Max took a deep breath and exhaled. He rubbed his temples, and then placed a hand on Nia, who was sitting beside him.
“So, tell me, Max,” Bruno said. “Was it British or French gas that blinded you?”
Max turned toward him. “Neither.”
Bruno furrowed his brow. “Canadian?”
“German.”
Bruno’s mouth turned dry. “How?”
“I was in a front-line trench,” Max said calmly, as if he’d rehearsed the story many times in his head. “My unit was informed that the German artillery was going to conduct a forty-eight-hour bombardment. While the men in my unit hunkered in a dugout, I’d decided to walk the trench for a little fresh air before the attack began.”
Bruno gripped his chair.
“I was on my way back to my dugout when the bombardment commenced, and the French retaliated with their own shellfire before I could get underground.” Max raised his head toward the ceiling, like he was searching through his memories. “In the weeks prior to the bombardment, a special unit installed several thousand metal cylinders along the trench line. They were buried—except for their tops—into the base of the trench. Rubber hoses, attached to cylinder valves, ran up and over the trench to face the enemy lines.”
Oh, God.Bruno’s breath stalled in his lungs.
“We were never told what the cylinders were for,” Max said. “One my friends, Jakob, had jested that the containers contained medicine to kill lice. But we found out what was inside them when a French artillery shell exploded near our dugout, piercing one of the cylinders.” Max ran a hand through his hair. “My friends attempted to escape from the dugout, but they were swallowed in a green-yellow vapor. They flailed on the ground with froth spewing from their mouths until they were asphyxiated. I was the only survivor in my unit; I escaped—with scorched lungs and burned corneas—by clawing my way out of the trench.”
“I’m sorry,” Bruno said.
“Danke.”
Bruno’s chest ached. “When did it happen?”
“Spring of 1915,” Max said. “The twentieth day of April to be precise.”
Fear flooded Bruno’s veins.
“It appears that you and I were in Ypres at the same time,” Max said.
“It seems so,” Bruno said.
“Pioneer Regiment Thirty-six, right?”
“Ja.”
“What did your regiment do in Ypres?”
Bruno’s stomach turned nauseous. “We constructed bunkers.”
Max nodded.
Nia stood and placed her head on Max’s lap.
Bruno’s hands trembled.
Max stared toward him. “Have you ever heard of something called the Disinfection Unit?”
Bruno’s blood turned cold. “Nein. What is it?”
“The name given to the unit that installed the gas cylinders. I was curious if you’d known about them.”
“Never heard of them.” Bruno, desperate to end the conversation, stood from his chair. “I’m going to check on Anna and Norbie in the kitchen.”
“Sure,” Max said.
