Energy books

A heavy, whitish cloud came out of the cylinders and
traveled aboveground as it was lifted and carried forward by the
breeze.
"How's the gas working?" asked a Scottish officer.
"Going fine!" said an English officer. But he looked anxious, and
wetted a finger and held it up, to get the direction of the wind.
Some of the communication trenches were crowded with the Black Watch
of the 1st Division, hard, bronzed fellows, with the red heckle in
their bonnets. (It was before the time of steel hats.) They were
leaning up against the walls of the trenches, waiting. They were
strung round with spades, bombs, and sacks.
"A queer kind o' stink!" said one of them, sniffing.
Some of the men began coughing. Others were rubbing their eyes, as
though they smarted.
The poison-gas. . . The wind had carried it half way across No Man's
Land, then a swirl changed its course, and flicked it down a gully,
and swept it right round to the Black Watch in the narrow trenches.
Some German shell-fire was coming, too.


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