Here is a bit of the "opera" version of the Mattoon story that I worked on for many years.
In trying to find a solution to where the Gas came from, I created a backstory for The gas, in the form of Flashback to France.
Narrator: A French farmhouse, forty miles
from the beaches of Normandy,
a lone German soldier sits.
He contemplates the war and his part in it,
from his vantage point amid stacks and stacks
of Gas bombs.
German: Halt! Who goes there?
Halt! Or I'll shoot!
Who goes there or I'll shoot!
My English is not so bad.
Two days of drilling.
Friend or foe? Halt!
What is the password!
Halt!
Who won the nineteen-forty-two world series?
The Boston Yankees!
Halt!
I have been left for rear-guard action--
to guard some bombs.
The war is turning against Germany
since the allies landed at Normandy.
Halt! Who goes there?
I am part of the large German war machine,
and they invent engines of death every day--
like these new bombs.
What is so new about these bombs?
They can kill like a soldier,
but can they think like a soldier?
When they invent a bomb
as smart as I am, then I shall worry.
Halt!
I wish I had a cigarette.
Bombs don't smoke cigarettes,
that's another reason why soldiers
are better than bombs.
Bombs only smoke cigarettes
when they are fuses.
They smoke one little cigarette,
and then all hell breaks loose.
I could smoke a whole pack of cigarettes.
A soldier needs a cigarette.
A thousand bombs and not one cigarette.
A fighting man like me
could do more destruction
with one bomb and a thousand cigarettes.
Or just one Mauser.
I'd trade all these bombs
for one cigarette.
When the war is over,
there will be lots of cigarettes.
American cigarettes
and English cigarettes.
The others have told me of English cigarettes. Seventeen summers I spent before I smoked.
Besides the chance to
gloriously serve the Fatherland,
the army has given me
the habit of smoking.
As a boy, before I was drafted into the army, cigarettes were scarce,
and those that were available,
were reserved for the soldiers of the Reich. Smoking was a rite of manhood.
Smoking was a badge of honor.
I haven't smoked a cigarette
in over two months.
Honor, we find in short supply
inside the army.
Honor and cigarettes.
But not bombs.
Bombs we got!
Halt! Or I'll shoot!
Who goes there or I'll shoot!
My English is not so bad.
Two days of drilling.
Friend or foe? Halt!
What is the password!
Halt!
Who won the nineteen-forty-two world series?
The Boston Yankees!
Halt!
I have been left for rear-guard action--
to guard some bombs.
The war is turning against Germany
since the allies landed at Normandy.
Halt! Who goes there?
I am part of the large German war machine,
and they invent engines of death every day--
like these new bombs.
What is so new about these bombs?
They can kill like a soldier,
but can they think like a soldier?
When they invent a bomb
as smart as I am, then I shall worry.
Halt!
I wish I had a cigarette.
Bombs don't smoke cigarettes,
that's another reason why soldiers
are better than bombs.
Bombs only smoke cigarettes
when they are fuses.
They smoke one little cigarette,
and then all hell breaks loose.
I could smoke a whole pack of cigarettes.
A soldier needs a cigarette.
A thousand bombs and not one cigarette.
A fighting man like me
could do more destruction
with one bomb and a thousand cigarettes.
Or just one Mauser.
I'd trade all these bombs
for one cigarette.
When the war is over,
there will be lots of cigarettes.
American cigarettes
and English cigarettes.
The others have told me of English cigarettes. Seventeen summers I spent before I smoked.
Besides the chance to
gloriously serve the Fatherland,
the army has given me
the habit of smoking.
As a boy, before I was drafted into the army, cigarettes were scarce,
and those that were available,
were reserved for the soldiers of the Reich. Smoking was a rite of manhood.
Smoking was a badge of honor.
I haven't smoked a cigarette
in over two months.
Honor, we find in short supply
inside the army.
Honor and cigarettes.
But not bombs.
Bombs we got!
Narrator: At the sound of a jeep approaching,
the German soldier grabs his gun
and takes up a position
where he can observe
from a protected hiding spot.
Chemical warfare specialist,
SGT. BEN CHARTERS, 28,
and a FAT PRIVATE pull up
in their jeep and get out
with their gas masks and weapons.
the German soldier grabs his gun
and takes up a position
where he can observe
from a protected hiding spot.
Chemical warfare specialist,
SGT. BEN CHARTERS, 28,
and a FAT PRIVATE pull up
in their jeep and get out
with their gas masks and weapons.
Private: A real French chatty-oh.
It was a terrible struggle--
hand-to-mouth combat
through three miles of rugged vineyards.
We waded through the wine country.
Burgundy, champagne, Crackling Rose.
At times, it was so bad,
I could barely bend an elbow.
Eight months of the horrors of war,
capped off by...
The Battle of Chatty-oh ...de Neuf.
It was a terrible struggle--
hand-to-mouth combat
through three miles of rugged vineyards.
We waded through the wine country.
Burgundy, champagne, Crackling Rose.
At times, it was so bad,
I could barely bend an elbow.
Eight months of the horrors of war,
capped off by...
The Battle of Chatty-oh ...de Neuf.
