"In no man's land, I found four poor wretches with smashed legs. For two days they had been laying there wasting away, wracked with fever. They lay a few meters from each other, talking back and forth, keeping each others morale up, all hoping to be brought back to safety. They begged me to arrange transport for them and I solemnly promised to send the stretcher bearers to come pick them up. I did not have the heart to tell them that the stretcher bearers were 20 meters away, dead.
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Back at the station, an artilleryman is brought in, he is in terrible condition. His wounds are horrible, he has bled a lot, his face is like white marble. Both his legs are smashed, attached with just a few strands of meat and sinew. The splintered bones stick in all directions, the wound is full of strands of flesh along with remains of his trousers and underwear. Carefully we try and bandage the wounds. This means moving the leg, causing a fountain of blood to shoot out, soaking the doctor. The poor man lets out a low moan and dies. New screaming at the entrance, this time a wounded man with a chest full of bullet holes.
The bloody bandages are dropped on the floor, we have no time to dispose of them. They form a carpet which is ankle high.
Big black patches on the ground mark the places where the stretchers stand before the wounded are carried into the surgery. Leaning against the wall are the empty stretchers, their canvas covers are stained black with crusts of blood.
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The bearers stand around with haggard faces, tortured looks, as if sentenced to death.
Behind the barn the sight is terrible. Wounded who had died on the way or during bandaging have been pushed aside to make way for those who are still living.
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There they lay, piled up one upon each other, open torsos, missing limbs, it is terrible to see. The faces carry grimaces of anger, pain or desperation and the bodies lay in grotesque positions." – Capt
Albert Garnier, French 52nd Inf. Div., Verdun, France, May 22, 1916. #ww1 #reality #zerofoxtrot #stayzero