The endless historical battlefield that began with World War I

Everyone looked at the phone, then at Joseph.

O'Connor asked, "Should I answer it?"

"catch."

Joseph walked over, picked up the receiver, and put it to his ear. He didn't speak; he just listened.

The voice on the other end was in German, a slightly irritated male voice, who said, "Third Fortress, give the password."

Joseph did not speak.

Everyone in the bunker stared at him, their expressions varied: O'Connor tilted his head, McDonald stopped what he was doing, Ross opened his mouth, and Tom frowned.

"The Third Fortress?" The voice on the other end of the phone hardened. "Password."

Joseph moved the receiver slightly away from his ear and glanced around the trench wall.

A telephone hung on a wooden peg, and next to the telephone was a small wooden board with a few lines of scribbled words written in pencil on it. There were also a few stains next to it, as if someone had rubbed it repeatedly with their hands. The password sheet was nailed next to the telephone, probably because no soldier could really remember these things.

He took a step closer and squinted to see clearly: there was a date, a code, and a column of numbers.

His gaze drifted downwards, and he found what he was looking for: Today: Gray Wolf.

He brought the receiver back to his ear.

"Grey Wolf".

There was a second of silence on the other end, then an impatient voice rang out again: "Third Fortress, what's the situation over there? The Third Battalion hasn't responded yet, has the gas arrived—"

Joseph paused for two seconds, then spoke in German:

"Third Fortress reports: Situation stable. The gas has dissipated, the concentration has decreased, and there are currently no signs of a British attack."

He paused, then added:

"The Third Battalion just temporarily moved to a new position, and their communication lines were severed by bombing and are currently being repaired, so we cannot contact them for the time being. In addition, the forward positions need time to be readjusted—we suggest that the artillery delay its bombing for at least half an hour, otherwise it may cause friendly fire."

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

two seconds.

three seconds.

Joseph stood there, motionless, his expression unchanged, but his fingers gripped the receiver a little tighter.

The other person spoke, their voice becoming more normal, less agitated than before:

"Received. Bombing delayed by half an hour, recorded. Report back after communications are restored."

"clear."

Beep beep beep—the other party hung up.

Joseph put the receiver back and turned around.

Eleven pairs of eyes were looking at him.

O'Connor spoke first: "What did you just say?"

"Tell them the situation is stable," Joseph said, "and then casually let them postpone the shelling by half an hour."

The air was still for a few seconds.

"...You had them postpone the shelling by half an hour," O'Connor repeated, "and they believed it?"

I believe it.

"You just believe that?"

“They had no reason not to believe it,” Joseph said. “The call came from their own fortress, and it sounded like a normal soldier reporting a situation. What reason did they have not to believe it?”

O'Connor turned to McDonald, his expression as if he'd just watched someone sweep through the opposite trench with their bare hands, and whispered in an Irish accent, "Did you hear what he just did?"

McDonald didn't answer immediately. He glanced at Joseph, then at the phone, and slowly said, "He answered the Germans' call in German, lied to them that the fortress was still in their hands, and then—casually got them to postpone the shelling by half an hour."

“Yes,” O’Connor said, “that’s it.” He paused, “I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating.”

"no."

"Okay." O'Connor nodded, as if accepting the fact, then frowned. "Wait—when did he learn German?"

McDonald turned to Joseph: "When did you learn German?"

Joseph had already squatted down to look at the map, without even looking up: "I've learned a little."

"I've learned a little," O'Connor repeated, his tone a barely suppressed breakdown, "You answered the Germans' call, fooled their communications officer, and even let their artillery take a half-hour break—is that what you call learning a little?"

Joseph turned a page of the map without saying a word.

O'Connor looked at McDonald.

McDonald shrugged, as if to say: I just found out too.

Joseph studied the map for a while, then looked up and said, "We have half an hour now. The shelling won't come. We can use this time to do one thing—take the bunker on the right, then prepare our position and wait for reinforcements. Once the reinforcements arrive, this position will be the opening to break through the German defenses."

O'Connor slung his gun over his shoulder and said, "I'll go to that cover on the right."

"Go ahead," Joseph said, "take half the men, I'll stay here and watch over things."

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

At 6:55, in the company's cellar.

The green light of the signal flare pierced through the fog, blooming into a green flower in the sky.

Captain Wilson stared at the green light, motionless.

The messenger, standing nearby, said nervously, "Captain, that's...!"

"That's Lyndon," Captain Wilson said. "He shot it down."

The messenger was taken aback: "What?"

"German forward positions," Wilson put down his binoculars, turned around, his expression complex. "The green flare is the signal to take the position; it's Lyndon informing us."

He walked to the phone, picked it up, and shook it twice.

"Battalion Commander, there's been progress at the front. Linden's squad, 2nd Platoon, A Company, has infiltrated the German forward fortifications and taken over the machine gun positions." He paused, "Yes, I confirm. It was accomplished during the gas backdraft."

He paused for a moment and listened to what the other person was saying.

"Casualties—" He glanced in the direction of the German troops; the fog hadn't lifted yet. "Currently unknown. I'll report back as soon as they withdraw."

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

Inside the German fortress.

The concentration of toxic gas began to decrease, and the wind shifted again, slowly pushing the yellowish-green color of this area elsewhere.

O'Connor returned, with a new mud stain on his boots and two captured grenades in his backpack.

"The one on the right is cleared out. Ross and the others are guarding that side," O'Connor said, leaning against a corner. "There were three people over there. Two were knocked out by the gas, the third one isn't," he paused, "I took care of him."

Joseph nodded, took off his mask, and took a deep breath. The air was now normal, cold, carrying dirt and smog. It didn't smell good, but the smell was normal now.

He hung the mask back on his waist, turned, and glanced inside the fortress—the machine guns were already aimed, the prisoners were tied in a corner, and Tom was lying on the ground using an entrenching tool to clear dirt and widen the firing port. They were doing everything they could; he didn't need to say anything more. He walked over to the map and squatted down.

Footsteps could be heard outside.

Lieutenant Alfred was the first to scale the fortress entrance, leading about thirty men.

After he stopped, he looked around and saw the prisoners of war tied up in the corner, the machine gun that had been adjusted, and a few people lying on the ground clearing away dirt with entrenching tools. He turned around and found Joseph.

"How did you take this down?" he asked.