You are ordered to support the War of Resistance against Japan; China enters Level 1 combat readines

Europa.

The western front.

As dusk settled in the acrid smoke of gunpowder, the last cannon shot rolled across the trenches along the English Channel, and a deathly silence slowly enveloped the entire position.

The soil was turned over and over again by the artillery fire, mixed with the acrid smell of blood, and the wind would blow it into your collar.

In the German trenches, soldiers slumped against the damp, cold trench walls, their helmets casually tilted to one side, finally able to relax their nerves after a long day.

Someone was the first to take out their issued field rations, and the crisp sound of tearing open the packaging was particularly clear in the quiet trench.

The compressed biscuits had a wheaty aroma, the canned meat was oily and substantial, and even the accompanying jam was just the right amount of sweet.

"Would you like this?"

Someone pulled a glass bottle of Coca-Cola from their bag, pried open the cap with the butt of their gun, and with a "hiss," bubbles surged up, the sweet and refreshing aroma instantly overpowering the smell of gunpowder.

He tilted his head back and took a large gulp, the bubbly liquid sliding down his throat, letting out a long burp, and then squinted his eyes in satisfaction.

"Damn, this stuff tastes even better than the whiskey the officers drink."

The soldier next to him pulled out a windproof lighter, and with a "click," a pale blue flame shot up. He lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, and slowly exhaled the smoke.

He fiddled with the lighter a couple of times, and the windproof flame remained steady even in the wind. He couldn't help but praise it: "This thing is really useful. It can even light in the rain. My old, broken lighter would go out as soon as the wind blew, and it would take half a box of matches to light a cigarette."

Some even took out portable instant coffee powder, mixed it with warm water from their military canteens, and the brown powder dissolved, releasing a rich aroma that immediately filled the trenches.

He held the cup and sipped it slowly, the warmth spreading from his stomach to his limbs, even making the wounds on his body seem less painful.

"Honestly, I don't find fighting so unbearable anymore."

Someone was chewing gum, the refreshing mint dispelling the bitterness in their mouth.

"After each battle, I could have an ice-cold Coke, smoke a cigarette, and then have a hot coffee in the evening. It felt like being in a pub at home."

"you do not say."

The person next to him chimed in, patting the rations in his hand: "This stuff keeps well and is high in calories. One piece will keep you going for half a day. The old dark bread was so hard it could break your teeth. Now, life is like a vacation."

Relaxed laughter gradually filled the trenches, and the fatigue of a day's fighting slowly dissipated in these sweet, fragrant, and warm flavors.

No one thought about tomorrow's attack anymore, no one worried about when the shells would fall. The sweetness in their mouths and the warmth in their bodies were real happiness.

. . .

In the British trenches, just a few hundred meters away, the scene was quite different.

The soldiers huddled in the corner of the trench, holding their rifles, their faces bearing an inescapable weariness and numbness.

Someone pulled out a hard loaf of bread from their pocket. The grayish-brown bread was as dry as a stone, with some mold spots on the edges.

He struggled for a long time before finally managing to tear off a small piece. He chewed it repeatedly, but it was so dry that he could barely swallow it. He could only manage to swallow it with the cold water from the kettle.

The bread had little flavor, only a slightly bitter wheat aroma mixed with a musty smell, and it left my stomach feeling empty after eating it.

"Eating this awful stuff again."

Someone muttered a curse under their breath, but still mechanically stuffed the food into their mouth.

We can't go without eating; without eating, we won't have the strength to withstand tomorrow's bombardment.

But as I ate this dry, hard bread, I felt no hope at all.

Someone stared blankly at the bread in their hand, their eyes vacant.

He thought of the soft bread his wife baked at home, and the steaming potato soup, but those images seemed as distant as a past life.

Here, every day is filled with gunfire, mud, and an endless supply of hard bread.

"Do you think we can go back?" someone asked in a hoarse voice, the sound as soft as a sigh.

No one answered.

Everyone remained silent, slowly munching on their bread. Their faces showed neither a desire for life nor a fear of death, only a numb weariness.

Some people even thought that if a shell fell one day and killed them instantly, they would be completely free.

No more biting into those hard, gritty breads, no more hiding in the damp, cold trenches to freeze, no more watching helplessly as comrades fall one by one.

Dying seems easier than enduring this.

The wind blew smoke across the trenches, carrying with it a faint aroma of coffee and caramel from the German side.

The British soldiers sniffed, but no one spoke. They simply hugged their bread tighter and their eyes grew even more gloomy.

The same dusk, the same battlefield, one side is the relaxation and satisfaction amidst the smoke and fire, the other is the numbness and despair in the mud.

The two trenches were only a few hundred meters apart, but they felt like they were in two different worlds.

……

Not only were the soldiers bewildered, but the English commanders on the Western Front were equally confused.

The war is going terribly wrong!

Although things didn't go smoothly at the beginning, one surrendered right at the start of the game, and the other went to play jungle in Africa.

But after they withdrew, thanks to the natural barrier of the Channel and the desperate resistance of the Royal Air Force, they were able to hold their own against Little Mustache's forces, and occasionally even launch a counterattack, resulting in a back-and-forth battle.

However, recently, the situation has taken a sharp turn for the worse.

The German soldiers on the other side seemed to have taken aphrodisiacs, each one incredibly fierce.

After a full day of fierce fighting, with significant casualties on both sides, everyone should have been listless and licking their wounds in the trenches the next day.

The next day, just as dawn broke, the enemy's artillery fire came down right on time. The Germans charged after the tanks with great energy, howling and their eyes were as bright as wolves in the night. They showed no signs of fatigue.

On the other hand, the soldiers dragged their heavy steps, their eyes vacant, their faces numb with the thought, "I'm going to die after this battle."

Let alone a counterattack, the ability to hold the position was achieved by sacrificing lives.

The supply lines were shattered, and the soldiers huddled in the damp, cold trenches, munching on hard bread that could break their teeth, drinking cold water.

And what about the other side?

According to sporadic intelligence from the front, the Germans were smoking and drinking coffee in the trenches, humming Bavarian folk songs, and having a great time, as if they were on a picnic.

How can we fight this war?

The commander grew increasingly agitated, slammed the battle report on the table, and was about to curse when a thought suddenly flashed through his mind.

"Could that intelligence be true?"

More than a month ago, the intelligence department intercepted an encrypted telegram, and the deciphered contents caused an uproar throughout the entire command.

The telegram confidently stated that the Germans had acquired a batch of "secret weapons" that could boost the entire force's combat effectiveness by 30%.

This terrified the British.

What secret weapon can increase a unit's combat effectiveness by 30%?

Is it some kind of new type of tank?

Or was it some kind of powerful artillery?

The intelligence department held an emergency meeting overnight, and all analysts were urgently recalled. They finally came to the conclusion that, no matter what, they had to find out what the so-called "secret weapon" was.

But in the following weeks, reports from the frontline observation posts left everyone baffled.

No new, unheard-of weapons appeared on the battlefield.

Both sides were using similar equipment, rifles and cannons that were technically copied from that Eastern merchant.

Their performance is about the same, so neither can gain an advantage over the other.

The intelligence agencies even received a severe scolding for wasting taxpayers' money to decipher a false intelligence report.

But the commander-in-chief no longer thinks that way.

The numbers in the battle reports don't lie.

The German army's speed of advance, firepower density, and sustained combat capability have all increased significantly in the past week.

This cannot be explained by tactical adjustments; something must be at work.

What is it?