The food in the trenches on Charlemagne's side of the Rhine Front could no longer be used as an adjective other than "deteriorating".

Charlemagne has his own unique food culture, even if the military department shouts "luxury is the enemy" every day, and has nothing to do to send the gendarmerie to rummage through the garbage bins to see if there are any flesh or bones, and to see if there are any non-nationals who engage in luxury corruption (the Yalfheim media called this the best joke of the year). Regardless of what the GIs ate on the battlefield, the food in the barracks was still covered with linen tablecloths and a seven-course meal of brandy, cigarettes, and chocolate. If you catch a fat man on the street of Charlemagne, this person is either an army executive or has something to do with military procurement, otherwise when the people are making low blood sugar, how can a guy who is worried about the three highs and arteriosclerosis jump out.

The corruption of Charlemagne's government and army has always existed, and it is an almost open secret. Taking advantage of one's position to gain benefits for oneself is a matter of course for officers at all levels, especially for the scum of the logistics system. The front is tight, the rear is tight. The soldiers on the front line were half starved to death, and the logistics department still drank real coffee and knocked on stamps - this is a true portrayal of Charlemagne at that time. However, the matter of the Rhine front is really not to blame on the heads of these maggots, and these scum do not dare to provoke the crown prince, not to mention that the gendarmes are directly stationed in various departments, and they dare not mess around at will. Half of the reason for this chaos was due to the chaos of Charlemagne's army's logistics system, and the other half was due to the defense air force.

As mentioned earlier, the rapid concentration of materials has caused congestion in physical channels, resulting in many materials not being transported to the front line at all, and food is one of them. In the warehouses of military stations at all levels, all kinds of food are almost piled up, and there is no shortage of high-grade ingredients. However, due to the low efficiency of transportation, dispatchers can only choose between sending equipment and food supplies to the front line, and the officers of the command often choose the former, which further reduces the share of food transportation. In addition, the Air Force of the Defense Forces ignored the forward positions and devoted all their minds to the "strangulation in the air" to cut off Charlemagne's logistics, and the supplies of the entire train were blown up. This has further exacerbated the food crisis on the front lines.

The lethal lack of supplies and logistics - the ghost that once haunted the comrades on the island of Kuah is now wreaking havoc on the Rhine front. After all, the Rhine front is not an overseas island, and no matter how bad it is, oats, alfalfa, and turnips for feeding livestock can still be obtained. As for the taste...... Ahem, anyway, some officers have already said that "Charlemagne has been a herbivorous people since ancient times", "Hunger cannot be defeated, how to defeat the enemy army?". Anyone who questions this is sent to the gendarmerie.

Clyon's three meals a day are inextricably linked to turnips, with turnip crust in the morning, turnip chowder at noon, and turnip flatbread and turnip salad lettuce in the evening. These things that are not nutritious, calorie-deficient, not to mention tasteful, are forever tormenting the tongues and stomachs of Sirion and others. But now it's good that they can still stutter, how can they be allowed to pick and choose, and the troops in some bad situations have almost forgotten what the turnips look like.

There is a measure of life that has been passed down from Kuah Island and is rapidly spreading on the Rhine front, and although it is not an absolute standard, it is a very apt way to describe the desperately hungry troops.

Those who can stand up: 30 more days to live;

Those who can sit up: live for three weeks;

Those who can't stand up lying down: they can live for another week;

He who pees while lying down: he will live for three days;

The one who cannot speak: two more days to live;

Those who don't blink their eyes: they can live until tomorrow;

I believe that everyone basically has a point in their hearts about the miserable situation in which the troops who can generally apply this set of standards are in. It's no wonder that Private Charlemagne was so ruthless to the deserters who defected. I didn't have enough food on my side, and I also scored food to help these guys who obviously had good food before, which was unacceptable to everyone.

In fact, those wall grasses are not the most miserable, those guys who participated in the assault G5 observation post before and escaped with injuries are called miserable.

Corporal Remarque and all the officers and men stationed at the G5 observation post agreed that they had eliminated all enemy forces that had attacked them that night, but this was not the case.

Nearly 100 of the soldiers who participated in the raid were wounded soldiers who were barely able to move. As soon as the charge began, they fell behind, and when they realized that the situation was not right, they immediately turned their heads and ran, and the original uphill immediately turned into a downhill slope, and the attention of the defenders of the defense army was all attracted by those who launched the Banzai charge, and they did not expect that there would be people fleeing back behind, and as a result, the group of wounded soldiers rolled and crawled back into the trench at once. Throughout, Corporal Remarque and his comrades were unaware of the group's presence.

They were already wounded, and after such a toss, stray bullets and shrapnel, 13 people died in the field hospital that night, and the rest died one after another due to hunger and lack of medicine. When the bloodied butcher-like medic shook his head, covered the face of the last man with a sheet, and asked the stretcher bearer to carry him out. The man's brother, a sergeant who had served in another company, wailed. The sky was overcast and gray, and the drizzle was pouring everyone through, and Sirion was a makeshift stretcher bearer to carry a second lieutenant with a broken pelvic bone, and as he passed by the broken leg and hand piled up to his waist, he happened to see the gendarmes dragging the sergeant away. It was a scene he will never forget, and it was more deeply imprinted in his heart than any bitter battle.

"Bastards, eat shit, you murderers!"