Charters: And I say, "de Neuf" is enough.
Narrator: A paper notice with the word "Verboten"
in large letters is tacked to the door.
The Private pulls down the sign.
in large letters is tacked to the door.
The Private pulls down the sign.
Private: We ripped through their defenses,
and prepared for the final onslaught.
In a few short hours, the battle is over,
the wine of victory is ours.
and prepared for the final onslaught.
In a few short hours, the battle is over,
the wine of victory is ours.
Narrator: The two soldiers put on their gas masks
and walk through the open door.
and walk through the open door.
Charters: The war is turning in our favor.
The Third Army pushes the Germans from France,
and soon will reach the Rhine,
and contain the German terror.
The war will be over by Christmas.
The Germans are in full-flight.
They leave in a hurry,
and their weapons of destruction
remain unattended.
The Third Army pushes the Germans from France,
and soon will reach the Rhine,
and contain the German terror.
The war will be over by Christmas.
The Germans are in full-flight.
They leave in a hurry,
and their weapons of destruction
remain unattended.
Narrator: Charters shines his flashlight around the dark house.
Gas shells are stacked everywhere.
Charters and the fat private wind their way through
the serpentine pathways between shells.
Gas shells are stacked everywhere.
Charters and the fat private wind their way through
the serpentine pathways between shells.
Private: Hail the Conquering Hero!
What a welcome I'll get when I come back.
It'll be bring the fatted calf
and open the best bottle of scotch.
And all day long, I'll regale them
with the stories of my war-time exploits.
Who knows? I may parlay this
into some political office.
War heroes are always popular
come election day.
Look at Grant.
What a welcome I'll get when I come back.
It'll be bring the fatted calf
and open the best bottle of scotch.
And all day long, I'll regale them
with the stories of my war-time exploits.
Who knows? I may parlay this
into some political office.
War heroes are always popular
come election day.
Look at Grant.
Charters: When I go home, it's to relax.
My home town is south of Chicago,
in central Illinois, a quiet city,
you've probably never heard of.
The best thing for me,
after seeing the horrors that war brings,
will be to see the normalcy
of everyday life.
I want post-war life
to be no-war life.
My home town is south of Chicago,
in central Illinois, a quiet city,
you've probably never heard of.
The best thing for me,
after seeing the horrors that war brings,
will be to see the normalcy
of everyday life.
I want post-war life
to be no-war life.
Private: Sure, Sarge, sure. You think
I ever want to do this again?
Not me. Not ever.
In fact, after we wrap things up here,
I'm headed state-side.
My hitch is up and I'm due
to be shipped home.
I ever want to do this again?
Not me. Not ever.
In fact, after we wrap things up here,
I'm headed state-side.
My hitch is up and I'm due
to be shipped home.
Charters: It looks as if
Germany had enough gas bombs
to pummel England into submission.
There must be a thousand tons
of bombs in this chateau.
We've got to secure this place.
Why would they leave
all these bombs unguarded?
Germany had enough gas bombs
to pummel England into submission.
There must be a thousand tons
of bombs in this chateau.
We've got to secure this place.
Why would they leave
all these bombs unguarded?
Private: They was in a hurry,
on account of they heard
we was coming.
on account of they heard
we was coming.
Charters: One of these bombs is enough
to wipe out one whole division of men.
Six of these bombs
would wipe out my home town.
It is a monstrous conceit
when man plays god.
to wipe out one whole division of men.
Six of these bombs
would wipe out my home town.
It is a monstrous conceit
when man plays god.
Narrator: The two soldiers climb down the stairs to the cellar,
and on every side are stacked gas-filled artillery shells.
and on every side are stacked gas-filled artillery shells.
Charters: Oh, orderly German mind
that would stack
the instruments of death
like so much fine, rare wine.
Blue cross gas, as fine
as the finest burgundy.
PS gas, the Port Sunny chloropicrin
that closes the throat,
as deadly as a good port is smooth.
Mustard gas, a good year,
better than the Mouton.
Green cross gas, stockpiled,
laid in like a vintage Grenoble white.
In this wine-cellar of death,
there are three doors.
Behind any of these
could lurk a German with a Sten gun.
You take the first door
and I will cover you.
that would stack
the instruments of death
like so much fine, rare wine.
Blue cross gas, as fine
as the finest burgundy.
PS gas, the Port Sunny chloropicrin
that closes the throat,
as deadly as a good port is smooth.
Mustard gas, a good year,
better than the Mouton.
Green cross gas, stockpiled,
laid in like a vintage Grenoble white.
In this wine-cellar of death,
there are three doors.
Behind any of these
could lurk a German with a Sten gun.
You take the first door
and I will cover you.
Private: Nothing.
Spiders, but no rats.
Door number two,
I'll cover you.
Spiders, but no rats.
Door number two,
I'll cover you.
Charters: It's locked.
It's nothing
but an old cistern.
What is behind door number three?
It's nothing
but an old cistern.
What is behind door number three?
Private: It's too dark to see.
Nothing but a crawlspace.
Nothing but a crawlspace.
Charters: We'd better check it out.
Private: This round peg
won't fit in that square hole.
won't fit in that square hole.
