The endless historical battlefield that began with World War I

At 6:20, 500 meters behind, the company's cellar.

Captain Wilson stood on the stone steps, binoculars in hand, looking toward the front line.

His messenger, standing nearby, turned pale.

The yellowish-green fog was thicker than before in the direction of the front, and the sounds coming from that direction were increasingly strange—not gunfire, not artillery fire, but people coughing and shouting, which sent chills down one's spine.

The phone rang, and the messenger answered it and returned to report:

"Captain, fourth platoon reporting: gas backflow, casualties—"

He paused for a moment.

"explain."

"Heavy casualties, Captain, the platoon leader requests a retreat—"

"Tell them to retreat into the side trenches and wait for the gas to dissipate," Captain Wilson said, putting down his binoculars, his face grim. "And the second platoon—"

"There are no reports of casualties in the second platoon yet, Captain."

The phone rang again.

The messenger answered the phone, listened for a few seconds, and then handed the receiver to the captain.

Captain Wilson took the receiver.

"...Understood. At 6:30, a full-scale attack is underway without delay."

He put the receiver back without saying a word.

The messenger glanced at him but didn't dare to speak.

The toxic gas outside hadn't dissipated yet; there were still ten minutes until 6:30.

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

6:30.

The whistles came from the north and echoed along the trenches in succession.

This is an order for a full-scale offensive.

As Joseph listened to the sound approaching, his doubts were resolved. The attack hadn't been canceled, there had been no delay; the backdraft of poison gas wasn't a reason for them to stop.

Joseph took one last look at the seal on his goggles, stood up, and walked to the entrance of the bunker.

To the left, after the whistle blew, there was no further movement—only scattered coughs and a weak shout or two.

On the right, there is silence.

He lifted the curtain and went outside.

Eleven people followed behind.

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

Company cellar.

Captain Wilson picked up his binoculars again and pointed the lens toward the front line.

After the whistle blew, there was no movement in the trench on the left, only sporadic coughs.

On the right, there was also silence.

The fog was too thick; I couldn't see anything clearly.

Then he saw—

In the yellowish-green fog, figures moved—twelve upright figures, rifles in hand, lined up in the thick fog and marched toward the German troops.

Captain Wilson removed the binoculars from his eyes, then brought them back to check them again.

"...It's Lyndon's class."

He glanced at his watch.

It was exactly 6:30.

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

6:32 AM, no man's land.

The concentration of toxic gas was highest in the uninhabited area, accumulating in the low-lying areas and refusing to dissipate, with the yellowish-green fog pressing against the ground and surging forward.

Twelve masked people stepped over them.

After walking about fifty steps, Joseph stopped.

I can't see anything.

The poison gas turned the entire no-man's-land into a murky yellowish-green. Beyond five steps, everything was a blur, and beyond ten steps, nothing could be seen. He knew nothing about the German fortresses, the sentries, or which way the machine guns were pointed.

Moving forward depends entirely on luck.

He stood there, staring at the yellowish-green in front of him, paused for a moment, and then closed his eyes.

[Tactical Intuition - Enhanced Version - Mode 1: Visualization]

[Usage time: 5 minutes]

[Activate confirmation?]

confirm.

He opened his eyes.

The world has changed.

The yellowish-green fog remained, but outlines had appeared within it—ten meters ahead, no one; twenty meters ahead, to the left, an outline lay prone, motionless, a German soldier brought down by the poison gas; further to the right, thirty meters, two outlines stood, holding something in their hands—

machine gun.

He looked further to the right and saw a silhouette about sixty meters away—a sentry, facing right with his back to them; further to the left was a gap, about eight meters wide, a blind spot between two machine guns, and right in the middle, there was no one.

That's the path they're going to take.

"Listen to me," he turned around, lowering his voice, and addressed the people behind him, "follow me forward. Don't ask questions, don't stop, stay close. Wherever I go, you go. If I say lie down, you lie down, understand?"

O'Connor: "Understood."

The others nodded in agreement.

"Walk."

