The endless historical battlefield that began with World War I

Joseph gestured a single word to McDonald: Fast.

McDonald looked up at him, didn't ask why, and sped up.

The man changing shifts walked step by step, his boot soles sinking into the muddy ground.

Joseph counted his steps in his head.

Thirty seconds.

McDonald paused for two seconds at the last anchor point, pulled the safety, and held up three fingers—it was done. Three minutes later, the explosives detonated.

Twenty seconds.

Joseph gestured for them to retreat, and the four of them began to climb toward the barbed wire fence at the fastest speed they could keep quiet.

The person changing shifts walked to the ammunition box.

He stopped.

He bent down and looked down—staring at the muddy ground.

The kneeprints left by crawling left faint imprints on the muddy ground, extending into the darkness.

He looked up. He raised his gun and scanned the darkness.

Joseph stopped, using his senses to pinpoint the angle of the person's head. The other three people lay still and waited.

The man looked left and right, his fingers resting on the bolt of his gun, fiddling with it, unsure of what to do.

That person stood there for a full seven seconds.

In those seven seconds, Joseph felt a faint warmth on his fingertips, which vanished in an instant, just like last time.

"Hello!"

Joseph's entire body tensed up in that instant.

"Is it done yet? I've been waiting for ages."

The voice came from the other side of the earthen embankment—the next shift was in position and urging him to hand over his shift. The man cursed, spat in that direction, glanced one last time at the muddy ground, and turned to walk back towards the embankment.

Joseph watched as his density receded step by step until it completely disappeared from the edge of his perception, and only then did he breathe a sigh of relief.

So the amulet wasn't a one-time use item. He made a mental note of this. It was only triggered passively; he didn't know how many more times it could be used.

He waited two seconds, confirmed that no new density had moved in from the direction of the ammunition box, and then gestured: Go.

The opening in the barbed wire was still in place. McDonald went through first, then O'Connor and Thomas, and Joseph last.

Two minutes left.

Joseph activated his perception, lowered his body, and followed the formation—

He stopped.

The German soldier who had just finished his shift didn't head towards the earthen embankment. He was walking this way, probably taking a shortcut, his steps were leisurely, and he was fastening his top button as he walked, heading directly in front of their retreat route.

Joseph gestured to the other three: Lie down and don't move.

He sidestepped and crouched low to the ground, circling behind the man from his blind spot. He stood up, locked the man's arms with one hand, covered his mouth with the other, pulled him down, and pinned him down.

The person struggled twice but couldn't break free and froze.

He could feel the other person trembling; the other person probably thought that a knife would be slit in his throat the next second.

Joseph leaned down and whispered in his ear in German:

"Death is on holiday tonight."

The person froze completely.

Joseph locked his carotid artery with his arm and tightened it. The man struggled a few times, his eyes rolled back, and he went limp.

Joseph laid him flat and then rejoined the formation.

One minute left.

The muddy ground of the no-man's-land was full of potholes. His knees and hands sank into shallow puddles and then emerged again, his clothes covered in mud. Joseph counted the seconds in his mind, and as the number shortened, his movements quickened.

Thirty seconds.

We're still halfway there.

Keep climbing.

The fuse has burned out.

Gunpowder exploded behind Joseph—a deafening roar, followed by a chain reaction of explosions, one after another, the sound growing louder and heavier, the shockwaves traveling along the ground, making his ribs ache.

Flames surged up from behind the earthen embankment, a large patch of orange-red that illuminated the entire no-man's-land.

"run!"

Several people stood up at the same time and ran towards the British trenches.

The German positions were thrown into chaos: shouts, whistles, and then machine gun fire—rat-a-tat-tat-tat, bullets striking the barbed wire and sending up columns of dirt as they hit the ground.

Joseph ran ten steps to the left, out of the coverage angle of the machine gun's main firing direction—he had calculated this angle before setting off. The machine gun's main firing direction was 15 degrees due east to north. As long as he kept 20 degrees to the left, he would be in its blind spot.

The bullets flew past him ten meters to the right, one volley, two volleys, but none hit him.

The trenches are just ahead.

O'Connor climbed in, Wilkins climbed in, McDonald climbed in.

Joseph was the last to climb over the trench wall. As soon as he landed, a machine gun line cut in from behind, and bullets hit the top edge of the trench, knocking down a patch of dirt that landed on his back.

He stood up and shouted, "Count off!"

"one two three!"……

The twelve numbers were announced in turn.

All twelve people were present.

**************

Harris arrived ten minutes later, glanced at the group's status, and asked, "Is everyone here?"

"All personnel present, sir. Zero casualties."

Harris nodded, took a flat metal vial from the inside pocket of his overcoat, walked over, and handed it to Joseph.

Joseph glanced down—brandy, Cognac, the kind only officers could get their hands on. The label had been torn off, but the glass bottle was imported.

"This is for living heroes," Harris said, his tone still dry and calm. "Lydon," he paused, "well done."

Then he turned and left.

O'Connor finished his cigarette, stubbed it out, put it in his pocket, glanced at Joseph, and said in an Irish accent:

"Harris just complimented someone."

He stated a fact.

“No,” O’Connor said, “he praised someone. It’s a historic moment, and I’m going to remember it and tell my kids about it.”

Joseph didn't answer, but opened the bottle and took a sip.

The Cognac burned down my throat, a fiery, authentic taste of this era.

He put the bottle back into his pocket.

Outside the trenches, the orange-red flames of the German troops had not yet died down, illuminating the entire trench line.

*******************

Captain Wilson came to see Joseph before breakfast.

He walked into the trench, stood in front of Joseph, and got straight to the point: "You did a good job last night. Give the whole company a rundown of your stuff this afternoon."

"Sir, I just—"

“Lydon,” Captain Wilson interrupted him, “you led twelve men through no man’s land last night, blew up a German heavy artillery ammunition depot, and came out with zero casualties. In my twenty years of service, I’ve only succeeded in five night raids like this, and last night was the only one with zero casualties.” He paused. “So you’ll tell the whole company about it this afternoon. This isn’t a request.”

Joseph glanced at him and nodded. "Yes, sir."

Captain Wilson took two steps, then turned back: "By the way, Lieutenant Alfred Exeter will also be here to listen."

Joseph did not speak.

After Captain Wilson left, O'Connor emerged from the corner and leaned in: "Is Lieutenant Alfred coming to listen to your lecture?" His tone carried that characteristic Irish, meaningful cheerfulness. "Have you ever poured him tea before?"

"Pour the coffee."

O'Connor was silent for three seconds, then let out a low, satisfied laugh.