The endless historical battlefield that began with World War I

"Coley," Joseph whispered, "take out that guy first. Jenkins won't die now, but if you don't take him down, you'll all die, understand?"

Colley paused for a second, then raised his gun.

O'Connor had moved first, firing two shots from another angle, but the angle was poor, only hitting the cover. The silhouette receded slightly, then peeked out a little more. Colley pulled the trigger.

Bang—the outline collapsed and remained motionless.

Joseph glanced around, but there was no further movement.

Joseph walked over and knelt down on one knee next to Jenkins.

Jenkins lay on the ground, his right hand pressed against his right side of his abdomen, dark blood seeping from between his fingers. His lips moved, but no sound came out.

Colley had already crouched down. "Jenkins, Jenkins, look at me—"

Joseph went over, knelt down on one knee, and gently pushed Jenkins' hand aside to examine the wound—a bullet hole in his right abdomen, slightly to the side, with considerable bleeding, but he was still breathing.

He pressed Jenkins' hand back down, "Hold it down, press it hard, don't let go."

Jenkins held it down, though his hand was shaking.

Joseph stood up, glanced around, and said, "Flynn, come here."

Flynn ran over and squatted down on the other side of Jenkins. Joseph shoved the first-aid kit into his hands. "You stay here. Apply pressure to the wound with the bandage and don't let him move. Wait for the stretcher bearers to come from the back, then you go back with them. Got it?"

Flynn glanced at Jenkins and nodded. "I heard you."

Colley looked up, his eyes a little red. "He can—"

"Yes," Joseph said. "He was wounded on the side, so it shouldn't have hit his intestines. Although he lost a lot of blood, he's holding on, and he should survive if we take him back."

Colley pursed his lips, then stood up and raised his gun.

Joseph turned around and continued counting—

Jenkins is there. Wilkins is there. Parker is there. Ross is there.

Will—

He looked back.

Will is not in the queue.

He turned his head and looked at the open space outside the orchard.

Will stopped at the edge of the orchard, in the last five meters of clearing.

He slowly stopped, slowly sat down, leaning against his backpack on the open ground, as if he was just tired and taking a rest.

Will was shot.

The line of bullets from the machine gun on the right swept across the last five meters in the final two seconds before they rushed into the orchard.

Joseph stood up, but Tom's hand had already grabbed his arm from the side. "No," Tom said, "no, Joseph, going out means death."

Joseph stood there.

The machine gun was still firing, the bullet trail sweeping back and forth across the open space at the edge of the orchard—that open space was now a dead zone.

Will sat there, his eyes vacant, as if he were just resting.

Joseph stood there for a few seconds, then he pushed Tom's hand away and turned around. "O'Connor, can you see that machine gun on the right?"

"I can see it," O'Connor said, already raising his rifle with the butt against the side of a tree, "but there's some obstruction, so it's hard to find a good angle."

"Can we fight?"

O'Connor paused for two seconds, then said, "Wait for it to change the ammunition belt."

They waited like that, and in the two seconds it took for the machine gun to finish a belt of ammunition and for the gunman to duck to reload, O'Connor pulled the trigger—bang!

The machine gun fell silent.

"Suppress them," Joseph said. "Left flank and front, give them the shot."

Gunfire erupted from the orchard, pressing down on the remaining firing positions. Taking advantage of this opening, Joseph ran from the edge of the orchard to Will's side and crouched down.

Will was still sitting, leaning against his backpack, his right hand pressed against his chest, where the notebook had been. His eyes were open, looking upwards, but he could no longer see anything.

Joseph took the notebook out of Will's coat pocket and put it in his own pocket.

Then he stood up. "McDonald, take out the left-hand strongpoint. The remaining two strongpoints are where you can see them. Advance from the front, O'Connor, provide cover. Lieutenant, take your men and circle around to the right of the orchard. Don't advance from the front; circle around to the flank."

This time, the lieutenant didn't ask any questions, nodded, and led his men to the right.

Joseph glanced one last time at the clearing at the edge of the orchard, then looked away. "Let's go."

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

The Battle of Nuchapel lasted for three days, eventually turning into a protracted war, a grueling battle where neither side had the strength to advance, and then it ended.

Three days later, Joseph read the results of the battle on a mimeographed battle report.

"Relying on concentrated artillery fire, the British successfully broke through the first German line of defense that morning, completely capturing the village of Neuchappell. However, due to communication disruptions and coordination failures, the advance slowed, and the Germans regrouped their defenses during the lull, preventing our forces from expanding their gains. The battle lasted three days, ending with attrition on both sides and a stable front. The localized breakthrough on the left flank was fully utilized, and the experience can be used as a reference."

Joseph folded the paper back and placed it on his lap.

Of the 631 men in the battalion who participated in the battle, approximately 420 were killed or seriously wounded, resulting in a casualty rate of 67%.

He led a squad of twelve men into battle, and one was killed in action—Will Irwin, a private first class.

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

early morning.

On the day Will died, Joseph went to the clerk. He took off the hexagonal identification tag that Will was wearing—British soldiers all wore two identification tags, the hexagonal one was taken after death and given to superiors as proof of death, and the round one was left on the neck of the body for the person later responsible for registration and burial to identify the person.

Joseph glanced at the hexagonal identification tag in his palm. It bore Will's name and number, and the metal was worn and slightly muddy at the edges. He squeezed it briefly before going to find the clerk.

He handed over his identification tag and stated his name, rank, and company. The clerk noted this down in a booklet with practiced ease and without a word, then closed the booklet. "The body collection team will be here this afternoon; they'll drop the body off over there this morning."

He pointed towards an open area behind the camp.

Joseph nodded, then turned and left.

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

The morning is very long.

No orders came down, and no new battles were fought. The troops remained in place, waiting for their superiors to reorganize the battle lines. In Joseph's squad, some were checking ammunition, while others sat idly against the trench walls. O'Connor wiped his rifle over and over again, then sat down, placing the rifle across his knees, his eyes fixed on the distance, but seeing nothing.

Around noon, Tom came over and sat down next to Joseph. "Let's go see him."

Joseph stood up without saying a word.

They went and called the others.