Charters: Hold my gun and give me a boost.
You keep a watch on the roost.
You keep a watch on the roost.
Private: Smoke 'em if you got 'em.
And brother, do I got 'em.
And brother, do I got 'em.
Charters: This is the life of a soldier.
Moving in the dark,
never knowing what is ahead of you.
The darkness is enveloping,
the smell of wet earth.
This is what death must be like.
There is nothing here,
ten feet of coffin,
a trench dug in the rocky soil.
There is nothing here, but wait.
Up ahead, something I cannot make out.
This is an ignominious end for a G.I.,
an earthworm with dirt down his neck.
They say an army travels on its stomach,
but--this--
A few feet more--
it is just a french postcard,
a poor joke on me.
Now, I must back out.
Soldiers aren't made to crawl,
especially backwards.
I must be stuck on a root
or something.
Moving in the dark,
never knowing what is ahead of you.
The darkness is enveloping,
the smell of wet earth.
This is what death must be like.
There is nothing here,
ten feet of coffin,
a trench dug in the rocky soil.
There is nothing here, but wait.
Up ahead, something I cannot make out.
This is an ignominious end for a G.I.,
an earthworm with dirt down his neck.
They say an army travels on its stomach,
but--this--
A few feet more--
it is just a french postcard,
a poor joke on me.
Now, I must back out.
Soldiers aren't made to crawl,
especially backwards.
I must be stuck on a root
or something.
Narrator: The German watches the Fat Private smoke a cigarette.
German: A cigarette.
I have not seen
a cigarette in months.
The smoke of battle
is a poor substitute
for the demon tobacco.
For his cigarette alone,
I would kill him.
Has it come to this?
A cigarette means more to me
than the Fatherland?
I can do both!
I'll kill him
for the Fatherland,
and take his cigarette.
Like this!
I have not seen
a cigarette in months.
The smoke of battle
is a poor substitute
for the demon tobacco.
For his cigarette alone,
I would kill him.
Has it come to this?
A cigarette means more to me
than the Fatherland?
I can do both!
I'll kill him
for the Fatherland,
and take his cigarette.
Like this!
Narrator: Charters, in the crawlspace, calls to the Fat Private.
Charters: Hey, grab my feet and pull.
Private: His master's voice.
Narrator: The private sets down his rifle
and grabs Charters by the feet.
The German soldier sneaks up
behind the Fat Private and slits his throat.
Before the body can hit the floor,
the German takes the cigarette
from the Private's mouth,
and inhales deeply.
The German Soldier straps on his gas mask
and unscrews the detonator
from one of the gas bombs.
It leaks deadly gas.
and grabs Charters by the feet.
The German soldier sneaks up
behind the Fat Private and slits his throat.
Before the body can hit the floor,
the German takes the cigarette
from the Private's mouth,
and inhales deeply.
The German Soldier straps on his gas mask
and unscrews the detonator
from one of the gas bombs.
It leaks deadly gas.
German: The sweet smoke billows up.
I take it deep into my lungs,
and there is peace.
A calmness and a quietness
unknown in war.
It is not the peace
that this flabby American
now shares with the dirt.
Two lives given
to the glorious Reich.
Has he any more cigarettes?
That would be an even greater contribution
to the Reich, right now.
I take it deep into my lungs,
and there is peace.
A calmness and a quietness
unknown in war.
It is not the peace
that this flabby American
now shares with the dirt.
Two lives given
to the glorious Reich.
Has he any more cigarettes?
That would be an even greater contribution
to the Reich, right now.
Narrator: Charters, still trapped inside the crawlspace,
smells the gas, and struggles harder to get out.
smells the gas, and struggles harder to get out.
Charters: Private? Are you there?
Can you reach my feet?
I am stuck!
Are you smoking out there?
Give me a hand!
I smell smoke...
and apple blossoms.
Why would I smell
apple blossoms in August?
It must be my imagination.
No, it is apple blossoms I smell.
It is a gas.
What smells like apple blossoms?
I remember garlic.
I remember geraniums.
I smell dirt, but damn!
I smell apple blossoms.
Can you reach my feet?
I am stuck!
Are you smoking out there?
Give me a hand!
I smell smoke...
and apple blossoms.
Why would I smell
apple blossoms in August?
It must be my imagination.
No, it is apple blossoms I smell.
It is a gas.
What smells like apple blossoms?
I remember garlic.
I remember geraniums.
I smell dirt, but damn!
I smell apple blossoms.
The Gas: Relax.
Have no fear.
Fear only prolongs
the agony.
Accept the sweet sleep.
Close your drowsy eyes
and breathe deeply
of the apple blossoms.
When it is apple blossom time
in Indiana,
it is time for sleep
in German-occupied France...
Have no fear.
Fear only prolongs
the agony.
Accept the sweet sleep.
Close your drowsy eyes
and breathe deeply
of the apple blossoms.
When it is apple blossom time
in Indiana,
it is time for sleep
in German-occupied France...
Narrator: THE GAS seems to have a personality,
and engulfs Charters slowly, almost welcomingly.
Fade to black.
and engulfs Charters slowly, almost welcomingly.
Fade to black.
