The endless historical battlefield that began with World War I

I don't know how much time passed—maybe five minutes, maybe five hours—but the gunfire finally stopped.

Seeing their charge fail and their casualties heavy, the remaining German cavalry finally chose to retreat. They turned their horses around and galloped back the way they came, disappearing into the distant woods.

Dozens of corpses—human and horse—were left on the battlefield.

The air was thick with the stench of blood, gunpowder, and horse manure. Several wounded warhorses were still struggling on the ground, emitting mournful neighs.

Joseph leaned against the riverbed, panting heavily.

His hands were trembling, as if he had just used up all his strength. He looked down at his hands—they were covered in blood, some of which had dried and turned into hard, brown crusts.

His uniform was covered in blood, his face was covered in blood, and he could still taste the sweet, metallic smell of rust in his mouth.

"We...we won?" Tom's voice trembled, his face covered in blood and mud. He had vomited twice and was still dry heaving.

"We won." O'Connor was also panting, but there was no excitement in her eyes, only a blank emptiness. "We...killed them..."

The other recruits were also trembling. Some were crying, some were laughing, and others were staring blankly at the corpses on the ground.

Joseph didn't speak. He stepped out of the riverbed and walked toward the nearest German cavalryman's corpse.

He was a young man, probably in his early twenties, with his blue eyes wide open and an expression of disbelief on his face. His uniform was clean, and his boots were gleaming; he was clearly a noble officer.

He had a leather map bag hanging from his waist.

Joseph crouched down, unpacked the map bag, and pulled out its contents. His fingers were still trembling, and his blood-stained fingers left red fingerprints on the white map.

A German map, covered with dense symbols and arrows. He couldn't read German, but he could recognize the terrain—rivers, town outlines, and the Marne River he knew so well.

Joseph's heart was racing.

He suddenly realized what was drawn on the map.

The arrows were densely packed, marking the direction of advance—but in this dense array, he saw a blank space.

This is the historically famous "Marne Gap"—as the German army advanced rapidly, the distance between the two army groups widened, exposing a huge flank.

"Joseph," McDonald approached, his voice trembling slightly, "Are you...are you alright?"

"I'm fine." Joseph stood up, put the map away, and said, "We need to find command post and hand this over."

"Command post?" O'Connor looked around. "We can't even find our own company."

Indeed. In the chaos just now, the troops were completely scattered.

Joseph counted the people around him. Besides his core squad—O'Connor, McDonald, Tom, Wilkins, Ross, and others—there were a dozen or so other recruits. Twenty-three in total.

Everyone's face was covered in blood and mud, their eyes were empty, as if they had just crawled out of hell.

"Clean up the battlefield first," Joseph said. "Collect ammunition and check the wounded."

He turned and looked at the fallen warhorses. Some were still alive, their bellies ripped open, their intestines spilling out, struggling painfully in the mud.

A new recruit walked over, pulled the bolt, and aimed his rifle at the horse's head.

boom!

A gunshot rang out, the horse's body twitched, and then it remained still.

"This is mercy," the recruit said, his voice eerily calm.

Joseph recalled what he had seen yesterday—an officer speaking the same words in the same calm voice.

That's how war works; it turns people into killing machines and mercy into a bullet.

[Battle Ended]

[Killed: 21 German cavalrymen, 19 horses]

[Friendly casualties: 3 dead, 5 slightly wounded]

[Obtained: German Army Deployment Map]

[Achievement Completed: First Blood]

[Reward Points: 100]

Current points: 100

A system notification sounded in Joseph's mind.

But this time, Joseph didn't look at the system interface.

He just stared at his bloodied hands.

He still remembered the eyes of that young German man.

**********

About ten minutes later, the sound of horses' hooves could be heard in the distance.

Everyone immediately tensed up and raised their rifles.

Tom's hands started shaking again. Wilkins gritted his teeth, while O'Connor braced the butt of his gun against his shoulder and aimed in the direction the sound was coming from.

"Don't shoot," Joseph whispered. "Wait for my order."

The sound of hooves grew closer, and then a troop of cavalry charged out of the woods—wearing British military badges on their chests and blue and white identification armbands wrapped around their left arms.

"The English!" Tom almost cheered.

The leader was a captain, about thirty years old, with a meticulously trimmed mustache, and his uniform was covered in mud, clearly having just returned from the front. He reined in his horse, and when he saw the German corpses on the ground, his eyes widened like saucers.

"My God..." The captain surveyed the battlefield, his gaze sweeping over at least twenty German corpses, more than twenty dead horses, and the bodies of three British soldiers in a corner. "You...you did this?"

"Yes, sir." Joseph saluted, his fingers still trembling slightly. "17th Infantry Division, A Company, 7th Platoon, Private Joseph Linden. We encountered German cavalry at the river and repelled them."

"Repelled?" The captain jumped off his horse, his boots making a soft splashing sound as they stepped into the pool of blood. He walked to the center of the battlefield, carefully observing the layout—the distribution of corpses, the location of bullet holes, and the direction in which the horses had fallen.

It can be seen that this was initially an encounter battle where the British army was at a disadvantage, but it quickly turned into a planned ambush.

He turned to Joseph, his gaze shifting from shock to scrutiny: "Who was in command?"

"I am your superior."

"Where are your officers?"

"He's been hit, sir," Joseph said. "A stray bullet before the charge. I don't know if he's still alive."

The captain paused for a second: "So you've taken over command."

He sized up the young soldier before him—his face splattered with blood, his uniform stained with mud and gunpowder, a bloodied bayonet clutched in his hand. But in his eyes, there was no panic expected of a new recruit, only an unsettling calm. "Where did you get your training?"

"Aldershot Recruit Battalion, Commander. Sergeant Harris's battalion."

"Harris..." the captain nodded. "A veteran from South Africa. He taught well. Utilizing the terrain, focusing fire on the horses, disrupting the charge rhythm, maintaining formation in close combat... You did very well too."

He paused, his voice turning serious: "But this isn't a training ground. This is real war. Are you all alright?"

Joseph glanced at his comrades. Tom leaned against a tree trunk, still trembling slightly. Wilkins was deathly pale, staring at his bloodied hands. O'Connor's eyes were vacant, as if he hadn't yet recovered from the carnage. McDonald remained silent, but his knuckles were white as he gripped his gun.

"We...are still alive, sir," Joseph said, his voice calm, but that calmness made the captain frown.

"Very good." The captain's gaze fell on the leather map pouch Joseph was holding. "What's that?"

"A German map, sir. I found it on a cavalry officer." Joseph handed it over. "I glanced at it; it marks some positions and patrol routes."

The captain took the map bag and carefully opened it. He pulled out the folded map and slowly unfolded it.

At first he just glanced at it casually, then his body suddenly froze.

His expression shifted from calm to surprise, then to shock, and finally to an almost unbelievable ecstasy.

"This…" He suddenly looked up, staring intently at Joseph, "Do you know what this means?"