Chapter 27: The Forgotten Fertile Land of God

  The biting chill of spring has already dissipated, and the snow that had accumulated on the ground has quietly melted away. The icy ground still retains the cold air of yesterday's severe cold, but the warm sunshine on the body makes one feel that it is no longer as chilly as in previous days. The breath of spring is gradually becoming more intense, and the chill of early spring is slowly disappearing without a trace, leaving only the new green shoots emerging from the ground, heralding to the world that true spring has arrived in 1915.

  Everything returns to spring, which should be the season of thriving life. However, the once beautiful countryside is now scarred and barren, with no signs of people working in the fields. The tender green grass has sprouted everywhere, its vibrant color punctuating the dark red soil in a rhythmic pattern, bringing a breath of fresh air while also diluting the thick smell of blood. A gentle breeze stirs, and nature's splendor smiles serenely.

  "Rumble... Rumble!!"

  Suddenly, the shells that rose into the air pierced the silence and heavily hit the ground, the thunderous sound completely shattered the rare tranquility of nature, and a huge wave was suddenly set off in the quiet air.

  "Fire!!" The hoarse voice amplified by the iron megaphone shook like a drum in everyone's ears, and the soldiers who were just lying crookedly in the trenches enjoying the New Year suddenly sprang into action like a reflex, quickly crawling into their individual foxholes to await the punishment of the god of war.

  The continuous bombardment was like a series of heavy hammers pounding the ground, causing the entire earth to tremble. The newly set up position was quickly overturned by a barrage of heavy artillery shells, and the barbed wire, sandbags, and wooden stakes were blown into the air by the powerful shockwave before falling back down. The howitzer shells and mortar shells that came flying in from all directions seemed to have eyes, scattering widely over the position, with many shells fortunately landing right inside the trenches. Even those who hid in the bomb shelters were still shaken to death.

  Intense shelling was just another experience of withstanding artillery fire for the veterans who had been through dozens of life-and-death tests. They didn't need to panic, as the affection of death was an inescapable sin for anyone. Just like being hit by heavy shells, such as those over 200mm, even if you hid in a hole, you would still be blown to death, and your comrades within a dozen meters around you would hardly escape unscathed.

  So, no one wants such a bombardment to last too long. Our artillery is not vegetarian, and soon they will launch a crazy counterattack according to the previously divided firing coordinates. The shells are like hail in winter, scattered towards the enemy's position at no cost. The newly emerged grass will be burned to death quickly, and the strong heat wave will blow away all the fortifications on the position like autumn leaves, not to mention the small grass in the cracks, which will be reduced to ashes by the high temperature of over a thousand degrees.

  "Open fire!!" The officers quickly got the warning from the bugle, and then they shouted loudly. "Hurry up, you damn fools, those damn Germans are coming again!!"

  One by one, the survivors stumbled through the blown-up trenches to their respective reserve positions. The hard work of the previous night had already disappeared without a trace. The soldiers quickly lay down in the remaining half of the trench, setting up various weapons and aiming at the enemy who was swarming over like locusts. The old soldiers began to help the new recruits take out hand grenades, carry ammunition boxes, and so on. Some people even silently started praying or placing their entrenching tools in a convenient place, perhaps they no longer believed in God, indeed after staying in this damn battlefield for too long, one should not believe in that damn omnipotent lord anymore.

  "John, your ass is really cute? Your head is also raised so high, waiting for the bullet to drill in?" Old soldier George carefully sucked on a small cigarette butt, and the faint smoke would soon calm him down. However, he found that a rookie next to him was different, with his buttocks raised high like a woman asking to be beaten. "Don't raise your head so high, the German's marksmanship is not the kind of dogshit technique your grandfather uses when hunting. If you raise it any higher, I guarantee you'll be very satisfied."

  He pinched the nose of his cigarette, George drew out his Lee-Enfield rifle from the right side and slowly lowered his head to aim at a German soldier who was running towards him in a staggering manner. He really wanted to hear the shooting order from his superior officer. At least yesterday he was not satisfied with only killing twelve pigs, today he must kill more.

