Disclaimer: I don't own Battlefield

The ship we were to sail on was large. It could hold hundreds of troops and thousands of rifle rounds. I waited for three hours to board the massive ocean liner. When I got onboard, I was instructed to find a squad and file in. I would be with a well rounded squad, three assaulters (counting me), a sniper, and our medic.

I met my squadmates in the ship's quarters. The first man, Private John Ramirez, was an assaulter from Los Angeles. He had grown up poor and had seen an opportunity to make better cash by signing on with the army. The second person, Private Simon Williams, was our sniper. He was tall but thin and actually looked a bit like the rifle swung over his shoulder. He claimed that he could hit a target from a mile away. I highly doubted that, as sniper rifles in 1917 weren't accurate from that distance. The third man I met was Private Jason Phillips. Phillips was our medic. He was a heavyset man with a thick beard. He should've been wearing a Union Army uniform instead of the green helmet with the big red cross on it. The final man I met was an assaulter. He was also our sergeant. Sergeant Danny Morgan was an experienced combat veteran. He had seen action in the Philippines and had actually ended up intervening in a police shootout in Chicago. Those guys were the finest men I'd ever serve with in the U.S. Army.

Over the long voyage, those men became as close as family. We each tested each other and found out what we were good at. We felt ready to fight, but there was still another four days before we would arrive in France. It would be another two after that to reach the front lines. And we would have to do that on foot. The captains told us to 'get ready' for war, but there were no computer simulations back in those days. Nobody had any idea how the hell they were supposed to actively prepare to enter a combat zone.

Of course, somebody brought this to the attention of one of the captains. In response, the captains turned the ship into a full-fledged war zone. They had loads of resources, and it was not difficult to simulate blockades with extra sandbags. Each soldier was handed a dud magazine for his rifle and the captains formed two teams. My squad would be on the blue team, playing against the red team.

The game's rules were that you were 'critically wounded' if someone shot a blank within about 30 feet of you. If you were not rescued by a medic, you were considered 'dead' and had to return to your barracks with your arms up. Whichever team captured the other team's 'base' first would win the game. The chain of command would be played exactly like a real battle.

We were all given a blue patch for our uniforms and were led to our base. It was on the front of the ship and we had the advantage of a sniper in the lookout position. I checked my rifle in standard procedure and waited for the signal. A flare was launched high into the air and we received our first orders. Our squad was going to be on a seek-and-destroy mission. We were going room by room through the ship searching for red troops.

Morgan led us to the large metal door and I raised my Enfield as he slowly opened it. I charged in with Phillips and Ramirez. We quickly busted open doors and found no targets. Slowly but surely, we made our way through the entire hallway. Morgan relayed our results back to command and we were given new orders.

Now we were to provide backup for a squad that was in a 'firefight' with a red sentry. We stepped out of the hallway and onto the ship's deck. I could hear the chatter of a machine gun nearby. The sentry was supposed to be around the corner. We put our backs to the wall and Morgan flashed me a signal.

Grenade.

I nodded and found the blue plastic grenade at my side. Technically a sentry is able to survive one, but it would 'kill' any enemies who were with him. After the three seconds, we all charged around the corner.

There was no sentry.

Suddenly, we heard the chatter of a machine gun. I looked up. The sentry was standing one deck above us. If this had been real, we would all be dead. Defeated, we slung our rifles across our backs and went to the barracks with our arms in the air. We found the name board and returned our dog tags to it. This symbolized that we were 'dead'. Williams wasn't there so I assumed he was still in the crow's nest, picking off whoever got near our blue flag.

Several hours later, we found out the news when Williams got back. He had been picked off by the red sniper, and they had captured our flag. The red team one the game.

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