased soldiers looked grossly deformed. There were first-degree burns from the gas on their skin. Wide open mouths, showing crumbled airways and the horrible whites of their eyes showing.

They walked in the green haze for an eternity, dragging the weapons they unloaded and the wagon full of dead bodies.

Eight out of the forty soldiers in the troop had been gassed. That was a fifth of the battalion. They were losing too many people every gas attack.

Careful not to remove their masks, they reached the Medical Cross. They received a strong dosage of ammonium and went to bed just shuffling their sheets trying to clear their minds of the image of death.