The sergeant, who was 190 centimeters tall, was so powerful that the four gendarmes could barely hold down the man with blood-red eyes and white saliva flowing from the corners of his mouth. The field hospital was filled with the desperate and miserable howls of the wounded soldiers, and at this moment, the sergeant's screams even drowned out the screams of chaos.

"You who start wars! Those who incite others to die at the front! Dogs who watch other people's children die while drinking at home! Someday! Someday! The flames of war you light will burn yourselves to ashes! People will drag you to the streets and hang you one by one! You will all die! No one will escape! No one will escape!

Sirion never imagined that a human could let out such a roar, let alone that a roar that imbued a person with all the rage, despair, and curse would be so deterrent that it would be even more intimidating than the howls of a dangerous species. Everyone present was stunned until the gendarmes came to their senses and shut up the sergeant with the butt of their rifles.

All those present that day received a silent order, and anyone who leaked the matter would be court-martialed.

That night, like a frightened child, Sirion tossed and turned on the quilt all night.

- How is it possible to forget.

- How can such a thing be forgotten!

If you simply give in, then everything will be easy, and even the horror will become bearable. But if you think about what you see and hear, it will make you unable to live.

What the sergeant said was not a swagger and slander, but only a matter of telling the truth! In the troops, all kinds of fraud, cunning, and despicable things abound. Although so many brave and fearless men charged into battle again and again, let alone touching the enemy's side, they didn't even see what the mongrels hiding in the bunkers looked like, and everyone fell like wheat in the field. The ground is covered in corpses, but the damn attacks are still one after the other, nothing changes, and there is no end in sight! Isn't this all what happens in front of your eyes and pretends not to be seen?

"This is no longer a war between individuals and races, but a struggle between Charlemagnes and steel, explosives, and high-heat beams! What are they thinking? Any army is in their situation, and mutiny has already taken place. Charlemagne, however, was able to maintain discipline and organize the attack. Why on earth is that?"

Remarque bit the barrel of his pen and shook his head. Charlemagne's actions are simply illogical.

(If I had rushed out of the field hospital and returned home at that time, I would have gathered all the pain and strength I had honed into a revolution and slaughtered all the pigs in the rear who sang loudly to send others to the front to die.) But now all we have left is tiredness, despair, hunger, pessimism, and helplessness. There is no way out under our feet. The only thing that sustains us is the damned, never-ending turnips and a little bit of a pitiful sense of mission. In order to protect your family and compatriots from the demons on the other side, you should block the enemy as much as possible. Until the flood of war washed us all away. ）

Dry and numb thoughts rushed through his head, and his godless eyes swept across the battlefield. Corpses, corpses, corpses. There was no end in sight, as if the corpses of the whole world filled the brains of Sirion that no longer thought, and also filled Remarque's eyes.

Suddenly, a splash of bright color broke into this gray world. Remarque's and Sirion's lifeless eyes caught the pair of fluttering wings at the same time.

It was a butterfly, its wings alternating between black, yellow, and red fluttering gracefully, and the carefree insect was chasing a golden fallen leaf.

"Why are butterflies here?"

Remarque muttered, taking notes in his hand.

Then the corporal was stunned.

The periscope on the opposite side retracted into the trench, and an Adrian steel helmet was revealed, followed by a calm and peaceful emaciated face revealing the trench.

"What is he doing?!"

The corporal exclaimed, and Paul, who was on the side, hurriedly turned his periscope, and he was also stunned.

The Charlemagne leaned out of the trench with a calm face, and reached out to the butterfly resting on a steel helmet, his movements gentle and slow, for fear of disturbing the butterfly. With a gentle smile on his face, as if to soothe the child to sleep.

Sirion's heart was unusually calm. A sense of utter liberation overflowed the whole body the moment that a touch of color came into view. Loneliness, despair, bitterness, pain, humiliation, anger - everything he experienced is vivid, and at this moment, he calmly faces everything. What bullshit obligations, what bastard tasks, what fucking military discipline, he doesn't care anymore. All he wanted was that butterfly now.

The young man stretched out his hand, as he used to do in his own backyard as a child.

With a crisp gunshot, a purple, white mass erupted from the back of his head, and Sirion plunged into the endless darkness.

"I hit! I hit! That's exactly 10 and you can apply for the Iron Cross of the Second Degree!"

The ghostly roar of the sniper Heinz spread throughout the bunker along the lines of communication, and it was at this point that the daily music broadcast to ease the mood arrived at the point. After a prelude to a trumpet, a sweet and gentle female voice wafted throughout the defensive line.

[Before the barracks,

In front of the gates,

There's a lamp,

It's still lit today,

We're going to see you there again.

Standing under that lamp,

As before, Lily Marlene.

As before, Lily Marlene. 】

Remarque, who had been melancholy for a few seconds, sighed and continued his work. There were two hours before the changing of the guard, after which he had to write the draft into a formal letter and send it to his family. On a battlefield where lives are lost at all moments, there is no time to mourn for the enemy.

His comrades-in-arms wrapped Celion tightly in a blanket, and when he died, he lay quietly on his back to the sky, his expression so calm, so serene, so comfortable, without the slightest pain and sorrow, as if he was having a sweet dream.

It was a surprisingly quiet day at the front. The front-line command structures of the Rhine Front were busy preparing for the arrival of a certain big man, and the Wehrmacht news was only a short sentence: "No War on the Western Front" (Im .esten .nichts . Neues）。