The endless historical battlefield that began with World War I

"I think... it should be useful to command, sir."

"It's more than useful! It marks the German patrol routes and outpost positions in this area, as well as supply depots and ammunition depots. If the intelligence is accurate, we can bypass their main force and find a breakthrough."

He immediately looked up and surveyed his cavalry, clearly deep in thought.

"Bring me my map!" he said to a cavalryman. "Quickly!"

"Yes, sir!"

The cavalryman quickly took out a map board from his saddlebag, with several semi-transparent tracing sheets clipped to it.

The captain laid the German map on the map board, covered it with tracing paper, and then took out the iconic red and blue pencil from his jacket pocket.

"Sir, should I come...?" the cavalryman asked tentatively.

"No," the captain interrupted him, "I'll do this."

He began to copy quickly.

Joseph watched from the side, nodding inwardly.

As a 21st-century military history blogger, he knew this wasn't the captain putting on airs. In the British Army of 1914, battlefield sketching was a mandatory course for every officer. It was considered "the art of the gentleman officer" and a fundamental skill for commanders.

In an era without radio, satellites, or drones, an officer's ability to quickly and accurately draw a battlefield situation map directly determined whether intelligence could be transmitted in a timely manner, and the life and death of hundreds or thousands of soldiers.

The captain was right not to let the messenger draw it. The messenger might have tried to copy every detail, which would not only have been a waste of time but could also have resulted in incorrect scales and coordinates. But the captain knew what was crucial—he only drew a few baselines, marked the core positions, and noted down the key coordinates.

This is a process of information distillation. If the coordinates were mismarked by even a kilometer, the British assault troops might have crashed into the main German positions. That would have meant the deaths of thousands.

Therefore, the captain had to draw it himself.

The captain finished drawing quickly. He held the tracing paper up to the sunlight to check it, then nodded in satisfaction. Although the lines were simple, all the key information was clearly legible.

"Sergeant William!" He put the original map back into the leather bag and turned to an old cavalryman in his thirties.

"Sir!" Williams rode forward and saluted.

"Take the original document and head east along the main road at full speed to the division headquarters." The captain handed him the map bag. "Deliver it before nightfall."

"Yes, sir!" Williams took the map bag and strapped it tightly to his body.

"Take Hawkins with you." The captain pointed to another young cavalryman. "Two men, fifty yards apart. If something happens in front, the ones behind continue."

"Understood, sir!"

The captain turned to the other cavalrymen and said succinctly, "You few, escort these infantrymen to the nearest rendezvous point, then return to your units immediately. I'll take the rest and continue reconnaissance in this area."

"Yes, sir!"

The captain turned to Joseph and his men: "Can any of you ride a horse?"

"I can, sir," Joseph said. "Tom can a little too."

"Just the two of you?" The captain looked at the German warhorses on the ground. Most of them had been killed in the battle, but there were still three horses in the corner that were slightly injured but still rideable.

"Yes, sir. The others aren't as skilled."

The captain nodded without saying anything more. He took the folded tracing paper in his hand, tore a page from his notebook, and quickly wrote a few lines.

"My signature, unit, and tonight's pass." He tucked the paper into the sketch and handed it to Joseph. "Take the western path, follow the river, and turn east after you find the abandoned mill. When you get to the division headquarters, give this to the chief of staff."

Joseph took the stack of papers and carefully unfolded them for a glance. Although it was a copy, the lines were clear, the symbols were standard, and the coordinates were accurate—any trained staff officer could immediately reconstruct the complete German deployment by simply placing this map on a standard military map for comparison.

"This isn't a complete map, but it's the skeleton," the captain said succinctly. "The division staff can understand it. Understand?"

"Understood, sir."

"Why are we splitting into two groups, sir?" Tom asked.

The captain glanced at him: "Williams, take the main road, it's faster and more obvious. You take the side road, it's slower but more discreet."

He didn't explain further, but Joseph understood his meaning.

One group could draw fire while another broke out from the shadows. If the Germans had indeed set up an ambush on the main road, Williams might have been stopped, but their attention would have been drawn to that, giving Joseph and his men a chance to bypass the enemy.

Two roads, two maps—the original and a copy—the mission is complete as long as one is delivered.

This wasn't just about delivering intelligence, Joseph thought; it was an opportunity to earn merit. If he succeeded, he would have a direct audience with his division commander, which meant promotion and medals.

But it also meant danger. Crossing the front lines, searching for the British command post in German-occupied territory, it was getting dark, the night roads were even more dangerous, and they knew nothing about the terrain.

"Yes, sir," Joseph said.

The captain took a rough hand-drawn map from a cavalryman: "We drew this during our reconnaissance today. Head south, avoid the main road, follow the river, and then head east after finding the mill."

He handed the map to Joseph, then took a tin whistle from his waist: "If you encounter a sentry, blow three short whistles. That's today's code."

"Understood, sir."

Joseph carefully tucked the copy and the pass into his inside pocket and wrapped it in an oilcloth. He then put the captain's hand-drawn route map into another pocket.

"Sergeant, you go first." The captain looked at Williams. "Linden and the others will leave in ten minutes. Let's stagger our departure times."

"Yes, sir!" Williams and Hawkins mounted their horses, gave them a light kick to the flanks, and galloped off towards the main road to the east, quickly disappearing into the dust.

The captain turned to the others: "The rest of you, get ready. Ten minutes from now, proceed as planned."

The cavalrymen busied themselves, checking their equipment and tending to their horses. The cavalrymen escorting the infantry were also organizing their ranks.

Joseph and Tom approached the captured German warhorses. Joseph chose a dark brown mare with a shallow abrasion on her left flank, but she seemed to be in good spirits. Tom picked a chestnut horse, rubbed his hand against its nose, and the horse immediately calmed down.

Joseph mounted his horse, gently patted its neck, and whispered in German, "Vorwärts (Go)."

The horse reacted immediately, its ears perked up, and it began to walk slowly forward.

Sure enough, the German warhorses were familiar with German commands. Joseph secretly rejoiced that he had learned a little German in the 21st century, and although his pronunciation was not standard, at least he could make the horse understand basic commands.

O'Connor stepped forward and handed Joseph a box of bullets: "Take this. You might need it on the road."

McDonald stuffed his own ration into Joseph's coat pocket: "Don't die on the way."

The captain glanced at the sky: "It's time. Let's go."

"Walk."

Two horses galloped out of the woods, heading in the direction the captain had indicated. The setting sun dyed the earth blood red, and on the distant horizon, wisps of smoke still rose.

Behind them, O'Connor and the others stood still, watching the two figures disappear into the twilight.

"He'll be alright, right?" McDonald asked in a low voice.

"Yes, he will," O'Connor said, but there was little confidence in her voice. "That guy... he'll definitely survive."

The captain watched the two figures disappear into the distance, lost in thought.

"Sir?" a cavalryman asked, "Do you really think they can succeed?"

"I don't know," the captain said, "but if anyone could do it, it's that guy named Lyndon. Did you see his eyes? Those aren't a recruit's eyes."