The dawn brought with it a threatening ambiance, as dark clouds loomed over the French landscape near the Avre River.

The rain intensified, further obscuring vision and deepening Sergeant Davis’ concern as he peered through his wooden periscope.

“It’s hard to see anything,” he muttered, shaking his head as he stepped away from the fire step.

In his mid-thirties, Davis was regarded as an elder among his peers. He found himself on the front lines, alongside countless others entrenched in the muddy landscape.

The majority of Britain’s 14th Light Division were veteran soldiers, familiar with the grim realities of combat. They were bracing themselves for renewed hostilities from the Germans, colloquially known as ‘Fritz’ by the troops, and they held no illusions that this day would differ from the previous one.

Davis' thoughts echoed the sentiments of his fellow soldiers after receiving word from Captain Cortland earlier that day. More artillery had been deployed, including numerous Vickers Machine Guns strategically positioned along the front. Additional gun crews were stationed in nearby earthworks beyond the trench.

Complementing this defensive setup were the Ordnance QF 18-pounders, powerful eighty-four-millimeter guns that provided crucial long-range support, positioned nearest to the Avre River.

Direct support arrived from the rear trenches, where the formidable BL 8-inch Howitzers were being readied. Their devastating firepower produced a brutal yet awe-inspiring symphony of high-explosive rounds that shattered enemy positions and disrupted advancing troops.

Throughout the conflict, these Howitzers had proven invaluable in thwarting large-scale assaults, often safeguarding Davis and his comrades amidst relentless enemy fire.

When Captain Cortland inquired about the artillery's readiness, it was no surprise to Davis.

“Have you checked on the artillery's status?” the pale officer with striking blue eyes asked, his concern palpable.

Davis lifted his helmet slightly and replied, “Yes, sir. The remaining guns are being positioned. They should be operational within thirty minutes.”

“Thirty minutes?” Cortland echoed, caught off guard by the delay. His grimace revealed his displeasure. Bloody artillery should be ready at a moment’s notice, he thought.

“Can’t those men move any faster?” the captain pressed.

“A few Holts are causing issues. The tractors are struggling to maneuver the Howitzers due to the muddy terrain,” Davis explained. “It’s a tougher job than anticipated.”

“Did they mention that?” Cortland raised an eyebrow, visibly agitated.

Davis could sense the captain's tension but remained understanding. “They didn’t elaborate beyond that.”

Checking his watch, Cortland sighed. “Right, let’s have the men ready at their posts.”

“Yes, sir,” Davis affirmed.

“Sergeant,” the captain called out just as Davis began to turn away, “Make sure everyone has their gas masks ready, too.”

Cortland wanted to ensure their preparedness. Given the morning intelligence reports, he believed it prudent to anticipate the worst. However, it was a difficult message for Davis to accept.

As the booming noise of artillery echoed overhead, a private shouted, breaking the morning's relative calm.

“Sir, incoming!”

Both Davis and Cortland looked up simultaneously to witness a series of rounds racing overhead, leaving trails of orange light in their wake. The shells landed, but not in the expected locations.

“They’re targeting the artillery!” Cortland shouted.

Panic erupted, and chaos ensued as more shells fell, landing a few hundred yards short of the front line. Sergeant Davis instinctively rushed back to the fire step for a clearer view.

Thick clouds of smoke began billowing from the explosions.

“Masks! Get your masks on immediately!” Davis yelled, covering his own face.

His nearest men hurried to comply, while others further down the trench were slower to react. Captain Cortland fumbled to secure his mask before the gas infiltrated their position.

The German artillery c