1: 001 Traveled to the era of being executed by a firing squad 1: 001 Traveled to the era of being executed by a firing squad Anning remembered he should have been on the subway for his commute, drowsily hanging onto the handrail.
The dumbass product manager recently had another “brilliant” idea, so Anning’s technical team worked their asses off to bring this “brilliant” idea to life, working overtime like there was no tomorrow.
Today, everything was finally sorted out.
Just like that, the whole team vanished, fearing that the product manager might come up with another “brilliant” idea that would drag them back to more overtime.
Anning was one of them.
Even though it was only five in the afternoon, he was so sleepy that he could hardly keep his eyes open, relying solely on the energy drink he had bought from the vending machine before entering the subway station to stay awake.
This was Anning’s memory up until just a moment ago.
Now, he looked around in confusion at his surroundings.
Like on the subway, Anning was surrounded by lots of people right now, but these people were all dressed in Western-style clothes that looked like they could be from an opera, and their hair and eyes were distinctly Western.
And these people, they were all carrying something that looked like rifles.
Most Chinese men are part-time military enthusiasts, and Anning recognized these as so-called flintlock muskets.
This was the main weapon of what military enthusiasts colloquially call the “line infantry firing squad era.”
It seemed that Anning was currently among the ranks of marching line infantry.
Anning glanced down at his clothing, indeed, it was the same as the people next to him.
He had become a private in the line infantry.
Then, Anning noticed something—he didn’t have a gun.
Instead, he had a military drum hanging in front of him.
Anning had played around with this thing back in elementary school when he was in the Young Pioneers’ drum and bugle corps.
But he should have completely forgotten how to play it by now.
However, at this moment, he was drumming with ease to the rhythm of the march, as if he’d never neglected this skill over the years.
—I’ve time-traveled to the era of line infantry executions, becoming a military bandsman?
Anning’s mouth hung open, and he couldn’t snap out of the shock from this startling realization for a while.
But this world wasn’t kind enough to wait for Anning to accept the reality.
A screeching noise came from the sky.
Then a dark shadow fell not far in front of Anning to his left, spinning and bouncing like a giant bowling ball as it charged towards Anning—
Anning instinctively closed his eyes, and then he heard the screams of the people next to him.
Opening his eyes, he saw that a line of people had fallen beside him; a cannonball had passed straight through the ranks, leaving behind a row of unfortunate souls with legs severed below the knee, screaming in agony.
A chill ran up the back of Anning’s neck, and he felt like vomiting.
Then the second cannonball came.
This time, it struck the column even before it hit the ground, transitioning from a “ground roller” to a “sky flyer,” screeching past everyone’s heads before hitting an unlucky tall man.
That man’s head shattered like a watermelon falling from a ten-story building, splitting with a crack.
Anning couldn’t even swear anymore.
Adrenaline pumping, he breathed rapidly, his heart pounding as if it would break through his ribs and jump out of his chest.
Yet his hands continued to beat the drum proficiently, as if they were a different entity from Anning’s now panicked brain.
Under Anning’s lead with the drum, the pale-faced line infantry advanced mechanically.
Another cannonball fell.
This time it was a lime bomb exploding in the air.
The fuse was too short, causing it to burst high up, resulting in the sulfur being scattered widely.
Anning smelled a strange odor in the air, followed by a fiery pain in his lungs.
The people beside him coughed violently.
Anning wanted to run, to throw down the drum and flee this bloody, stinking, screaming hell, but he was carried along with his comrades, unable to move, only able to continue advancing.
The searing pain in his lungs grew worse.
Another cannonball fell.
Screams filled Anning’s ears, drowning out the sound of the military music.
Anning saw the flag-bearer on his left fall, and immediately someone rushed up to take over and raised the flag again.
The emblem on the flag looked like a fleur-de-lis—French troops?
Indeed, the military uniforms did look French, with a white color scheme, light blue lapels, and gray crossbelts…
At this moment, Anning noticed the officer walking beside the military flag.
—Right, if a noble lord gets shot, I could use the excuse of protecting the noble lord to break away from the charge!
I saw this scene in the movie “Barry Lyndon”!
Anning’s mind was entirely focused on how to escape from this damned hell.
Then the noble officer took a direct hit from a ground roller bomb.
The cannonball bounced just right, cutting the officer in half at the waist and calling out the names of all the privates behind him as well.
Anning saw the half-moon-shaped dog tag, an emblem exclusive to officers, fly up high.
—That’s it, no excuse left.
At this point, Anning suddenly felt a strong urge to pee, probably due to extreme nervousness.
He squinted his eyes, thinking that it might reduce the visual impact of the scenes in front of him.
—Forget it, empty my head, just charge forward in a rush.
Just then, Anning’s line infantry battalion charged into a dense cloud of smoke left behind by exploding cannonballs, and his visibility turned completely hazy.
Anning simply closed his eyes and stepped forward to the beat of the drum.
Due to the tension, the rhythm of his drumming suddenly sped up a lot.
Suddenly, he felt light on his eyelids.
So he cracked open his eyes slightly and saw that the troops had passed through the smoke, and then in the wheat field ahead, there were the figures of the enemy.