Mi Ying's whistle is on the 14 front line 2.

A few months ago, he first met this young American in a small French town. Shortly after the Normandy landing, the allied fighting turned into a small-scale scattered local blocking war. At that time, Arthur Kirkland was not a journalist. As a military doctor, he stuck to the front position with the Red Devils troops besieged by the German army and was trapped for six days and five nights. It was in the allied support team that helped cover the retreat that he first met Alfred F. Jones.

Their first conversation took place at such an embarrassing and chaotic moment. Arthur Kirkland was unconscious when he was pulled from the ground. During several days of air raids and repeated close-range bombing, his palm was ground to a pulp by rough stones and gravel in foxholes, and his military uniform was covered with pools of blood. You can even feel the temperature when bare skin rubs against blood.

But that's not his blood. Five minutes ago, a soldier who was shot through the abdomen by a machine gun bullet died in his arms. When his hand finally left the body without any possibility of heart beating, Arthur thought in a trance that if he remembered correctly, the boy had just turned twenty last month.

Arthur could hardly stand up, and then he felt someone rudely holding his back and lifting him up. A young face suddenly appeared in front of him. Arthur Kirkland was stunned by those blue eyes that were close together. He saw his puzzled face from the other pupil.

The soldier's open and closed mouth seemed to explain something to himself. He looks hoarse, but Arthur Kirkland can only keep shaking his head-the intense tinnitus fills the world around him, so that the British can't hear anything.

The young soldier took Arthur to a stone outside the resettlement square, bent down and patted him on the face, and then returned to the battlefield again, where more seriously wounded people needed to be transferred. Arthur has been leaning against the stone, watching his running back jump down and disappear into the battlefield. The Englishman looked back as if he were awake. Not far from him, one wounded person after another was carried up from below and arranged on the messy flat ground after the rainstorm, reminding people of the scene of worker ants carrying food, which was strange and desperate.

Screaming, moaning and strong rancid smell mixed with the earthy smell in the air after the rain, instantly filled Arthur Kirkland's nasal cavity like a burst smoke bomb, and the exciting migraine made him want to vomit.

What's that smell?

He suddenly remembered his duty, so he stumbled over, knelt on the ground and tore open the coat of the nearest soldier who was still howling in pain. When he saw the bloody part of his forearm, Arthur froze for a second, then mechanically took out the bandage roll in his carry-on bag and held it with his hand quickly and numbly to stop the bleeding wound on the stump. Arthur discovered that his hands were shaking uncontrollably for fear of overloading.

Everything is so desperate.

What's that smell? Arthur Kirkland thought that he was sitting on the muddy ground, and the gray sky over the battlefield was reflected in his green eyes.

Fierce fighting lasted from day to night. Under the cover of reinforcements, it was already a day later when the whole army finally retreated to a new temporary camp.

They suffered heavy losses in the last battle. The seriously wounded who have lost their combat capability will be transferred to the field hospitals in the rear for treatment. Because Arthur's own injury was not serious, he just went to the hospital as a military doctor to get medicines, sulfanilamide powder, bandages and other spare parts, and then returned to the front.

Before he left, Arthur Kirkland stopped a young nurse at the gate of the field hospital and asked her for half a box of matches to light a cigarette. When Arthur received the box of charity matches, the nurse noticed his trembling hands. She glanced at the thin and gloomy British soldier in front of her, as if to ask. But Arthur avoided her sight and put his palm back in his pocket. He turned to leave in a hurry, jumped into the jeep and walked back.

This road connecting the town center and the countryside has been completely destroyed by tanks and artillery. The Englishman curled up in the corner of the carriage and lit the last cigarette in his trouser pocket. His right hand with a cigarette is still shaking with the shaking of the carriage. Arthur looked at his palm in dismay and grabbed his right wrist with his left hand extremely hard.

Arthur Kirkland certainly knew that there was something wrong with her body. As a doctor, he knows that the problem is not trauma, but his decadent and sensitive mind.

He almost squeezed the blood under the skin between his right wrists. Arthur was anxious to hold back and pretend that everything was all right, but his hands just trembled even more, as if accusing him of being rude and stupid. Arthur clenched his fist. He suddenly swore a dirty word, and then slammed his injured hand against the steel fender of the truck behind him.

The sharp pain, as he wished, spread along the nerve center to the brain. Arthur fell back, closed his eyes and felt, but at the same time, he understood again that everything was in vain.

The allies got a precious opportunity to rest in this camp. All the soldiers breathed a sigh of relief and planned to rest as much as possible during this time, trying to temporarily forget the anguish caused by the war. When there was no war at the front, Arthur didn't have much serious things to do. He is not the type who is keen on getting along with people. More often, he is often alone.

One afternoon, Arthur leaned against a dead tree and bent his legs to look down at the camera lens hanging on his chest. Just then, he felt someone patted him on the shoulder. Arthur's reaction was half a beat slow, and he hesitated for a moment before slowly turning around.

A tall American soldier stood beside him and looked at him from top to bottom. His face was hidden in a large white spot caused by the backlight station. At the moment, Arthur Kirkland didn't know how to react, and he didn't return to absolute being until the person standing called his name for the second time.

The Englishman with flaxen hair narrowed his eyes and looked at the soldiers who suddenly appeared. It took him some time to make sure that he was really talking to himself. The other side squatted down, and the rifle landed behind him. With the decrease of height and the disappearance of light spots, Arthur finally saw his face clearly: the other party was a fairly young white male. Although his cheeks are stained with burnt dust particles, his beautiful sky-blue eyes still make him look handsome, sharp and full of vitality.

