By the spring of 1915, The Great War had already scattered the shredded, rotting flesh of men and boys across the once lush Belgian fields of Ypres. Bloated corpses bobbed in the greasy waters of shell craters. Bullets cut through the air in angry swarms as they hunted men down. Deafening mortar shells burst unceasingly around the soldiers. Those that didn’t evaporate in a direct hit were cut to pieces in the blast. This daily chorus of bullets and explosions was joined by the terrified screams of the wounded. In the fortified trenches on both sides of this carnage, muddy soldiers huddled together in filth while rats and flies ate the remains of comrades they’d buried below them. Each breath was of sickly sweet decay and human shit. They fought and died in a hell no previous generation could have envisioned.
The Tragedy of Fritz Haber: The Monster Who Fed The World
Paul Barach

Holy Mother of Pearl!

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