Joseph stepped to the left, bypassing the silhouette of the fallen German soldier on his left, then diagonally to the right, passing right into the blind spot between the two machine guns—

Thirty meters in, the countdown in his mind started. He didn't know what the system's countdown looked like, but he could feel it. The five-minute countdown was ticking away every second.

The sentry's silhouette, which was facing right, had not yet turned around.

Twenty meters.

ten meters.

The outlines of the two machine guns were now on his left and right sides, roughly equidistant. He walked through the middle, his boots making no sound as they stepped into the mud, because the mud was too soft.

five meters.

He walked over.

He turned around and gestured for them to follow, one, two, three—

The silhouette of the sentry facing right moved.

Joseph saw the red silhouette turn around, and his rifle followed suit, the muzzle pointing in Tom's direction.

Tom was still walking, just two more steps away—

"Tom! Lie down!"

Tom didn't think twice; upon hearing those two words, he immediately collapsed to the ground—

"Bang—!"

The bullet flew past where Tom lay down and hit the yellowish-green fog behind him.

The sentry's outline is still there, and it's being reloaded—

O'Connor's gun was a step ahead of the silhouette. Although he couldn't see anything, he fired blindly in the direction of the previous shot.

"Bang—!"

The outline collapsed.

Joseph stood there, letting out a sigh of relief.

Then he sensed that his tactical intuition had come to fruition. The red outline disappeared, the world returned to its original state, and all that remained in his vision was a yellowish-green mist.

Joseph activated his perception mode. Although he couldn't see the enemy's outline clearly this time, it was better than nothing.

Tom got up from the ground, covered in mud.

Joseph walked over, patted the mud off his shoulder, and said:

"Keep up close to where you are."

Tom nodded.

O'Connor walked over and whispered in his ear, "How did you know that sentry turned around? Did you see it?"

"Just a guess."

O'Connor gave him a look, and Joseph knew what that expression meant: a mix of "I don't believe you" and "but I'm too lazy to ask."

"Okay," O'Connor said, "good guess."

Then he turned and walked forward.

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

At 6:49, the German forward fortress.

This fortress was a square bunker, constructed of a mixture of concrete and sandbags, with machine guns pointed towards the no-man's-land. Under normal circumstances, anyone charging from the British direction would be riddled with bullets.

But this is not the normal situation now.

The poison gas was seeping in from the British side. Inside the fortress, two of the four German soldiers had already collapsed to the ground, one was retching against the bunker wall, and the fourth was desperately stuffing strips of cloth into the cracks in the wall.

No one was lying prone in front of the machine gun.

Joseph stopped in a crater fifteen meters to the left of the fortress, lay down, and turned back to make a gesture.

They were divided into three groups of four people each.

O'Connor turned right, and McDonald and the other two followed.

Tom's group stayed in the crater to cover the front.

Wilkins and two others followed Joseph to the left.

O'Connor crept to the right side of the fortress, lay down outside the low wall, glanced inside, then withdrew and gestured—all four men were incapacitated.

Joseph saw it, nodded, and raised his hand.

Three, two, one—

Joseph's group rolled in from the left, O'Connor's group rolled in from the right, and Tom jumped in directly from the front.

Of the four German soldiers, two had already fallen. The third, seeing a figure, reached for his gun, but O'Connor swept it aside with the butt of his rifle. O'Connor then stomped on the wound and shouted in German, "Don't move!"

Joseph lunged at the machine gun, turned the barrel, and aimed it at the German positions extending behind along the trenches, but did not fire immediately.

"Clear the area."

McDonald was already checking the corner. He flipped over an ammunition box, looked up and said, "Two spare machine guns, enough ammunition, grenades, no shells."

"it is good."

"There's another bunker on the right," Ross said, peering out. "It's further away, and I can't see what's inside."

"Hold this place for now," Joseph said. "Tom, fire a signal flare to let the rear know."

Tom took out the flare gun and fired.

Green light burst forth above the poison gas, briefly illuminating the muddy ground and barbed wire in a green glow.

As soon as the signal flare went up, a bell rang inside the fortress.

"Ring ring—"

Everyone was stunned for a moment.

Joseph turned his head to see a field telephone, hanging on a wooden peg in the trench wall. The ringing was still clear in the morning filled with coughs and distant artillery fire.