The inside of the fortress was alive.
Jack realised it the moment he crested the inner wall and dropped silently onto the stone floor below. The air was warmer here, thick with oil smoke and the metallic tang of machinery. Lanterns and hooded lamps cast dull yellow pools of light across the courtyard, revealing shapes that made his stomach tighten.
Trucks.
Dozens of them.
They were parked in rough rows along the inner compound, their canvas backs stretched taut and heavy with weight. Jack crept closer, keeping low behind a stack of crates, and felt a cold knot settle in his chest as he saw what they carried.
Artillery shells.
Crates of ammunition.
Long barrels wrapped in grease-soaked cloth.
Enough firepower to flatten whole trench lines. Enough to feed days, if not weeks, of bombardment. This wasn't a forward supply point. This was a stockpile. A beating heart.
And it was barely guarded.
Jack's gaze lifted beyond the trucks.
French soldiers were everywhere.
Not standing at attention. Not braced for battle.
They sat in loose clusters around fires and makeshift tables, helmets off, rifles leaned casually against walls. Some ate from tin bowls. Others smoked, laughed, and argued quietly. A few played cards on an upturned crate, slapping the wood and swearing good-naturedly.
Hundreds of them.
They looked… normal.
Human.
For a moment, the fortress felt untouched by the war outside its walls, like a pocket of stolen peace carved out of straight hell. Jack watched a man gesture animatedly as he spoke, another throw his head back in a deep laughter, and felt something twist uncomfortably inside his chest.
'They don't know.'
They had no idea German soldiers were inside their walls. No idea death was standing among their supply lines, counting crates.
Jack signalled his squad forward, guiding them into deeper shadow near the trucks. Friedrich crouched beside him, eyes flicking between soldiers and supplies, his expression darkening with each passing second.
"There are too many," Friedrich murmured. "We should mark it. Report back."
Karl nodded stiffly. "This is not a fight we win."
Jack knew they were right.
Every instinct screamed retreat. Get out, alive.
But the image of the maps in the command dugout burned in his mind. The dismissal. The laughter. The certainty that Polygon Wood didn't matter.
This mattered.
Jack looked at the nearest truck again. The canvas/tarp flap hung slightly loose, revealing stacked shells inside. One spark. One flame. One accidental ignition.
He swallowed.
"If this goes up," Jack whispered, "their guns go silent for weeks maybe..."
Friedrich turned sharply. "And we die."
Jack didn't argue.
He raised his eyes, meeting each man's gaze in turn. Otto looked pale, breathing shallowly. Lukas clenched his jaw so hard the muscle twitched. Karl shook his head almost imperceptibly.
"This is suicide," Friedrich said quietly. "Herr Leutnant… Jack. Listen to me."
Jack nodded once. "I hear you."
He looked back toward the trucks, toward the careless clusters of soldiers, toward the ammunition stacked like kindling.
"And I'm doing it anyway."
Silence fell between them.
Friedrich's expression hardened, not with anger, but something heavier. The possibility of them all dieing for their Kaiser was ingrained since birth, and this was simply the end.
"I won't order you to stay," Jack said. "Retreat to the firing line if you want, I won't stop you."
Otto grabbed his sleeve. "We won't leave you, Jack."
Jack placed a hand over Otto's, steady despite the tremor running through his arm.
He rose slowly, staying low, and slipped away from the squad.
Every step felt louder than a gunshot.
Jack moved from shadow to shadow, timing his advance with bursts of laughter, with the clatter of tin bowls and the scrape of boots on stone. His heart hammered so violently he feared it would give him away. Sweat trickled down his spine despite the cold night air.
He reached the first truck.
Up close, the smell of oil and gunpowder was overwhelming. The canvas was rough beneath his fingers as he slid around to the rear, crouching low. He pulled his knife free and carefully loosened the flap, just enough to slip his hand inside.
Shells.
Cold metal. Packed tight.
Jack fumbled in his pouch, fingers brushing against a small bundle of stolen powder and a fuse he'd taken from the trenches supply house days earlier. He hadn't known then why he'd kept it. Now he did.
He worked quickly, breath shallow, hands moving with frantic precision.
A laugh erupted nearby.
Jack froze.
Boots scraped on stone.
"Qu'est-ce que tu fais là ?"
The voice was sharp. Suspicious.
Jack turned his eyes wide.
A French guard stood barely ten metres away, lantern raised, eyes narrowing as the light fell across Jack's uniform. Recognition dawned instantly.
"Allemand-!"
The rifle came up.
The shot cracked through the night like the sky splitting open.
Jack felt the impact before he heard it, a brutal, staggering force that slammed into his chest and hurled him backward against the truck. Air exploded from his lungs. The world tilted violently as he collapsed onto the stone, lantern light spinning wildly above him.
Chaos erupted.
Shouts rang out in every direction. Soldiers leapt to their feet, rifles snatched up, chairs and crates clattering as men scrambled for cover. An alarm bell began to ring, harsh and relentless.
Jack gasped, sucking in air that wouldn't come.
Warmth spread rapidly beneath his coat.
Blood.
He tried to move his legs. They didn't respond.
Gunfire erupted again, automatic, overlapping, deafening.
Through the haze, Jack saw his squad break cover, weapons blazing as they tried to reach him. Friedrich fired methodically, dropping one soldier before being forced back by the sheer volume of fire. Otto screamed something, but Jack couldn't hear what before a burst of bullets tore him down.
Karl fell next, spinning as rounds punched through his chest.
Lukas ran.
He almost made it to Jack.
Almost.
A heavy machine gun barked from somewhere above, stitching the stone between them. Lukas collapsed mid-stride, skidding across the courtyard and coming to rest face-down, unmoving.
Jack lay there, helpless, the night sky blurring above him.
The truck loomed beside him, intact. Silent.
The fuse hadn't been lit.
French soldiers swarmed the courtyard now, shouting orders, weapons flashing. Jack felt strangely calm as the sounds began to fade, as if the world were being wrapped in thick cloth.
'So this is it.'
The system flickered faintly at the edge of his vision.
ASSET CRITICAL.
Jack's vision dimmed. His breathing slowed, shallow and wet.
As darkness crept in, one final thought surfaced, not fear, not regret, but something colder.
'I know where they are now.'
The world went completely black as Jack felt the world change, pulling him from the cold feelings still left in his body.
Jack gasped.
Air rushed into his lungs, sharp and painful. He jerked upright, heart pounding, hands clawing at nothing. His hands ran over his body where the bullet had torn through, checking for anything
Rain.
Mud.
Blood.
The low thunder of distant artillery.
Jack sat in the trench, exactly where he had been before the mission, before the crawl, before the wall, before the shot.
Otto laughed softly nearby, spoon hovering over a tin bowl.
Friedrich crouched by the fire, alive.
Unharmed.
Jack stared at them, breath shaking, chest whole beneath his uniform.
The system shimmered into view.
TEMPORAL RESET COMPLETE.
DAY RESTARTED.
Jack closed his eyes and let out a slow, broken breath.
He remembered everything.
And this time, he would do it differently. He would fix his mistakes and make sure that everyone made it out alive.