  Both sides' artillery fire had always been very tacit, the side that launched the attack would often voluntarily stop the large-scale artillery fire, at least those heavy artillery would withdraw from the firing line, and more participating were fast-firing mortars. Occasionally sweeping over with heavy machine gun fire wouldn't kill many old birds, but would make John's tender recruits lose a lot of flesh, so after the opponent's creeping barrage swept over the position, the soldiers had already rushed out to take their positions.

  "Fire!!!"

  It had always puzzled George why officers liked to give the order to fire and had to stand up, facing the enemy, shouting it out. Those who were lucky would manage to duck down and start directing the battle after they finished shouting, while those who were unlucky might not even finish their sentence before being riddled with bullets. But at this moment, George didn't have the luxury of worrying about the officers' luck, as the order to fire entered his ears at a speed of over 300 meters per second, and after zero-point seconds of thinking, he confirmed it and gave the order to fire. The specific action signal quickly passed through the neural network into his fingers, and then his index finger pressed the trigger, releasing the firing pin, which quickly detonated the bullet. The powerful force propelled the bullet out of the barrel at a speed of over 500 meters per second, and it rapidly rotated and drilled into the body of someone who had been targeted earlier. The strong bullet head was like a drill bit on a drill press, easily drilling into the chest cavity, twisting its way through the internal organs until it finally came to rest in some part of the body after losing most of its force.

  After shooting one dead, George immediately turned the rifle to aim at the next target. In his line of sight, two German soldiers were bravely carrying a general-purpose machine gun, just about to shoot the man holding the gun, but he was also an old bird, quickly dodging and using several corpses as temporary cover, the muzzle of the gun flashing with a fierce smile, quickly aiming at this position, soon firing continuously.

  On the battlefield, every slight dodge and retreat would put oneself in a difficult position to defend. George paid the price for admiring his opponent's well-trained troops earlier. The 7.62mm bullets that came with rapid fire carried strong kinetic energy and took out a large chunk of muscle from his left arm. His luck was considered good, as John, who had been cursing at him just now, was directly penetrated by the bullet through his entire shoulder. Fresh blood flowed continuously like a spring, and George, enduring the pain to prepare for counterattack, raised his head only to be met with intense machine gun fire. To be honest, he particularly wanted to beat those damned machine gunners to death at this moment, and of course, the mortar men were also damned.

  He slowly crawled down, taking cover behind the thick trench to avoid bullets. George abandoned his previous thoughts of revenge and began to roughly inspect his own wounds. His shredded clothes had been torn apart by that damn bullet, revealing pink flesh, blood vessels, and nerves. He pulled out a non-toxic gauze from a small package, biting one end with his mouth while using his right hand to wrap it tightly around his shoulder several times before tying a knot. After finishing the makeshift bandage, he slowly crawled over to check on John, who had been hit in the lower back near the scapula by a 12.7mm heavy machine gun bullet. The massive kinetic energy had almost severed the left side of his neck, and the deep white bone of the shoulder joint was terrifyingly exposed, basking in the sunlight. Fresh blood continuously gushed out from the enormous wound, soaking the entire back and chest in red. All this told George that there was no saving him.

  "Damn your dog-fucking!" John's slow death didn't mean much to George, who had already sent off at least ten comrades in the months since the war began. He figured their recent opponents were probably a higher level, and today they'd barely started fighting before he got himself wounded, and last night his comrade who shared a can of pineapple with him had half his shoulder blown off. Of course, he didn't blame the enemy; all he could do was complain about whether this damn war even made sense.

  Severe pain was like countless needles constantly pricking the vulnerable side of his heart, George could clearly feel that his left hand holding the gun was trembling non-stop, and his aim was also jumping non-stop. Bullets were flying back and forth above his head, and he occasionally counterattacked but just couldn't hit an enemy. Instead, more and more enemies came rushing in, relying on their excellent tactical skills, they made George's comrades one by one have their heads blown open like a roll call.

