CHAPTER 307: CHAPTER 307: IS THIS WAR?

"Colonel!" Adrian, the orderly, lay next to Shire, nervously watching the direction of the enemy as he loudly reminded, "You should get into the artillery defense trench!"

Due to the shortage of manpower, Shire’s guard company was also thrown into the battle, and the only one who could protect Shire’s safety was Adrian.

"No, Adrian." Shire replied, "Give me a rifle!"

Although the idea of "retreating to the artillery defense trench" was very tempting, Shire resisted the urge. In the face of a total collapse, no one remains unharmed. At this time, everyone should play a role rather than self-preservation.

Adrian was shocked; he wanted to persuade Shire but swallowed his words when he saw the determined look in Shire’s eyes.

He quickly ran away, and before long, he brought back a Mauser rifle from the Ottoman Empire.

At that moment, Shire felt Adrian was like the worm in his stomach, knowing his every thought.

Compared to France’s Lebel, Shire preferred the Mauser.

Its center of gravity was constant and did not change with every bullet fired like the Lebel, a nightmare for sharpshooters who wished for precise aiming.

Adrian knew Shire had practiced with a rifle before, so he didn’t say much more. He just displayed a part of the rifle in front of Shire: "This is the interrupter; you need to pull it back before chambering each round."

"Got it." Shire answered.

Adrian then handed over a belt armed with dozens of Mauser rifle bullets. Shire hastily strapped it around his waist, finding it much heavier than expected.

Just then, Tijani walked over from the other end of the trench. He inspected several nearby machine gun points and ordered some men to reinforce the barbed wire.

There were many barbed wires among the seized supplies, enough for the 105th Infantry Regiment to use for several days.

When he saw the rifle in Shire’s hands, he exclaimed, "Colonel..."

Shire raised the rifle and waved it: "It gives me a sense of security!"

This statement was at least partially true; pistols couldn’t hit anything. It took six bullets to kill an enemy at close range, with one needing to hit the head.

Shire thought about when to improve his pistol.

There wasn’t an urgent need before; now it became clear everything was related to his own survival.

"Alright." Tijani nodded with no further objection: "But be careful."

"Of course." Shire smiled. On the battlefield, "be careful" sounded more like irony.

Ten minutes later, the enemy launched another charge.

This time, there was no artillery preparation, clearly indicating to opponents the shortage of ammunition.

This might also be the result of the 105th Infantry Regiment blocking the road:

The Ottoman Empire was a poor country. During this period, they had relocated their artillery to the Dardanelles Strait. The 105th Infantry Regiment’s blockade caused their artillery to be on one side and the shells on the other side.

Ottoman soldiers moved forward hunched over, holding their rifles, a dark mass slowly approaching.

Shire imitated others, placing his rifle on the trench, his sight through the front sight focused on the approaching enemy.

The feeling seemed different; it felt like he held a person’s life in his hands, with just a slight pull of the trigger.

Then, Shire noticed they were carrying something. On closer look, he realized it was wooden boards, carried by two men front and back.

These were clearly for crossing the barbed wire.

Oddly, Shire felt relieved; they hadn’t realized the importance of grenades or realized but had no solution.

The enemy drew closer; Shire’s palms sweated from nerves, despite the cold weather, causing his breath to hasten.

Images of using a revolver to kill an Ottoman in the morning flashed in Shire’s mind.

At that moment, Shire hadn’t thought about survival, ignoring many details, not realizing how much it would trouble him afterward.

Looking back now, it was like a movie playing vividly.

The man’s face full of menace and hate, his body jerking as bullets hit him, the pain and perseverance in his eyes, and finally, the bullet hitting his left forehead... the bloody black holes and frozen expressions in time.

This made Shire feel the urge to throw away his rifle and escape everything, running as far as possible, living the rest of his life happily with his fortune.

But Shire eventually persisted.

Because Shire understood this was a world war; from the moment he invented the tank, it was destined for him to walk this extraordinary path of struggle.

Still at three hundred meters, Tijani shouted: "Fire!"

The order was like switching on the war machine; bullets fired at the enemy like popping corn kernels.

But Shire neither heard nor saw anything.

Maybe realizing it was a life-and-death struggle, he suddenly calmed down at the moment of firing, focusing only on his sight and target.

"Bang!" A bullet whistled out, killing a target.

It was an Ottoman officer. Despite carefully blackening his red shoulder strap and abandoning his command sword, his boots had still exposed his identity.

Maybe he thought the boots helped him cross the barbed wire on the slippery ground, thus not replacing them, unexpectedly costing his life.

(Above picture: Ottoman officer attire)

"Bang!" Another bullet discharged.

It was a machine gunner; he and a few comrades were cautiously advancing with a Maxim in the crowd.

They hoped to set up within three hundred meters, using close-range fire to suppress the French defense line and cover their comrades’ attack.

Shire’s bullet disrupted their rhythm. The Maxim tilted, lost its balance, and fell heavily to the ground.

The machine gunners were about to lift it again but were swept down by a surge of machine gun bullets.

"Bang!"

This time, Shire aimed at a communications soldier; he ran quickly from the rear, seemingly delivering an order.

He must be a veteran, using shell craters to advance, suddenly darting into shelters and then out like a cunning rabbit.

However, Shire predicted the next shell crater for his target.

Indeed, that was his goal.

Just a second before he jumped into the crater, Shire’s bullet raced over.

Hit, Shire saw a blood arrow splurging from the bullet’s path, but the man rolled into the crater due to inertia.

Suddenly, a few bullets whistled past Shire’s head.

Shire quickly ducked, realizing he made a mistake: staying in one spot for too long, easy to be targeted by enemy snipers.

Was this war?

Shire thought it seemed less difficult than imagined.

When he pulled the trigger, he wasn’t scared, as there wasn’t time or space for fear!