The Last Lady from Hell by Richard G Morley

saying that had become commonplace in the trenches with the advent of gas.
    Alan continued to sniff despite the lack of wind. Gas artillery shells remain a danger so he had to keep his guard up. His hand instinctively reached to his side and he touched the gas mask that hung there. Infantrymen found that a wet rag held tightly to the face would cancel most of the lethal effects of chlorine gas, but runners were given the scarce masks because of the importance of their job. Even though the wearer of these masks looked somewhat like an anteater, the comical appearance was a small price to pay to for protection against the gas.
    Alan stopped again to recheck his directions and kick some of the mud off of his boots. His pause was interrupted by a series of bombardments hitting some fifty yards away. A shower of mud anddebris rained down around him as he ducked instinctively and protected himself.
    A helmet clunked down into the trench next to him and rolled several feet before it came to rest in the muck. Alan hoped it had not been worn by a fellow B.E.F. or C.E.F. infantryman just moments before. He waited another few moments collecting his thoughts and his composure before continuing his journey to Bunker 153.
    Most bunkers were underground rooms dug below trench level and covered with corrugated metal roofs and sandbags. They could withstand a fairly good pounding, but a direct hit from large howitzer shell would more than likely be a disaster.
    The bunkers did provide a welcome shelter and were often crowded with men looking for any relief from the trench. There were many bunkers placed throughout the trench system and they would regularly be filled in and dug again to lessen the possibility of the enemy attacking a known position.
    Alan popped out from the small communications trench into a main trench. The floor was covered with duck boards. The duck boards were a welcome sight after the schlep down the muddy communications trench, so he stamped his feet to loosen the caked mud from his boots.
    His feet were soaked and he had been well warned of the danger of trench foot, so he always carried three pair of socks stuffed into his tunic. It was a pointless exercise in as much as he was putting a dry sock into a thoroughly soaked leather boot, but it was a momentary reprieve and headquarters believed it reduced the incidence of trench foot.
    Alan turned left and noticed a shell casing hanging from a stick protruding from the trench wall. A mallet was tethered to the shell. This was one of the innovations someone had come up with to warn of a gas attack. The brass casing made a fine bell sound when hit and carried well over the vegetation free terrain. There were also an abundance of empty casings so they were perfect for the job.
    As Alan continued around the corner of the larger trench he encountered two soldiers sitting in a funk-hole. A funk-hole was a type of dugout in the sidewall of the trench. It was up and out of the mud and provided a place to sleep, rest or just dry out for a while.
    Both men seemed to be resting with their feet toward each other and their backs against the walls. They were too still. Alan had seen this before. He knew they were both dead and he knew that gas was not the cause. The faces of the gas victims were contorted and their lips were purple and bloated and covered with bloody froth. No, these men had been killed by the concussion of a nearby artillery explosion. Sometimes when a shell exploded and you were below ground level, the explosion was so powerful that its concussion could crush ones internal organs and brain leaving no outward sign of injury. Such was the fate of these young men. Alan made a mental note of their location and would pass on the information to the stretcher bearers upon his return.
    According to his directions, Bunker 153 was just around the next bend which was closer than he had estimated and he came upon the bunker unexpectedly. A sentry was momentarily startled by