The endless historical battlefield that began with World War I

The horses' hooves pounded rhythmically on the muddy path.

Joseph and Tom rode side by side without speaking, merely watching their surroundings warily.

Abandoned farm tools were scattered in the fields, and most of the houses along the roadside were empty, with their doors and windows wide open, like terrified mouths.

As darkness fell, a sliver of blood-red remained in the western sky, while the deep blue night sky began to emerge in the east.

"What's that?" Tom suddenly pointed ahead.

Joseph reined in his horse and squinted.

On the road ahead, several wrecked horse-drawn carriages lay scattered about, their wheels still slowly emitting smoke. Beside the carriages lay some corpses—British uniforms—and a few dead horses.

"The supply convoy," Joseph said, "was shelled."

"Go around it?"

"Wait a minute." Joseph dismounted and handed the reins to Tom. "I'll go check."

Tom took the reins, asked no questions, and simply nodded.

Joseph cautiously approached the wagons. Most of them were burned to skeletons, but one overturned wagon remained relatively intact. He went around to the back of the wagon and found some supplies inside that hadn't been burned—a few cans of food and some bullets.

Just as he was about to reach for it, he suddenly heard a weak voice:

"Help...help me..."

Joseph's body tensed immediately, and his right hand reached for the bayonet at his waist.

"Who?"

"British...I am British..."

The sound came from beneath a pile of broken planks.

Joseph hesitated for a second. Their mission was to deliver intelligence, not to rescue someone. But the voice was too weak; if they ignored it, the person might die.

And... what if that person knows some useful information?

"Tom!" Joseph whispered, "Come here!"

Tom came running over with two horses. Together they lifted the planks and found a young officer under a pile of broken carriage debris.

His uniform was soaked in blood, and a deep wound ran down his left leg. The insignia on his shoulder straps indicated he was a second lieutenant. His face was covered in mud and blood, and his blond hair was stuck to his forehead, but that face—

Joseph's breath hitched.

"Alfred?"

The officer struggled to lift his head, and after seeing Joseph's face clearly, a look of shock flashed in his eyes, followed by disbelief, and finally a complex, almost shameful expression.

"Lyndon?" Lieutenant Alfred Exeter's voice was so hoarse it was almost unrecognizable. "It's you?"

Tom stood behind, stunned for a moment. He recognized Alfred too.

"It's me." Joseph crouched down and quickly examined his wounds. His left leg had a long gash from shrapnel, resulting in significant blood loss, but it wasn't fatal. Worse still was his left shoulder, where there was a penetrating wound; the bullet had entered from the front and exited from the back, thankfully without hitting the bone. "Where's your platoon?"

"Dead." Alfred closed his eyes, his voice filled with anguish. "All dead. We were shelled by the Germans during our retreat... I ordered a dispersed retreat, but their fire was too intense... The wagon was hit, and I was blown away..."

His voice grew weaker and weaker, clearly indicating that he had lost too much blood.

His gaze shifted from Joseph to Tom's face, and he paused, startled again: "You two..."

His voice was hoarse in his throat; he had no strength left to continue.

Joseph didn't ask any further questions. He turned to look at Tom, and their eyes met in mid-air. Tom frowned, a hint of unease in his eyes, but he didn't speak, simply waiting for Joseph to speak.

This is a big problem.

If they take Alfred, who is injured, with them, their speed will be greatly reduced, and they will be a larger and easier target to spot. But if they don't...

Joseph looked at Alfred. This noble young master, who had once arrogantly looked down on him in the manor, this young officer who had declared at the farewell banquet that he would serve his country, was now lying in the mud, too weak to even stand up.

But Joseph's mind was racing, calculating the gains and losses.

A dead lieutenant is worthless. But a living Exeter heir… that could mean connections, resources, or even hidden achievements within the system.

"Are there any others?" Joseph asked.

"I don't know... When I woke up, I was all alone..." Alfred said with difficulty.

Joseph stood up and looked around. The sun was almost completely below the horizon, its last rays of red struggling to stay above the horizon. They had to make a decision.

"Take him with you," Joseph said.

Tom didn't argue, but glanced at Alfred, then at Joseph, and whispered, "Just the two of us, can he handle it on horseback?"

"We'll have to manage," Joseph said. "You ride ahead on horseback, I'll take him."

"That won't do." Tom frowned, his tone unusually firm. "If you're carrying wounded soldiers and something happens on the way, you won't have anyone with you."

"So you'll have to deliver the map first." Joseph took the leather map pouch off his waist and handed it to Tom. "Do you remember the route? Go south, along the river, and when you see the mill, turn east. The division headquarters is in the oak grove."

Tom took the map bag, glanced at it, and didn't move.

"Joseph," he looked up, his voice soft, "Are you really okay on your own?"

"Any problems? You can go ahead now," Joseph said. "If I'm not there in an hour, just pretend I'm dead and hand the map over to the division commander."

Tom fell silent, gripped the map bag tightly in his hand, and slowly tied it to his body.

"Three short whistles are the signal. Don't forget." Joseph handed him the whistle as well.

Tom took it, mounted the horse, and, sitting on its back, looked down at Joseph, opened his mouth, but ultimately only uttered two words:

"To live."

Then he turned his horse around, lightly kicked its belly, and galloped off toward the main road, quickly disappearing into the twilight.

Joseph watched his departing figure, silently calculating the time in his mind. If all went well, Tom would reach the division headquarters in about forty minutes. But with the wounded, it would take him at least an hour and a half.

Now only Joseph, a horse, and a badly wounded noble lieutenant remain.

"You..." Alfred looked at Joseph, his eyes filled with disbelief, "Why...why did you save me?"

"Don't be too happy yet." Joseph knelt down and began to bandage his wound with strips of cloth he found in the carriage. "I haven't decided whether to abandon you halfway."

"What?"

"Can you ride a horse?"

"I...I don't know..." Alfred tried to move his left leg, immediately gasping in pain. "Damn it..."

"Looks like that won't work," Joseph said, roughly but efficiently bandaging the wound. "Then you'll have to lie on the horse's back. It'll hurt a lot, but it's better than dying here."

He stood up and took the German warhorse by the reins. The horse was clearly tired, but still obedient.

"Listen, Lieutenant," Joseph said calmly, looking at Alfred. "We're about to cross German territory. It's getting dark, and we could run into patrols at any moment. If we encounter trouble, I'll handle it to the best of my ability, but if I can't..."

He paused. "I'll abandon you and run away alone. Do you understand?"