The endless historical battlefield that began with World War I

Will was laid out on the edge of the clearing, wrapped in a new, unused brown blanket—the kind given to fallen soldiers. Several other men, also wrapped in the same blankets, lay side-by-side beside him, waiting for the afternoon's body-collecting team.

They stood next to Will.

Tom took off his hat and clutched it in his hand. McDonald stood beside him, his hands at his sides, motionless. Colley took off his hat, and the rest of the men followed suit. Flynn, standing at the very end of the line, had been waiting by Jenkins' side all day for the stretcher bearers and hadn't returned until this morning; he had dark circles under his eyes. His hand trembled slightly as he took off his hat.

The priest didn't come; there was no priest here. The field chaplains were further back, unable to keep up with the pace of the front lines.

Harris walked over at some point, stood behind them, cleared his throat, and then lowered his head to read a passage from the Bible.

His voice wasn't loud, and his throat was a little hoarse, probably because he hadn't slept much these past two days. Plus, the shelling two days ago had left him with tinnitus. When he read, "Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil," he paused for a moment, and then finished reading the rest.

Then he shut his mouth and said nothing more.

That was all they could offer. There was no military music, no cannon salutes, no orderly procession—by this stage of the war, the British Expeditionary Force had long understood one thing: too many people had died in this war, and solemnity was a luxury.

All they can do is stand here.

A gust of wind blew in from the north, lifting a corner of the blanket slightly. O'Connor bent down, pressed the corner back down, patted it off, then stood up straight and put her hat back on.

Joseph reached into his pocket and touched the corner of the notebook.

Will would always take that crumpled, black-covered notebook out of his coat pocket before setting off, pat his chest to make sure it was still there, and then he would pick up his gun.

Joseph didn't take it out. He just touched it to make sure it was still there.

Harris said in a low voice, "That's it." Then he turned and left.

The others gradually dispersed. O'Connor paused as she walked, glancing one last time at Will, then turned away and quickly followed.

Joseph was the last to leave.

He stood there for a few more moments.

The body collection team will arrive this afternoon and register all those lying side-by-side here, then transport them to the rear for unified burial. After this war is over, the Imperial War Cemetery Committee will come and erect uniform white stone monuments for these people in northern France and Belgium. Every monument will be the same height and width, regardless of rank or background—this is a decision made by the British government, based on the principle of equality; everyone will lie side by side, just as they stood side by side in the trenches.

Will will have a stone tablet like that.

Joseph didn't look again and turned to leave.

The place fell silent again.

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

That evening.

The system interface lights up when he is alone.

[Mission Phase Completed: Battle of Nuschapele]

[Campaign Completion Assessment: B+]

[Survival rate of units under its jurisdiction: 92% (25% higher than the average of units participating in this battle)]

[Points Reward: +1000]

Current points: 2500

Physical Fitness: LV1. Improved from Normal to LV2. Pass

Speed: LV1. Increased from LV1 to LV2 (Agility)

Current player ranking: Top 80%

Joseph read the words, made them disappear, and then sat against the trench wall without moving.

One thousand points.

Will is worth a thousand points. What about Blaine and the other soldier, those two who were killed on the reconnaissance route because of Robert's intelligence? What about those who charged in head-on and were burned?

He didn't know how to solve the problem, nor could he; it wasn't a problem with a solution.

He just wondered what those numbers meant to him if he wasn't a player, if he was just a real Joseph Lyndon, a British soldier in 1914.

That means I'll go back tonight, clean the gun, and continue tomorrow.

He closed his eyes, leaned against the trench wall, and could faintly hear distant artillery fire outside.

He fell asleep.

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

The church bell tower is missing a corner, and the bullet marks are still very fresh.

Joseph stood at the door, looked at the door number, and pushed the door open to go inside.

The field hospital was moved to a new location. The original barn was hit by a stray bullet three days ago. It didn't collapse, but a hole was blown in the side wall, and the cold wind was blowing in, which the wounded couldn't bear. So the hospital was moved overnight to this stone church on the other side of the village.

The nave of the church had been cleared out, pews pushed to the sides, and canvas beds lined up one after another. The smell was still the same: disinfectant, blood, and the scent of burning candles. Most of the stained glass windows were broken and boarded up, with light seeping in through the gaps, casting narrow beams of light into the air.

Joseph stopped a nurse carrying a tray at the door. "I'm looking for Jenkins Smith. He had an abdominal injury and was brought in three days ago. Which ward is he in?"

The nurse thought for a moment, "He's moved to a different section. Please wait a moment, I'll take you there."

A sound came from the other end of the corridor.

Joseph turned his head.

Emily stood at the entrance of the corridor, holding a stack of dressing change records in her hand.

A major stood next to her, his epaulets brand new, leaning towards her as he spoke, his face radiating undisguised obsequiousness.

Emily stood very straight and nodded politely, but her expression was absent-minded and somewhat perfunctory.

Her eyes swept towards the entrance of the corridor and she saw Joseph.

The two exchanged a glance. Joseph nodded to her as a greeting, then turned back, preparing to follow the nurse to find their way.

"Sergeant Lyndon."

Emily's clear voice rang out, as if she had finally waited for something.

She turned to the major and said, "Excuse me, I need to escort this sergeant. The patient he's looking for has moved to a different ward, and the location is hard to find."

After she finished speaking, without waiting for the major to reply, she tucked the stack of records under her arm and walked over, saying, "Come with me."

The major stood there, his mouth agape, his expression momentarily frozen in shock. But in the end, he simply nodded at Emily's retreating figure, then turned and walked away.

Joseph followed Emily, and the two walked side by side down the corridor.

"This is troublesome," Joseph said.

“It’s on the way,” Emily said, “besides, I do have things to do.”

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

There is a long, narrow corridor at the back of the church, with the former confessionals and storage rooms on both sides, which have now been converted into private wards.

"Jenkins needs to rest on his abdomen," Emily said as they walked. "He's stable now, and his fever has gone down, but he still needs at least three more weeks of rest and shouldn't move around. When you go, don't let him talk too much."

"He's never been a talkative person," Joseph said.

"He's been quite talkative since he moved in," Emily said, a slight smile playing on her lips. "He's asked us several times when Colley is coming to see him."

"Coli came yesterday," Joseph said. "He came back to camp with red eyes and kept insisting he was fine."

Emily paused for a moment without turning around. "I know, I was changing my dressing." She paused for a second. "Every time Colley comes, he stands at the door and starts making excuses, saying he won't go in, but he always ends up going in."

"That's just how he is," Joseph said. "Stubborn."

Emily stopped in front of a door halfway down the corridor. "This is it. He's awake. Let's go in."