The endless historical battlefield that began with World War I

After that day, various versions of the story circulated in the camp.

Version 1: Lindenban walked around in the poison gas, casually destroyed two German fortresses, and even tricked the German artillery with German, without losing a single person.

Version 2: Lindenban walked around in the poison gas, casually dismantled five German fortresses, and even used German to order the German artillery to fire on their own men, without losing a single person.

Version 3 (circulated among Irish soldiers): O'Connor entered the German fortress alone, knocked down seven men with his fists, and then Lyndon, in German, directed the Germans to bombard the British.

O'Connor himself made no attempt to correct version three.

Joseph was sitting in the gun shelter when he heard these rumors, copying the last few pages of the "Squad Tactics Manual" that Captain Wilson had asked him to summarize.

Tom sat down next to me with a can of food and said, "Do you know what they're saying about you outside?"

"Know."

"Aren't you going to clarify?"

"Clarify what?" Joseph paused, pausing his pen. "Clarify that Version Two is wrong, and that there are actually only two fortresses?"

Tom thought for a moment and said, "It seems there's really nothing to clarify."

Joseph lowered his head again and continued writing.

He understood a principle about reputation when he was a blogger in modern times: you can control what you do, but you can't control what others say about you, so don't bother with it.

And to be honest, version one is already accurate enough.

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

In the following weeks, Joseph and his classmates did several similar things.

The targets were varied—German ammunition supply points, communication stations, forward observation posts. Each time, a small team would go in under cover of darkness, from an unexpected angle, bomb the targets, and then withdraw.

The specific method of entry varies each time, depending on the terrain, the guards' shift changes, and whether there are any loopholes to exploit. Sometimes McDonald would crawl into an abandoned drainpipe, sometimes he would take a three-kilometer detour to approach from the back, and sometimes he would wait for the clouds to cover the moon for a few minutes and then crawl close to the ground.

After each operation report, Captain Wilson would slam his hand on the table and say, "Well done," before immediately picking up the phone to report to the battalion commander.

Each time, the battalion commander would pause for a few seconds after hearing the story, then say, "Still that Linden squad?"

"It's still that Lindenban, the major."

"How did they do it?"

"I don't know either, Major."

Each dialogue was more or less the same, and Captain Wilson eventually memorized it, but he was happy to repeat it to the battalion commander every time.

Joseph and his men worked quietly until November, when one day a captured German battlefield log was translated and delivered to Captain Wilson.

The log is from the German 3rd Infantry Regiment, and one passage is specifically highlighted:

"The British army has a small, unspecified unit that operates at night, silently and without leaving a trace. It has destroyed two supply points, one communications station, and one ammunition depot, each time without any witnesses. We call it the Ghost Squad."

Captain Wilson read the passage aloud, then placed the document on the table and went to find Joseph.

"The Germans have given you a nickname," he said, handing over the translation. "Take a look for yourself."

Joseph glanced at it, handed the document back, and said, "Captain, a section of the German ammunition supply route is here," he placed his finger on a spot on the map, "If we set up a—"

"Aren't you going to say anything about the 'Ghost Squad'?"

“Names don’t matter,” Joseph said. “Position matters.”

Captain Wilson glanced at him, sighed, turned the map around, and said, "Tell me, where?"

O'Connor only heard about the Ghost Squad later, and after learning about it, he had a word engraved on the side of his rifle stock—the German word "Geist," meaning ghost.

McDonald asked him why he was carving this.

"A souvenir," O'Connor said, tracing the engraving with his thumb. "A good nickname doesn't depend on who gave it to you. It means we did a good job, that's why they gave it to us."

McDonald thought for a moment, then said nothing more and went back to wiping his entrenching tool.

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

At the end of November, Alfred came to see Joseph, bringing a bottle of whiskey.

Joseph was lying down looking at a map, Tom and O'Connor were asleep, and McDonald was on guard duty outside. There was only the light of a candle in the bunker.

Alfred bent down to come in, sat down opposite him, and placed the whiskey on the floor between them.

His uniform was still crisp and straight, that much was unchanged, but other things were different—there was mud on his boots and a speck of dust on his cuff, but he didn't seem to care. When he came in and sat down, he no longer maintained the posture of a noble officer as before; he simply sat down, leaned against the trench wall, and looked at Joseph.

Joseph rolled up the map, sat up, looked at the bottle of whiskey, and then at Alfred.

"What's up?"

"It's nothing," Alfred said, "I just came to sit for a while."

Joseph picked up the bottle of whiskey, uncorked it, took a sip, and handed it back without saying a word.

Alfred also took a sip and put it down, remained silent for a moment, and then spoke first:

"There's something I've been wanting to ask you."

"ask."

"Infiltration tactics, smoke cover, squad advances—where did you learn all this? It certainly wasn't taught at military academy, and Sergeant Harris didn't teach these things either," he paused, "Did you come up with them yourself?"

Joseph didn't answer immediately. He picked up the bottle of whiskey, took another sip, put it down, and said:

"From reading books."

"What book?"

“Many books,” Joseph said, “military history, tactical theory, written by people who fight and people who don’t fight. Read them all. The more you read, the more you’ll know which ones are useful and which ones are nonsense.”

Alfred stared at him and asked again:

"Marne, how did you determine that the German army would retreat?"

"The supply lines were too long, the front lines were advancing too fast, and the flanks were exposed. The German Schlieffen Plan was designed for a quick victory, to take France in six weeks. But starting from the Marne River, they have already exceeded the timeframe," Joseph said. "If the overdue plan is not scaled back, the cost will be even greater, so they will inevitably have to retreat."

Alfred remained silent for several seconds.

"With your level of education," he said, "you should go to military school."

"Military academies require family background and connections," Joseph glanced at Alfred. "I have none of those."

Alfred didn't reply, but looked down at the bottle of wine in his hand.

“I studied at Sandhurst for two years,” he finally said, “and what I learned was far inferior to what you learned.” He paused, “It was far worse than what you learned.”