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History Simulator History Simulator original

History Simulator

Author: Cadet1220

© WebNovel

Chapter 1: The first greeting

"what the hell happened?" Attempting to open my eyes, I struggle to recall the events of last night. There were drinks, music, dancing, and girls. Oh, and a truck. Wait, a truck? Does that mean I'm dead? All I can see is dirt; it seems I'm in a hole. Peering upward, I slowly begin to climb out, feeling my entire body ache with the effort. Finally emerging, I'm greeted by vast expanses of green grass, yet no one is in sight.

"Is this the afterlife?" I wonder aloud as I pull myself out of the pit. As I touch the grass, it feels itchy against my skin.

BOOM!!!!

Startled by a loud explosion, I quickly try to locate its source as I take cover back in the pit hole, assessing my surroundings. That's when I spot a rifle. Without hesitation, I pick it up to inspect it, checking to see if it's functional or if there are any bullets left. After a thorough check, I confirm it can fire perfectly and brace myself for whatever might come charging at me. It's then that I suddenly remember the type of rifle I'm holding.

A World War I, Gewehr 98 (G98) rifle. Designed by Mauser, it was the standard German infantry rifle from 1898 until the end of the great war in 1918. The Gewehr 98 is a bolt-action rifle chambered in 7.92x57mm Mauser, known for its accuracy and reliability. It featured a five-round magazine and was used extensively throughout the war. Alongside the Gewehr 98, various other firearms were used, but the G98 remains the most iconic and widely recognized German rifle of the period.

"Why the hell is this rifle here" Realizing something odd, I notice that the hands holding the rifle are unusually large and hairy. Then, it dawns on me that I'm wearing clothes different from what I had on last night. Instead of my previous outfit, I'm now clad entirely in gray.

All the strangeness of my situation had to be momentarily set aside when I noticed movement near a small hill in the vast field. I attempted to conceal myself while maintaining a view of the hill, soon spotting four men descending from it. They were clad in uniforms that I could only describe as resembling those of French soldiers from World War I.

"What the heck," I muttered under my breath, thinking they might be my salvation.

"Hello!" I called out, cautiously peering and hailing them from the pit. Suddenly, one of the men screamed, "Boche!".

As they pointed their rifles at me and started shooting, I immediately ducked back into the safety of the pit hole.

Cursing under my breath, I started shaking when a bullet whizzed perilously close to me. The gunfire briefly halted, prompting me to consider peering out again. But as soon as I moved, the firing resumed. Taking a deep breath, I resolved to defend myself, firing back at the French soldiers aimlessly until the rifle clicked empty, out of bullets.

"Shit"

Despite my aimless shooting, I somehow managed to hit three of the men, each falling to the ground in the distance. However, there was still one French soldier left. My heart raced as I realized my rifle was now useless, out of ammunition. I ducked back down into the pit, my mind racing for options.

Peeking over the edge, I saw the remaining soldier cautiously approaching, rifle aimed and ready. He was clearly wary, knowing I had taken down his comrades. I glanced around the pit for anything I could use as a weapon or a tool to aid my escape but found nothing.

With no other choice, I decided to try negotiation or deception. "Don't shoot!" I called out, hoping to sound convincing. "I surrender!" My voice echoed slightly across the open field, carrying a mix of fear and desperation.

The French soldier paused, his rifle still pointed at me, his body tense and ready. I could see him weighing his options, deciding whether to trust my words or not. The standoff seemed to last an eternity, each second stretching out as we eyed each other warily.

Then, in a sudden decision, the soldier lowered his rifle just a fraction, signaling a willingness to parley. It was a risky move on both our parts, but it was clear neither of us wanted to escalate the situation further if it could be avoided.

The French soldier, maintaining a cautious distance, gestured with his rifle and commanded, "Sortez avec les mains en haut!" His order was clear: I was to come out with my hands up.

As I slowly stood up, showing my empty hands to signal my compliance, my mind raced, trying to devise a plan that would ensure my survival. Emerging from the pit, I kept my movements deliberate and non-threatening, fully aware that any sudden action could be met with deadly force.

The French infantrymen, eyed me with a mix of suspicion and relief. His finger remained close to the trigger, ready to respond at the slightest provocation. Despite the apparent calm, I knew that the situation was teetering on a knife-edge.

As I stood there, under the scrutinizing gaze of the last remaining French soldier, I began to speak slowly, trying to convey sincerity and desperation. "Je ne veux pas me battre," I said, hoping my plea for peace—despite the language barrier—would resonate with him. "I don't want to fight."