The man obviously noticed the line of sight he was looking at, smiled generously at Arthur, and then said again, "I shouldn't have misspelled your name." My name is Alfred, Alfred Jones, 10 1 branch. "

"..." Arthur opened his mouth, and with these bright blue eyes, he finally recognized the young man in front of him as an American soldier who rescued him from the trench a few days ago. But even so, Arthur still doesn't know how to respond to him at the moment.

But Alfred didn't seem to mind his hesitation. Instead, he simply raised his chin at the camera in Arthur's hand and said in an exaggerated tone, "Can you take a picture of me?"

Arthur was startled and looked at him uncertainly. "What did you say? I am not a reporter. "

Alfred touched his temples. Oh, isn't that your camera?

Arthur followed his line of sight and looked at the Leica camera in his arms. He lifted the machine, brushed the shutter button with his fingertips and shrugged: "This is a trophy. When I was in North Africa, I picked it up from the opposite body. "

Alfred blinked. He bypassed Arthur and sat down next to the Englishman.

"I saw you reading the newspaper the other day," Alfred said. "They are talking about the bridge with photos."

The blue-eyed young man mentioned the newspaper, which suddenly reminded Arthur Kirkland of something. Alfred said that this photo was picked up from a stone beside the cargo pile when he was sorting out the air-dropped materials two days ago afternoon. It was obviously an old newspaper covered with all kinds of dry brown stains. The picture that Americans say is mainly a short stone bridge. In the picture, on both sides of the bridge are trucks that are transferring the wounded from the former square battlefield, and German prisoners of war escorted by soldiers, while in the middle of the bridge are young allied soldiers, carrying guns and marching in line.

Arthur didn't take part in the battle. He can only know from the attachment at the back of the picture that this was the only passage connecting the occupied town with the allied rear supply station ten miles away, and was trapped in the German encirclement. Under the conditions of lack of ammunition, material shortage and bad weather, allied soldiers launched a desperate resistance against German infantry and bombers on this bridge, which lasted for two whole weeks. Finally, with the support of the finally arrived tank fire, the bridge of life was successfully captured.

There is no doubt that the young soldiers in the photo know nothing about their coming fate. When Arthur saw this photo, he felt an unprecedented sympathy.

In the photo, these recruits who just landed here from the motherland training camp will continue to go to the new battlefield in Europe dozens of miles away after a short break. In a few hours, they will see with their own eyes what a truly cruel and bitter war is.

Arthur read all the reports in the newspaper, then carefully folded the newspaper stained with morning dew and put it in his coat pocket.

Arthur Kirkland didn't expect all this to be seen by Alfred. But obviously, what shocked him more was how Alfred found out that he had taken the newspaper.

Alfred looked at Arthur for a long time without speaking, and simply sat cross-legged in front of the Englishman. The silver dog tag hanging on his chest slipped out of the unbuttoned shirt collar with his movements. Alfred took off his helmet and knocked it in his hand, which made Arthur look at him again.

"I was on that bridge," Alfred explained to him, "so I kept this newspaper, too, because I like that photo very much-yes, the newspaper you found is mine. I put it on that stone, because I accidentally spilled coffee on it, so I had to put it in the sun. But when those reporters came to take pictures of our company, I was still lying in the hospital. "

Alfred glanced at his mouth and made a funny face on purpose. "What can I say? I almost thought I was going to say goodbye to my left hand. "

Arthur coughed unexpectedly. He looked at Alfred's beaming face, but there was no embarrassment in his expression. The American calmly raised his head, met Arthur's surprised eyes and smiled at him: "Can you understand? Everyone is in the last photo of that newspaper, but I didn't join it. It's totally unreasonable! Those reporters, they don't even want to come to my ward to take pictures of poor bridge hero Alfred alone? Let me send it back to show off to my brother on the other side of the battlefield. "

Arthur looked at him and could not help bending his mouth slightly. "Obviously it's their fault."

Alfred turned and squinted at Arthur with satisfaction. "It seems that we have reached an agreement on this issue?"

The green-eyed Englishman spread out his hand to him: "If you want to fire them, of course, I can barely vote yes."

The American paused, and then burst out laughing. He held out his hand and patted Arthur Kirkland on the shoulder: "Guess what? I got my ten dollars. "

Arthur couldn't understand what he was saying, and subconsciously asked, "How about ... what ten dollars?"

Alfred touched the tip of his nose. "Never mind, this is just a small bet. My brothers-they don't think you want to do it with us, like ... well, playing cards, dice, joking and so on. Do you know that?/You know what? You looked a little inaccessible before. So we made a bet that whoever asked the British to tell the first joke would win ten dollars. "

After listening to his words, Arthur Kirkland looked a little angry. His green eyes glanced up and down at the young man in front of him: "You bet with me? Really? "

Alfred whistled and grinned again. "Who knows?"

Arthur didn't know whether Alfred's request really came from his original intention, or whether it was just a bet. Americans still insist that Arthur can take a decent picture of him. Even though Arthur told him that there was no extra film in his camera, Alfred didn't give up. The American continued to ask him some rambling questions, which fully showed his curiosity. Before the Englishman could answer, Alfred was called away by his officer. Before he left, the young man who "met for the first time" kept winking at himself. Arthur saw him make a gesture to himself, which he could read, meaning "You owe me one".