Rifles

Before Charlotte left, she told Lorraine that her father hadn't seen him in a long time and wanted to find some time to meet him.

A figure immediately came to Loran's mind. This person's face was no different from that of an ordinary middle-aged man, but his hair was gray, and he only had half of his left arm left. He often sat alone at the door of his room.

Lorraine's father, Olivier, had fought in World War I and distinguished himself in the Battle of Verdun. He could have held an officer position in the army, but while he was still fighting on the front lines, Lorraine's mother unfortunately contracted pneumonia. With most medical resources allocated to the front lines, she did not survive the disease.

Olivier felt guilty, but he did not regret it. He said that if he were given another chance, he would still choose to fight for peace.

Bringing her thoughts back, Lorraine went to the bar to pay, took out a one-franc coin from her wallet, placed it in front of the owner, nodded, and walked out of the café into the night.

The streets were bitterly cold, and almost no one walked on such a night. The scraps on the ground rustled in the wind.

Thanks to his father, he was able to receive a good education, become a teaching assistant at Paris 8 University, and never have to worry about making a living, which was the only thing he could be thankful for.

As Loran passed by the bakery, he saw two employees breaking apart a baguette. Judging from the weight, it would only cost about eighty shengding. But the two employees ate it very carefully, their eyes filled with guilt and, surprisingly, happiness.

Loran stopped and looked inside hesitantly, wondering whether she should bring some gifts.

The employees inside clearly noticed Loran as well, their faces turning pale as they swallowed the food in their mouths and hid the unfinished bread behind their backs.

Theft is a crime regardless of the value of the stolen goods, and in special circumstances, it can carry a maximum penalty of three years in prison and a fine, which would undoubtedly be a disaster for an ordinary worker.

When Lorraine realized he had been discovered by the two men, he smiled and nodded, then moved away. He wouldn't sympathize with the two employees for being generous like a shop owner, but he also wouldn't send them to the police station. All he could do was pretend he hadn't seen them.

Following the route she remembered, Loran arrived at an apartment building. The hallway was pitch black, with no lights, and she could only rely on her senses to find her way.

"Room 5022, if I remember correctly."

Loran arrived on the fifth floor and, with the help of the moonlight at the far end, finally stopped at the door of a room. This was his father's residence. Although it looked very simple, it was considered quite nice in this era.

He reached out and knocked on the door.

"Knock knock knock." The sound echoed down the corridor.

Loran felt a little nervous. The original owner of this body had not seen Olivier for several years, and his memories of him were very fragmented, so he did not know much about his father's lifestyle.

Soon, the door opened, and the light from an old-fashioned incandescent bulb shone into the corridor. A thin, middle-aged man stood in the doorway, his eyes filled with doubt, which quickly turned into disbelief.

Loran swallowed hard and said with difficulty, "Father."

Olivier opened his mouth, and after a long while, he finally managed to utter a hoarse sound: "Mark, I'm so glad you came. Come in and warm up."

The room was fully equipped with furniture, including an oak dining table and wardrobes. The most eye-catching feature on the wall was a clock, next to which hung a Lebel M1886 rifle.

It was the world's first military rifle to use smokeless powder, with a long range and high accuracy, and was one of the standard weapons for French infantry during World War I.

Olivier went to the kitchen, cut open a baguette, took out some purple grape jam, and placed it on the table, sitting opposite Lorraine.

The lights flickered on and off, and the two, having not seen each other for a long time, fell silent for a moment.

Loran looked down at the bread, but his mind was completely on the rifle on the wall.

The atmosphere suddenly became serious.

Olivier noticed Lorraine's gaze lingering on the gun on the wall. His eyes lowered, and he asked, "You know that gun?"

Loran nodded: "A very powerful weapon that made a great contribution to the victory of the war."

It can be said that without this rifle, France would have been absolutely unable to withstand the German army's offensive during World War I.

Olivier nodded, then leaned back in his seat, as if recalling something.

"Weapons are important to soldiers fighting on the front lines, but you could also say they are not, because on average, fifty soldiers die every second in Verdun, and there are guns and ammunition everywhere."

"Have you ever seen a sky filled with black dots? We watched them fall in despair, exploding on the ground. Smoke and dust blinded us, and all we could think about was the battle, followed by enemy attacks. The Germans fired shells all day long and launched their attacks at night, giving no one a chance to breathe."

Loran had seen these messages in the documents, but hearing them actually spoken by someone was still shocking.

Verdun, the meat grinder, was the closest place to hell in world history. In order to win, the participants abandoned all moral bottom lines. Not only were there a barrage of shells, but also flamethrowers, poison gas, and tear gas, making it impossible to defend against. Two million people participated in the war, and more than one million were killed or wounded. Those who survived were left with serious post-war trauma.

"Yes, it's cruel," Lorraine said.

"But war is coming again," Olivier said.

"You mean, you want me to join the army?"

As someone who experienced the war firsthand, Olivier lacked the arrogance one might expect; his face only reflected a deep reverence for the war.

During World War I, France mobilized its entire population. Adult men, and even underage students, put down their schoolbags and picked up guns to fight on the front lines. There were no cowards on this land. Ninety percent of the young and able-bodied men of an entire era died on the battlefield. Now, the majority of the population in the country consists of the elderly, women, and young people like Lorraine who did not have the chance to participate in the war.

"No," Olivier shook his head and said slowly, "I don't want you to go to war. I want you to live well and use what you've learned to become a scholar or a politician."

Loran remained silent.

"I know the cruelty of war. France has 40 million citizens, which, excluding the elderly, children and women, is barely close to 30 million. In that war, we suffered more than 4.6 million casualties. This not only caused enormous economic losses, but also gradually decimated the population. Therefore, I do not want you to participate in the war."

Loran took a bite of bread dipped in jam and sensed a touch of bitterness in his words.

"What if the situation becomes extremely dangerous?"

Olivier shook his head and said firmly, "No, we have the Maginot Line. It took a full twelve years and five billion francs to build. It is the most solid defensive fortification in the world."

Lorraine felt a pang of bitterness. If the Maginot Line had truly been so impregnable, France wouldn't have fallen in just forty-one days.

"What if that day really comes?" Loran asked earnestly.

Olivier stared intently at Lorraine's face with a serious expression before returning to his room.

When he reappeared, he was holding a yellowed envelope.

"If that day ever comes and you really want to go to the front lines, take this letter to Colonel Derain and become a commander on the battlefield. It's safer than charging into battle yourself."

Loran lowered his head, holding the letter in his hand.

Instead of spending the night at Olivier's place, he returned to his apartment, rummaged through some wires and a discarded dry cell battery box, and, knowing the chances were slim, still tried to conceive of a device that could convert AC power into the tiny DC current needed for a mobile phone—a charging cable.