  "Where's that damned machine gunner?" George was still returning fire, but his mouth kept repeating the phrase, perhaps it would become a mantra for the rest of his life. Before he could say it for the fourth time, the sound of boots running quickly came from behind him, and two machine gunners soon appeared on his left side, crouching in the position where John had just been killed, then they skillfully loaded the general-purpose machine gun with a drum magazine, and started firing at the enemy non-stop.

  "Oh, I thought the damned God was asleep!" George was delighted to have another firepower point by his side. After muttering to himself, he slowly took aim at his target. The Germans, who were constantly shouting and charging towards their position, were running, crouching, and standing to shoot, making it difficult for George. But this time was different. His line of sight had appeared a pair of machine gunners busy changing the drum, effective training allowed him to overcome the pain in his left arm, one shot let the deputy shooter who was loading the drum go west, the bullet entered from the left side of the body, damaging his lungs and successfully entering the heart area. The deputy shooter who was hit fell down like a deflated balloon in front of the machine gunner, while the shooter didn't stop for a moment, picked up the drum and loaded it, then directly put the tripod on his comrade's corpse, and quickly fired back at this side with a series of shots.

  Fortunately for George, but unfortunately for the two machine gunners who had just arrived, the German's burst of fire was extremely accurate, and it made the head of their own point man look like a watermelon that had been split open. The deputy shooter's cheekbone was also smashed in, his entire face was covered in blood, and his teeth were falling out mixed with blood. Just as George had thought, the deputy shooter immediately fainted and fell to the ground.

  "Damn it!" Losing the cover of machine gun fire was an absolutely heartbreaking thing. Just now, George, who had just lamented that his main faction had only one machine gunner, immediately threw aside his rifle and dove into the trench with a thud. The bullets whizzing overhead didn't hit George, but the massive impact with the ground made his left arm hurt even more. The searing pain spread throughout his body, but seeing the deputy machine gunner who was left with only half of his face, George quickly reacted, pulling the deputy shooter aside and picking up the machine gun to continue firing. In fact, he didn't like this gun at all - it had plenty of firepower, but its strong recoil was like a boxer constantly punching your right side, making weak soldiers absolutely dare not touch this deadly weapon.

  "Come on, little rabbits!!" George yelled as he frantically fired the machine gun, bullets flying rapidly towards the enemy, while spent cartridges fell to the ground beside him, the shiny casings glinting in the sunlight. The dazzling sight was not a spectacle, but rather a sign of madness, as the scorching hot barrel gradually turned red. When George finished firing the drum, he immediately turned right, bent his body and hid in the trench, tearing off the remaining piece of fabric from his pant leg, dipping it into the small blood pool left by John's sacrifice, wetting it, and using it as a makeshift glove to change the barrel. The entire process showcased not the skill of an old soldier, but rather how war drives people mad.

  After replacing the drum and barrel, George applied some blood to the barrel again, which was a pre-emptive move. Then he knelt in the trench and continued firing wildly, as did the heavy machine gun position not far away. The water in the canteen was gone, and the machine gun barrel had turned red hot, but the crazed crowd soon came up with a solution - they tore off their comrades' clothes, wet them with urine or blood, either replaced the barrel or cooled it down directly, and then continued firing wildly. Nearby soldiers were also firing non-stop, falling after being hit, only to have others rush forward to continue firing, before being shot down as well.

  "Target A1-02, high-explosive shell, no correction, six rounds rapid fire!" On the mortar position, the soldiers were also crazy, one by one shells continuously slid into the barrel and fired out, then another one followed, they had enough cooling water, as long as the barrel was red-hot, immediately opened the water bottle carefully poured from head to toe, after the hissing white smoke dispersed, they continued to fire shells non-stop.

  "Get down!!" A crazy whistling sound came from the air, and the officers quickly realized what was happening. Orders were given immediately, unfortunately, he had to be blown into pieces. Including George and other old soldiers, they all reacted quickly. George didn't even care about the machine gun, directly lying in the trench. Then a huge roar accompanied by a wave of intense heat came, the familiar heavy artillery bombardment made George complain again. "Damn Germans, are their cannonballs free?"