Every second felt like an hour as I waited for his response, hoping that my words and surrender would be enough to spare my life and perhaps lead to an unexpected ally in this bewildering situation.

The French soldier, still cautious, reiterated his command for me not to move, "Ne bougez pas," as he kept his rifle trained on me, slowly closing the distance between us. His eyes were narrow slits of focus, betraying no intention other than to keep control over the situation. I stood completely still, my hands raised high, understanding that any misstep on my part could have fatal consequences.

As he approached, the distance between us shrank, intensifying the tension in the air. His gaze darted around, checking for any potential threats or sudden movements on my part.

Despite the barrel of his rifle pointing at me, there was a moment where our eyes met, and I sensed a flicker of curiosity, perhaps even empathy, in his expression.

Finally, he stopped just a few feet away, his rifle still aimed at me but his posture slightly relaxed. It was clear he was assessing his next steps carefully, weighing the risks of trusting the words and actions of an apparent enemy.

As the tension between us hung thick in the air, my eyes suddenly felt unbearably heavy, and my vision began to blur. Before I could grasp what was happening, darkness enveloped me, pulling me down into an unexpected abyss of unconsciousness.

The next thing I knew, I awoke lying on my back, the bright blue of the sky replaced by the dark velvet of night, dotted with stars. The abrupt transition disoriented me for a moment. As my senses returned, a chilling realization dawned on me: the French soldier lay motionless on the ground nearby, lifeless. And, somehow, in my hands, I now held the rifle of the Frenchman.

Confusion as I tried to piece together the events that led to this moment. How did the situation escalate to this point? Did I act in self-defense during a moment of lost consciousness, or had someone else intervened?

"What the hell happened!!" I threw the rifle aside, starting to panic, but I forced myself to calm down. Cautiously, I approached the soldier's body to inspect it. Among his belongings, I found some tools—a knife, a lighter, and cigarettes. My hands trembled as I picked up a small book from one of the French men. Opening it, a wave of horror washed over me when I saw the date inscribed inside: 1915.

"So, I've time-traveled, damn," I murmured, trying to piece together any logical explanation. Maybe this was all a prank or some elaborate TV show setup. But the sight of blood and the realization that I had indeed killed these men made the likelihood of this being a hoax slim.

I picked up the Lebel rifle I had earlier discarded, recognizing it from a documentary on French weapons I had once watched—admittedly, it had been super boring at the time.

I then proceeded to scavenge any ammunition from the bodies of the four French men, managing to find plenty. This meant I didn't have to worry about running out of ammo for the time being.

As I walked in the opposite direction of where the French men had come from, my mind raced with thoughts of disbelief and confusion. I was in a different timeline, in another country, in another nationality, and in another body. The enormity of the situation weighed heavily on me as I tried to piece together any semblance of reason and logic.

For the next 30 minutes, I wandered aimlessly, trying to make sense of my predicament. In an attempt to calm my nerves, I found myself humming the tune of "The Little Duck," a childhood melody that brought a fleeting sense of comfort amidst the chaos of my new reality.

With each step, the landscape around me seemed both familiar and foreign. Every rustle of the wind and every chirp of a distant bird served as a reminder of the vastness of the unknown that lay ahead.

After walking for what felt like miles, my weary eyes finally caught sight of a line of trenches in the distance, about a few miles away. Squinting to get a clearer view, I strained to determine whether they belonged to the French or German forces. My heart raced with anticipation as I desperately hoped to see the telltale signs of a German trench line.

As I approached cautiously, the features of the trenches became more defined. With each step closer, a mixture of dread and hope welled up inside me. The tension mounted as I scanned for any signs or markings that would reveal the identity of the trenches' occupants.

Then, finally, relief washed over me as I spotted the distinct characteristics of a German infantry men. A surge of gratitude and reassurance flooded my senses as I realized that, for the moment at least, I had stumbled upon what appeared to be friendly territory.

With cautious optimism, I quickened my pace, eager to reach the safety of the German trenches.

As I approached, the entire German trench line suddenly became alert, weapons pointed directly at me. An officer, distinguishable by his demeanor and uniform, stepped forward, raising a hand to signal me to halt. With an authoritative voice, he demanded, "Halt! Identifizieren Sie sich!" The tension was palpable as all eyes were fixed on me, waiting for my response.


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