The enemy is surprised. Both of us are hampered by gas masks. My bayonet slices up, straps snap, and his mask falls away.
His eyes widen into owl eyes, pupils dilating from the poison. Snot and blood pour from his mouth and nose. He clutches his chest and gasps to a stop. His bowels release, staining his trousers as he dies.
I breathe in through my mask’s charcoal filters. I smell nothing.
I raise my rifle and shoot a stranger twenty feet away.