The endless historical battlefield that began with World War I

The afternoon training session was shooting.

The recruits lined up and each received a Lee-Enfield rifle.

When Joseph got his hands on the gun, a strange feeling welled up inside him.

In the Imperial War Museum of 2026, it was a replica of this gun that became the medium through which he traveled through time. Now, he holds the real weapon in his hand, the wooden stock exuding the scent of linseed oil, and the metal parts still bearing freshly applied gun oil.

"This is the Lee-Enfield Mark III short rifle." Sergeant Harris stood at the front of the column, holding the same weapon. "It's one of the best rifles in the world. Ten-round magazine, bolt-action design, sight range up to 2,000 yards, but in actual combat we usually fire salvos at 400 to 800 yards. A well-trained shooter can fire 15 to 30 rounds per minute."

The recruits looked at each other in disbelief. Thirty rounds per minute? That sounded like an exaggeration.

"You don't believe me?" Harris sneered. "Very well. Now, I'll demonstrate."

He turned to face the shooting range a hundred meters away. Ten human-shaped targets were neatly arranged.

Harris raised his gun with a movement as fluid and natural as breathing.

boom!

A gunshot rang out, and the first target fell to the ground.

boom! boom! boom!

His fingers flew as he pulled back the bolt, ejected the spent cartridge, reloaded, aimed, and fired. The entire movement was fluid and seamless, without a single pause.

Ten seconds.

All ten targets fell down.

The new recruits were speechless.

"That's skill," Harris said, putting down his gun. "And skill comes from training. Now, each of you has a quota of fifty rounds. I want to see at least three hit the bullseye. Anyone who doesn't, no sleep tonight, keep practicing."

The new recruits lined up and began firing.

Most of the recruits performed poorly. Some were thrown back several steps by the recoil, some couldn't even find the sights, and others didn't know where to point their guns when they pulled the trigger.

Tom's performance was average; he hit more than ten out of fifty shots. Although he was still far from the bullseye, at least he hit the target.

When it was O'Connor's turn, things suddenly changed.

He loaded the gun, raised it, and aimed—the whole sequence of movements was clean and efficient.

boom!

Bullseye.

boom!

Still the bullseye.

Five consecutive shots hit the bullseye, with an error of no more than three centimeters.

Harris walked over, examined the target carefully, and then nodded. "Irish man, have you used a gun before?"

"Hunting," O'Connor said calmly.

"Very good. You can go help other people now."

When it was Joseph's turn, he took a deep breath.

As a military history blogger, he certainly knows the performance parameters, aiming methods, and ballistic calculations of the Lee-Enfield missile. But knowing and actually operating it are two different things. In his past life, he'd only ever played with air rifles; real live-fire shooting…

Although shooting skills are available for purchase in the system shop, he doesn't have enough points yet. He has to rely on himself for everything.

He raised his gun, resting the butt against his shoulder, and aimed his eyes at the sights.

The gun was heavier than he had imagined, and the recoil would be much greater than that of an air rifle. He needed to adjust his posture, lower his center of gravity, and get ready…

boom!

The moment the gun fired, the immense recoil sent a jolt through his shoulder. But he gritted his teeth and steadied himself.

"You missed," Harris said coldly from the side.

Joseph looked at the target; the bullet had hit the edge of the target, at least twenty centimeters from the bullseye.

Take a deep breath.

He recalled the countless shooting instruction videos he had watched and the oral histories told by veterans in the museum.

Relax, breathe, and stabilize your aim...

boom!

This time it was a bit better, but it still went off course.

boom!

Getting closer and closer.

boom!

When he fired the fifth shot, the bullet finally hit near the bullseye.

Harris walked over, looked at the target, then at Joseph: "You've never touched a gun before?"

"No, sir."

"Well, your learning ability is quite good." Harris rarely showed a hint of approval. "Keep practicing."

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

That evening, the barracks were lit by dim oil lamps.

The recruits slumped onto their beds, rubbing their aching shoulders. Shooting training had lasted all afternoon, and many had bruises all over their shoulders. Tom rubbed his shoulder, grimacing and complaining.

"My shoulder is almost ruined."

"At least it's better than mining coal." McDonald sat on the edge of the bed, cleaning his rifle.

Joseph noticed that his cleaning technique was very skilled; he disassembled, wiped, and oiled the surfaces, each step was done in an orderly manner.

"Have you ever used a gun before?" Joseph asked.

"There's some old equipment in the mine that needs to be demolished," McDonald said without looking up. "I've learned a little about engineering."

"Explosions?" O'Connor's interest was piqued. "So you can make explosives?"

"I know some of the basics." McDonald looked up. "Why are you asking?"

"Just curious." O'Connor shrugged. "I heard the Germans dug a lot of trenches in Belgium, maybe they'll come in handy later."

Joseph's heart skipped a beat.

McDonald is a demolition expert, O'Connor is a sharpshooter, Tom is loyal, reliable, and strong, but what does he have?

Historical knowledge.

He knew every turning point of the war, which battles would be won and which would be lost. He knew how poison gas, tanks, and airplanes would change the nature of warfare. He knew the brutality of trench warfare and how many people would die at the Somme.

But how can we utilize this knowledge?

He couldn't just tell people, "I know the future of this war," because that would only make him seem like a madman. He needed a smarter way to package modern military theory and tactical thinking as "personal insights."

"I have an idea," Joseph suddenly said.

O'Connor, McDonald, and Tom all looked at him.

"If we're really going to the front lines, to fight in trench warfare..." Joseph began slowly, "we'll need some special skills. Not just shooting, but also engineering skills, tactical coordination, wound care... We'll need to become a squad, a complementary team."

"What do you want to do?" O'Connor asked.

"I want to live," Joseph said calmly. "And not just me, but all of you too."

This is a very straightforward statement, but it is precisely because it is straightforward that it has power.

McDonald was silent for a moment, then nodded: "I can teach you engineering techniques. How to dig bunkers, how to deal with unexploded ordnance, how to set up improvised explosive devices."

"I can teach you how to shoot," O'Connor said, "at least enough to get you to hit a target from 300 meters away."

"What can I do?" Tom scratched his head. "I can only take care of horses."

"You're strong and physically robust," Joseph patted him on the shoulder. "That's important on the battlefield. And your loyalty and reliability are more important than any skill."

Tom smiled憨厚ly.

"And what about you?" McDonald asked Joseph. "What can you teach us?"

Joseph thought for a moment, then said, "Tactics."

"Tactics?" O'Connor raised an eyebrow. "What does a male servant know about tactics?"

"I've read a lot of books," Joseph said. This wasn't a lie; he had indeed read a lot of books, just in a different era. "I've studied the tactical mistakes and successes of those battles, such as the South African War, the Crimean War, and the Franco-Prussian War."

This statement is half true and half false, but it is convincing enough.

"And," Joseph continued, "I observed today's training. Do you know where the problem lies?"

"What's the problem?" McDonald asked.

"Sergeant Harris was teaching us tactics from the South African war," Joseph said. "Skipping lines, volleys, bayonet charges. But this war was different. The Germans had machine guns, heavy artillery, and barbed wire. Skipping lines were sitting ducks in front of machine guns."

All three of them were stunned.

"How do you know the Germans had machine guns?" O'Connor asked.