The endless historical battlefield that began with World War I

The first day is just the beginning.

In the days that followed, Joseph quickly learned what "real hell" meant.

Mornings at Aldershot Training Camp always begin with a piercing whistle.

Joseph sprang up from the hard wooden bed, a full three seconds faster than the other recruits. This saved him from being kicked awake by the instructor's boots—no pleasant experience.

"Get up! Get up! You bunch of maggots!"

Sergeant Harris's roar exploded like a cannonball, shaking the dust off the barracks.

"Five minutes! Get dressed and assembled on the playground! If you're even a second late, you can forget about breakfast today!"

Chaos began.

Thirty new recruits frantically searched for their boots, leggings, and uniforms in the cramped barracks. Some pulled other people's trousers over their own, some couldn't find their socks in the dark, and one unlucky fellow even fell off the top bunk.

"Damn it! Whose stinky socks are these?!"

"Where's my left boot? Has anyone seen my left boot?"

"Good heavens, did I oversleep? What time is it?"

Joseph was already dressed, neatly wrapped his leggings, and fastened the buttons on his uniform.

He glanced around the barracks and saw a tall Irish lad standing by the window, calmly organizing his equipment, as if the chaos outside had nothing to do with him.

The man noticed Joseph's gaze, grinned at him, revealing a set of white teeth: "First time meeting a calm and unhurried Englishman."

Joseph raised an eyebrow: "This is the first time I've encountered an Irishman who moves so quickly."

"O'Connor." The tall man extended his hand.

"Joseph".

Their hands clasped together, the pressure just right. At that moment, Joseph noticed O'Connor's eyes—calm, observant, and with a clear awareness of everything around her.

This doesn't seem like a new recruit.

"Joseph!" A kind voice came from the doorway.

Joseph turned his head and saw Tom holding a messy pile of military uniforms, a flustered smile on his face.

"You've wrapped your leg wraps inside out again," Joseph said.

"Damn it, why is this thing so difficult..." Tom clumsily untied his leg bindings and re-wrapped them.

"Four minutes!" Harris's voice rang out again, accompanied by the sound of boots stomping on the wooden floor.

The chaos in the barracks reached its peak.

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

The morning mist had not yet dissipated on the playground.

Thirty new recruits stood haphazardly in three rows, most of them still panting. Five were late, one was barefoot, and another had his uniform on backwards. Tom almost missed his turn, rushing into the ranks at the last second, his leg wraps still askew.

Sergeant Harris walked slowly past the ranks, his boots making a crisp sound on the gravel with each step. He stood with his hands behind his back, his eyes narrowed, like an eagle surveying its prey.

"Very good." He suddenly stopped, his voice eerily calm. "You've shown me with your actions that you're a bunch of useless trash."

No one dared to speak.

"You," Harris pointed at the barefoot recruit, "why aren't you wearing shoes?"

"Reporting...Sir, I can't find my boots..."

"Can't find it?" Harris's voice suddenly rose. "When the Germans shoot at you, are you going to say, 'Sorry, I can't find my bullets'?"

Several new recruits couldn't help but laugh.

"You think it's funny?" Harris turned around, his gaze sharp as a knife. "Then let me tell you an even funnier story. In 1899, when I was in South Africa, there was a recruit who, just like you, thought everything was hilarious. One day, a Boer bullet pierced his throat. You know what? His expression as he died looked like he was still smiling."

The laughter stopped abruptly.

"Now, everyone, get ready to push up!"

Groans filled the air.

"I didn't hear 'Yes, sir!'"

"Yes, sir!"

Joseph lay down and began to do push-ups. His movements were precise, and his breathing was even, which made Harris glance at him again.

Fortunately, all that training I did recently paid off, Joseph thought to himself.

From the very first day he was placed in this instance, he began to secretly train in the manor—doing push-ups, squats, and weighted runs behind the stables when no one was around.

Taking care of the horses also became an opportunity for exercise; shoveling horse manure, carrying hay, and practicing riding all enhanced physical fitness.

He knew that in this era without modern medicine, physical fitness was life itself.

After this period of training, his physical fitness has improved from LV0. Weak to LV1. Normal.

"one two three!……"

By the time they reached fifty, some had already given up. The barefoot recruit collapsed to the ground, like a dead fish. Tom gritted his teeth and persevered, his arms trembling violently, but he kept trying.

"Get up! Keep going!"

"I...I can't do it anymore..."

"Can't do it?" Harris walked up to him, squatted down, and said, "Then you can go home right now, back to your mother's arms, and let her breastfeed you. The battlefield doesn't need cowards."

The recruit's face turned bright red, and he gritted his teeth to start over.

Joseph noticed that O'Connor was right next to him, moving with the same ease. They exchanged a glance, both seeing a certain unspoken understanding in each other's eyes.

"one hundred!"

When Harris finally called a halt, at least half the men were completely limp. Tom lay on the ground, panting heavily, but with a satisfied look on his face. Joseph stood up, shook his arms, his breathing only slightly more rapid.

"What's your name?" Harris suddenly walked up to him.

"Joseph Lyndon, sir."

"What did you do before becoming a proud soldier of the British Empire?"

"Master, sir."

Snickers came from the barracks. Being a male servant in the army was not a glorious background; it meant you had served others and stood at the bottom of society.

Harris stared at Joseph, his eyes, weathered by countless battles, seemingly able to see through everything: "A manservant?"

"Yes, sir." Joseph did not avoid his gaze. "The manservant of Exeter Manor."

"Then why are you physically fitter than these farm boys?"

"Because I don't want to die on the battlefield, sir."

The air suddenly became quiet.

This answer is too blunt and doesn't fit the current atmosphere at all.

You should know that the whole of Britain is now immersed in patriotism, and everyone is talking about honor, courage and dying for the country.

Joseph's words were like a bucket of cold water poured over everyone's heads.

Harris's expression changed.

It wasn't anger, but rather a kind of meaningful scrutiny.

“Very good,” he said suddenly. “At least you’re honest.” He turned to the others, his voice booming like thunder. “Listen, this mannequin is telling the truth! You’re not here to die, you’re here to live! Let the Germans die!”

The new recruits looked at each other, unsure whether they should cheer.

"But!" Harris changed his tone abruptly, "If you want to live, you have to be stronger, faster, and more ruthless than the enemy! Now, everyone, run around the field! If I see anyone stop, that person won't be eating today!"