All Quiet on the Western Front

by Erich Maria Remarque

There, I get a smack in the face, a hand clamps onto my shoulder--has the dead man waked up?--The hand shakes me, I turn my head, in the second of light I stare into the face of Katczinsky, he has his mouth wide open and is yelling. I hear nothing, he rattles me, comes nearer, in a momentary lull his voice reaches me: “Gas--Gaas--Gaaas--Pass it on.” I grab for my gas-mask. Some distance from me there lies someone. I think of nothing but this: That fellow there must know: Gaaas--Gaaas-- I call, I lean toward him, I swipe at him with the satchel, he doesn’t see--once again, again--he merely ducks--it’s a recruit--I look at Kat desperately, he has his mask on--I pull out mine, too, my helmet falls to one side, it slips over my face, I reach the man, his satchel is on the side nearest me, I seize the mask, pull it over his head, he understands, I let go and with a jump drop into the shell-hole.