For the past few days, the snow over the fortress of Sevastopol has not stopped, and the cold winds of winter have howled in the wilderness, and the snow that has fallen has turned the wasteland into a white country. The thick snow soon covered the ground www.biquge.info and stopped almost all human activities.

At this time, the armies of the two most powerful nations on the earth, armed with weapons made of steel, with the pride of looking down on the world, with the most outstanding crystallization of human science and industry, their fleets were indestructible, their artillery fire was incomparably sharp, and their overwhelming fire seemed to be able to engulf almost everything, and as a result, in the face of the great power of nature, they finally had to bow their proud heads and stop all action.

The cold wind mixed with snow particles swept everywhere, hitting all the obstacles in front of them, adding new white clothes to them, and letting the cold that penetrated deep into their bones pass on to them, making them afraid, and letting these invaders, who had been overconfident because of their successive victories, know what the real Russia is.

The heavy snow separated the two armies from the fierce fighting, and the soldiers who had been fighting hard all this time won a chance to breathe, but the war was still not over, and peace was still far away.

Although the three great powers of Europe have consumed a lot of manpower and material resources and shed countless blood, they still have the strength to spare and can put more resources into the altar of death, because they are still thinking about how to fight for a peace that is best for them. Before one side is beaten to the ground and has to bend its knees, the altar will receive countless sacrifices.

Compared to the heavy snow of the previous days, the weather is slightly better today, and the heavy snow has turned into crystal fine snow, which finally allows people to sneak out of the camp on a large scale.

At noon, a special ceremony was taking place at the Balaclava military port, which served as the main port for the concentration and transshipment of supplies for the British and French forces.

A large number of Anglo-French soldiers in military uniforms surrounded the port area, and where their eyes were focused, a gun carriage was slowly moving forward. Despite the large number of people present, it was very quiet, and only the soft sound of wooden wheels pressing against the snow could be heard, which was dull, like a song from the past.

At the top of the gun carriage is a wooden coffin, and the boxy coffin is made of improvised wood, so it appears a light yellow, and the vivid hue does not match the black gun carriage.

Yet, despite its humble appearance, this place still represents a silent privilege - thousands of soldiers have fallen forever under the port of Balaclava and the fortress of Sevastopol, not far from it, who have not been loaded into coffins and left the Crimean peninsula in the eyes of the whole army.

The coffin was filled with Marshal Raglan, the commander of the British army.

The marshal had been in the army for nearly half a century, had witnessed almost all of Britain's great battles during that time, and he had enjoyed a privilege not found before anyone else - he had been the deputy of the great Duke of Wellington for a long time, and had done everything in his power to assist the Iron Duke in his life's work. In the end, having won the trust of the Queen and the government of Britain, he became the commander-in-chief of the British army, leading the army and his allies to the Crimea, continuing along the glorious path of the Iron Duke.

From Waterloo to Crimea, from a small lieutenant to a marshal, his life can already be called a perfect resume of a soldier.

Although the coffin trembled a little because of the uneven road surface, as if an old man was walking, the whole picture was full of solemnity. A group of British officers in military uniforms gathered around the gun carriage and walked slowly along the footsteps of pack horses, although they looked a little tired and haggard from the continuous fighting, but at this time their expressions were full of solemnity, and escorted their commander-in-chief away from the battlefield with the utmost sincerity.

For the Grim Reaper, this is just a new sacrifice he has received in this war, although he is a little older, but there is nothing strange about it, he has already received thousands of souls, and he will not think that there is anything surprising about one more, but for the Anglo-French army, they have lost a commander, a commander who can make everyone awe with his resume and prestige alone.

The gun wagon moved slowly forward, getting closer and closer to the port, and countless officers and soldiers followed it, like a pilgrimage procession, everyone was silent, and some even burst into tears, apparently not yet accepting this reality.

Marshal Treville, the commander of the French army, riding a tall horse and a military uniform, and holding the marshal's scepter, was at the forefront of the procession, and his expression was as solemn as the others, and he watched gloomily as the gun carriage carrying the coffin rolled forward.

As a marshal, he naturally thinks more than others.

Although he had never met Marshal Raglan before, when the two men met for the first time in Gallipoli, the marshal immediately made a deep impression on him.

Of course, it was not a particularly pleasant impression at that time. The marshal spoke harshly to him, with a slight Briton arrogance, and although Marshal Tréville was a little angry at the time, he also understood that the other party did not mean to target him, but only to reflect the subjectivity of the British army, and even he himself deliberately did so.

After the two men had confronted each other once, and it was determined that neither could help the other, the harsh ridicule ended, and was replaced by mutual respect for the soldiers and a kind of sympathy between the generals who had lived through that great era, and at that time, in many cooperations, there was finally a friendship between the two old generals.