  A powerful shockwave took away many lives, including George's machine gun. When George got up to continue fighting, he found that the machine gun had been "blown" out of the trench. Not daring to go out recklessly, he quickly searched for weapons on the surrounding corpses. With a few hand grenades becoming his main weapon, he pulled off the safety pins and threw them with all his might. The sound of explosions came and went, but many hand grenades did not kill anyone because the enemy would use heavy artillery to bombard themselves, only proving that their infantry was not capable of attacking, perhaps relying on a special battle for a while.

  God did not disappoint, and the heavy artillery swept across the battlefield soon after. Before George could put on his gas mask, a shell with a distinctive whistling sound came crashing down. After hastily putting on his gas mask, George finally found an opportunity to retrieve his machine gun. As various colored smoke rose from their own position, it provided excellent cover for his actions. Sure enough, George emerged from the trench and retrieved the machine gun with ease. After collecting sufficient ammunition, he waited anxiously by the side of the trench for the enemy's arrival.

  "This damn machine gun is really damn good, such a big impact didn't blow it to pieces, what a great weapon!" George took the opportunity to carefully inspect the machine gun and ammunition while his opponent hadn't rushed up yet. After replacing it with a full drum, he could only sigh in relief. Of course, he didn't forget to press his ear against the side of the trench, as the thick smoke made it impossible to see outside. He could only judge the distance of the battle by listening to the sound of the enemy's footsteps through the earth, which was a great medium for transmitting sound.

  "Come on, you devils!" George yelled as he lay flat in the trench again and started firing. He had just heard a multitude of footsteps very clearly against the trench, and his own shells were also continuously firing at the enemy according to coordinates, so it was necessary for him to come out and sweep around.

  The rattling sound of machine guns soon echoed across the entire battlefield, and this time the soldiers on both sides of the battle, except for wearing gas masks and being affected by smoke, were no different from each other. The bullets flying by took away one life after another, and the continuously exploding shells also played the role of the Grim Reaper's sickle.

  "Come on, rabbits!!" George kept firing his gun without stopping, his vision wasn't very clear, but as long as he felt someone moving, he would pour bullets in that direction without hesitation. The madness didn't last for long, the gentle breeze slowly dispersed the toxic gas on the battlefield, and as his vision cleared up, more and more people appeared in George's sight, while their counterattack couldn't stop the enemy's wave-like advance.

  After frantically firing the last drum, George rolled into the trench and began searching for his trusty entrenching tool. "Where's my shovel? Damn it!" He finally found the remaining half-drum, only to discover that the damned shovel was pinned under a corpse - the same machine gunner who had lost his helmet just moments before. George flipped him over and grabbed the lifesaving shovel, then reloaded the last half-drum into the machine gun and placed the shovel on his right side. After crazily yelling and firing the remaining half-drum at the wave of German soldiers, the Germans finally managed to overwhelm the barbed wire with their corpses and charged in.

  "Fuck your mother!" George directly swung the nearly fifty-kilogram machine gun at the fastest-approaching German, then shouted and picked up an entrenching shovel to charge forward, using the shovel as a cleaver to chop at the man's waist. The long-unused entrenching shovel was exceptionally sharp, its massive blade almost sinking into the German's body, and the flying blood splattered George's face.

  With a turn, the shovel was pulled out and brought out a large pile of intestines and blood. The crimson shovel was swung by George towards another enemy, and the shovel that had cut through the strong wind did not disappoint George, directly along the neck, making the man's head almost move house.

  "Huff...puff!"

  The goddess of fortune would not hang on to any life, and within a range of ten meters, there was no comrade-in-arms to respond to George's back. He quickly fell into a stalemate, and before he could even pull out his shovel, he was stabbed in the back by a German soldier with a long bayonet. After a stir, the bayonet was pulled out, and the great pain had not yet been transmitted to George's head when another enemy soldier had already sent his own bayonet into his abdomen. "Ah~~" crying out, George used all his strength to chop at the scoundrel who had stabbed him in the abdomen with his engineer shovel, but that man was not a fool. A single backstep not only made his flying shovel lose any lethality, but also pulled out the bayonet again, giving George another heavy blow.

