Chapter 311: Is This War?
“Colonel!” The orderly Adrian crouched next to Charles, nervously watching the enemy's direction while loudly reminding him, “You should take cover in the gun emplacement!”
Due to manpower shortages, Charles’s security company was also engaged in the fight, and the only person available to protect Charles’s safety was Adrian.
“No, Adrian,” Charles replied. “Give me a rifle!”
Although the idea of “hiding back in the gun emplacement” was tempting, Charles resisted the urge. When the nest collapses, how can the eggs survive? At this moment, everyone should play their part, not just seek to preserve their own skin.
Adrian paused, wanting to persuade Charles but, seeing his determined gaze, swallowed the words.
He quickly ran off, and before long, returned with a Mauser rifle from the Ottoman Empire.
In that moment, Charles felt that Adrian was like a worm inside his stomach, knowing his thoughts before he even spoke them.
Compared to France's Lebel rifle, Charles preferred the Mauser.
Its center of gravity was certain, unlike the Lebel, which changed with every shot, a nightmare for shooters who desired precision.
Adrian knew Charles had practiced with a rifle before, so he didn’t say much more. He simply held the rifle before Charles and showed him one side. “This is the blocker. You need to pull it back before loading.”
“Got it,” Charles replied.
Adrian then handed over a bandolier with dozens of Mauser cartridges. Charles clumsily strapped it around his waist; it was much heavier than he had imagined.
Tigani was walking over from the other end of the trench. He inspected several machine gun positions and ordered a few men to reinforce the barbed wire.
There was plenty of barbed wire among the captured supplies, enough for the 105th Infantry Regiment to use for several days.
When he saw the rifle in Charles’s hands, he exclaimed in surprise, “Colonel…”
Charles raised the rifle and shook it slightly. “It gives me some sense of security!”
This was at least partly true. A pistol couldn’t hit anything, and killing an enemy at close range required six shots, one of which had to hit the head.
Charles thought to himself, maybe it's time to improve the pistol.
He hadn’t felt a sense of urgency before, but now he realized that everything was a matter of life and death.
“Alright,” Tigani nodded, no longer opposing. “But be careful.”
“Of course.” Charles smiled. On the battlefield, “be careful” sounded more like sarcasm.
Minutes later, the enemy launched another charge.
This time, there was no artillery preparation, clearly signaling to the enemy that they were running low on ammunition.
Perhaps this was also the result of the 105th Infantry Regiment blocking the road:
The Ottoman Empire was a poor country, and during this period, they had moved their artillery to the Dardanelles. The 105th Infantry Regiment had blocked the road, causing their artillery to be on one side while the shells were on the other.
The Ottoman soldiers crept forward, holding rifles, a dark mass slowly approaching.
Charles, mimicking the others, rested his rifle on the trench's edge, his sights locked on the approaching enemy through the rear sight.
It felt somewhat different. It seemed like he held the power over a life, just a light pull of the trigger, and it would be over.
Then, Charles noticed that they were carrying something. As he looked closer, he realized it was a series of wooden boards, lifted by two men, one in front and one behind.
Clearly, they were meant to cross the barbed wire.
Charles felt somewhat relieved. They still hadn’t realized the real danger: the hand grenades. Or, if they had, they had no solution.
The enemy was getting closer. Charles’s palms were sweating, even though the weather was still cold. His breath grew quicker, more erratic.
He recalled the image of shooting the Ottoman soldier with a revolver that morning.
At the time, Charles had been focused on survival, not thinking much about the consequences, not realizing it would trouble him later as he missed so many details.
Now, looking back, it all seemed so clear, like a movie reel playing in his mind.
The soldier’s face, full of murderous intent and hatred, his body swaying with each bullet that struck him, the agony and persistence in his eyes, and finally, the bullet hitting his left temple... Each bloodstained black hole, the expression frozen as though time had stopped.
This made Charles feel the urge to throw down the rifle and flee from everything. Run as far as possible and live out the rest of his life in comfort with his wealth.
But in the end, Charles stayed.
Because he understood this was the Great War. From the moment he invented the tank, he was destined to walk this extraordinary path of conflict.
It was still three hundred meters. Tigani shouted, “Fire!”
The order was like flipping a switch to the war machine, and the bullets rained down on the enemy like popping beans.
But Charles heard nothing, saw nothing.
Perhaps realizing this was a matter of life and death, when the battle started, he suddenly became calm, his focus entirely on his sights and his target.
“Bang!” The bullet screamed out and struck a target dead.
It was an Ottoman officer. He had carefully painted over his red shoulder insignia, even abandoned his command sword, but his military boots exposed his officer’s identity.
Perhaps he thought the boots would help him cross the barbed wire on the slippery ground, so he didn’t want to part with them, unaware that they would cost him his life.
“Bang!” Another bullet was fired.
This time, Charles hit a machine gunner. He and several comrades were carefully advancing, carrying a Maxim machine gun while blending in with the crowd.
They hoped to set up at around three hundred meters and then suppress the French line and cover their comrades’ advance.
Charles’s bullet broke their rhythm. The Maxim tilted and lost its balance, crashing heavily to the ground.
The machine gunners tried to lift it again but were swept down by a barrage of machine gun bullets.
“Bang!”
This time, Charles hit a signalman. The man was quickly running up from the rear, seemingly to deliver some orders.
He must have been an experienced soldier, constantly using shell holes to leap forward, suddenly jumping into cover and then out again, like a crafty rabbit.
However, Charles had already predicted his next leap point at the next shell hole.
Sure enough, that was his target.
Just before the signalman jumped into the shell hole, Charles’s bullet arrived.
It hit. Charles saw a spray of blood as the bullet passed, but the man was carried by inertia into the shell hole.
Suddenly, several bullets whizzed past Charles’s head.
He quickly ducked down, realizing he had made a mistake: staying in one place for too long made it easy for the enemy snipers to lock onto his position.
Is this war?
Charles thought. It didn’t seem as hard as he imagined.
When he pulled the trigger, he wasn’t afraid, because there was no time or space left for fear!