Page:War's dark frame (IA warsdarkframe00camp).pdf/214

180 us. For a time the sergeant hurried them through conventional evolutions. Then a new manual, born of this war, followed. The sergeant snarled out the commands as if he hated them, as if the words had to overcome a revolt in his throat.

Put on!—gas—masks!”

The men sprang into clumsy attitudes. They rested their rifles in the crooks of their left arms. They tore open the bags at their right hips. They snatched off their caps and drew the masks over their heads, buttoning the ends into their collars. With a straggling haste they took up their rifles and returned to attention.

One's first impulse was to laugh. The brown faces were featureless save for round, staring goggles. They retained no individuality, no human semblance. These hideous figures might have been visitors from a far planet, or monstrosities escaped from this earth, too violently disturbed. As they walked through squad formations the voices of the file leaders were choked and tongue-tied.

“Halt! Take off—masks!”

The last word had the quality of a shriek, angry and threatening. You glanced at your own mask, responding to the sullen temper with which it had always filled you.

“They're quick," the instructor boasted.