When they were young, none of them imagined that one day they would become the most prominent soldiers in their country, and the country would hand over its greatest military power to itself, when there were so many stars in the sky that no one would believe that they would one day inherit their cause.

But they did it all, and looking back, how high-spirited they were!

With this inexplicable pride, they planned the actions of the two armies together, and watched with triumph as the coalition forces under their command advanced all the way to the city of Sevastopol. They all knew that this would be the end of their life's work, and that they would receive a feat that would go down in history even if it was inferior to their predecessors.

However, fate played their tricks at the last moment, and in the Russian attack on Balaklava, although Marshal Raglan led the LinkedIn army to repel the Russian army, he made a very regrettable mistake in the war, and finally lost a famous British cavalry unit.

The remnants of the cavalry brigade returned to England, and the war was scrutinized by public opinion, followed by an overwhelming amount of doubts and criticism, and he paid for this mistake not only with the lives of his subordinates, but also with the fame he had accumulated over the decades, which the old marshal could never accept.

Perhaps from that time on, the old marshal had already made a decision, he did not want to return to England like this, and then face the doubts of others, even if such doubts could not really hurt him at all, it was definitely a wordless humiliation.

The best way to restore his reputation was to leave like a warrior, and when he died, no one would question a gentleman who had served Britain to the death.

Looking at the coffin that had come to the pier by the sea, Marshal Trever thought to himself.

The coffin was unloaded from the gun carriage, then tied to a rope and hoisted onto the transport ship by the trestle. It would be loaded onto a transport ship, and then transported back to England, to Britain, where the marshal had dreamed of it, and where the marshal would rest forever.

At the moment when the coffin was loaded onto the transport ship, the British and French warships surrounding the harbor suddenly roared at the same time. The entire fleet saluted their commander, and the artillery fire shook the sky almost like a battlefield, and thick smoke rose from the various warships and then gathered in the sky like a grand fireworks show.

It was indeed a magnificent farewell ceremony, although it no longer meant anything to the deceased.

When I leave, it will probably be like this...... The marshal thought to himself.

No, it's not enough...... Marshal Raglan has not yet left the world with victory, and I ...... I had to take it.

The marshal blinked, trying to make his dazed eyes clearer so that he could see the transport, which was moving farther and farther away from the port.

My friend, this is a war between the two of us, and I will not allow anyone to steal our victory, and no one will allow me to take me before victory, not even God!

……………………………………………………………………

The clamor of the balaclava artillery fire was enough to be transmitted far away, and even the hospitals in the rear could hear the faint sound of the earth.

However, not many people noticed the roar of the naval guns, because they had to do something more important.

Recently, a large number of wounded have been brought in as a result of the new French offensive on the fortress, and their injuries have become more difficult than usual due to bad weather, and many have suffered frostbite. What's even more frustrating is that because of the bad weather, the supply of supplies to the hospital has become more troublesome, so the treatment of the wounded has to be delayed, which invisibly magnifies their suffering.

And their pain was also transmitted to the hearts of the hospital staff in great detail, at this time they were exhausted from overwork, and they no longer had time to care about the outside world, even the news of the death of one of the commanders of the coalition forces.

"Thank God it's finally time to rest." In the makeshift lounge, Ms. Florence-Nightingale let out a long sigh of relief and blinked her swollen, red eyes. "We were so busy the other day, it was like a nightmare."

"Nightmares are much gentler than what we experienced." And the person she was talking to was also haggard and tired, and replied with her head down. "At least we don't watch so many people die when we have nightmares."

As she spoke, she also picked up a white dress and replaced the bloodstained and filthy dress she was wearing outside.

It was a special winter uniform, stuffed with cotton yarn, which was more bulky than the summer and autumn uniforms, but warm enough for the nurses to survive the sudden heavy snow and cooling.

"Miss Treville, I didn't expect you to look delicate, but you were able to persevere." Ms. Nightingale, who had regained her energy a little, also changed her dress. "You're definitely one of the most persevering people I've ever met."

"Thank you for the compliment." Fran forced a smile, "Actually, I didn't expect to be able to persevere, but some things are not so difficult after forming a habit. ”

"Great habits." Ms. Nightingale looked at each other in admiration, then suddenly sighed, "Did you hear that?" What a show! I wish God heard it, but at least he left with a good death, and he is in his sixties, so what is there to dissatisfaction with? ”

"You have a big opinion of him?" Fran asked rhetorically.

"Yes, so many young people died quietly, while an old man who died well enjoyed the scenery...... I think it's ridiculous. Nightingale said angrily. May God bless him, or I'm afraid he won't be able to go to heaven......"