  "Bullshit!"

  George fell on the small slope and soon only had the strength to speak, the swarming German soldiers quickly trampled his body and advanced towards the second line, powerful boots and shoes stepped on George's body, some people who didn't watch their step even stepped on his injured belly, pulling out his intestines.

  Death was painful, at least that's what he thought when he was alive, but when the moment of death really came, George felt it wasn't so painful after all. His mouth was bleeding profusely and he couldn't say a word, but in his brain there were still some lingering thoughts. He seemed to see his beautiful wife and children on the island of Britain, were they happy? Were his parents still healthy? The smile of his daughter flashed across the edge of his mind for the last time. A German soldier who had tripped over discovered George, who was not quite dead yet, and quickly gave him another stab, this time aiming straight at his heart.

  After the cold light flashed, George's eyes gradually lost their color, and his mind slowly became muddled. The passing of more than a dozen comrades-in-arms had long since tempered the numbness in his heart, but this time he was about to leave the world to accompany them. His heart was so unwilling, yet it was just unwillingness.

  "Boom!!" The barrage came again, but this time it wasn't the Germans who were being bombarded, but the Anglo-French army itself. The collapse of the first line of defense was due to the poisonous gas shells, or perhaps also because of the deployment of troops. However, these were no longer important, they needed to destroy the German plot and achievements, and the second line of defense had already been set up. There was no reason to let the Germans have the first line, so shell after shell began pouring down. The German soldiers who had just entered the Anglo-French trenches immediately stopped their advance, and the intense bombardment quickly sent some people who didn't have time to hide flying into the air, turning them into pieces of flesh.

  Perhaps George was right, it's better to perish directly than to continue struggling. This is a massacre without winners or losers, sometimes the enemy is slaughtered, and sometimes it's our own people. The preciousness of life no longer exists. A person's death may cause a big stir in peacetime, but in wartime, even if a thousand people die, it's just a statistic. Just a statistic. Ten thousand deaths might only add more rotting corpses to the battlefield, and like a thousand, the loss of ten thousand is just a number. Of course, among these people are many Johns and Georges.

  "The value of life does not lie in how high your achievements are or how happy your life is. Sometimes, your life is only worth a cheap bullet, sometimes even less than that - a small piece of shrapnel. On this vast and enduring battlefield, there are many things we cannot control. Obeying orders, bravely killing the enemy, our lives as soldiers are nothing more than this!"

  The words George spoke to new recruit John the night before had barely faded from their rightful hue, but by the next morning they had completely lost all meaning. Or perhaps not, for the two of them, along with many others, verified his words through actual circumstances - every single word was correct: a person's life is absolutely insignificant, including that of George himself.

  "My dear, why are we apart? Tell me it's all just a nightmare from last night's sleep. My dear, what am I doing here? I raise my gun and shoot again and again, watching one life after another fall to the ground. What is this? Last night we shared food and talked about women with our brothers, but today they're gone. This morning the officer who was yelling orders can't be found, not even his limbs. We change uniforms one by one, but can't find a single one that isn't stained with bloody guilt. More and more people are going mad, their eyes red and swollen, their hands shaking uncontrollably. Their souls, heavy with sin, can't bear any more killing until the heart is killed and stops beating, freeing them from this spiritual prison."

  "God's merciful heart has long been shrouded in smoke, He has forgotten the various tragedies of human beings, and the mutual slaughter of humanity is not worthy of God's pity. Will those who die enter heaven? Tens of millions of lonely souls are wandering across the entire European continent, God does not need so many people to enter heaven. Yes, God has already forgotten this land."

  In the spring of 1915, the German counterattack was very effective but not lasting, and both sides soon entered a strategic stalemate. The cruel war had just warmed up, and more and more brutal battles were waiting for batch after batch of young people to go and contribute, contributing their precious lives on this piece of land that God had long forgotten and Death remembered.

  Perhaps after the war is over, this place will become a fertile field of thousands of acres, for it has buried too many lives and flesh.