Chapter 68 We Are All The Same

  The flames of war have burned away the youthful faces, turning vast expanses into fields of rotting corpses, and green mountains and rivers into ravines filled with bullet holes. The once-thriving villages and towns have become desolate and abandoned cities, and individual lives have turned into groups of lost souls... War has its unique charm, it is the camaraderie between comrades in life and death, the unwavering pursuit of honor and victory. But it also has a dirty side, evasion and betrayal; and an unfeeling aspect, such as trampling on life.

  The most important thing is that war causes the loss of life and destroys countless happy families. However, the huge casualties and suffering for each general and head of state, one thousand, ten thousand, or even tens of millions of casualties, are just a number in the pursuit of national strategic victory. Those who fall on the road to victory ultimately become just numbers. For a family, losing a young life is like losing everything - what's left can hardly be called a home?

  "I've forgotten which year it was, the year I became so lost, the year I fell apart. I also can't recall which moment it was, the moment I lost my loved ones, the moment I realized I'd become a loner, the moment I became an outcast of God. Let me think carefully, which year was it, which moment..."

  The sun sets in the west, casting a warm golden light over the land. In front of a dilapidated house, a lazy man is smoking a makeshift cigarette made from newspaper, which has temporarily taken on the role of a real cigarette. On this desolate land, only one wisp of smoke rises into the air. The rickety chair creaks and groans as if it might collapse at any moment, but the person sitting in it doesn't care - he's too busy gazing out at the distance.

  He hoped to see birds flying in the sky, small birds with life and courage beating against the blue sky, even if only one was enough to satisfy him. But he didn't see any birds, instead, he saw pieces of light gray clouds, which might be formed by rainwater or the remaining gunpowder smoke from war. Closing his eyes, a sour pain came from his eyes, the chemical poison used recklessly on the battlefield left a deep mark on him, that was the aftermath, the suffering tormented him, so he had to try hard to open his eyes and take a good look at this beautiful world.

  The flat fields no longer had the grapevines of yesteryear, not even the trellises remained, only large and small craters and patches of scorched black earth. In the distant mountain valley, where lush green trees should have grown, it was instead darker and more unsightly. The cratered surface was like an old woman's weathered face, but near the dilapidated houses, in a certain corner of the wall, there was still a patch of green grass, and between the craters, wild grass burst forth with life.

  "I remembered, it was 1914..."

  "That year before, I had my own home, with lush green mountains and a long flowing river; that year before, the country was still prosperous, with factories standing tall and cars and ships speeding by; that year before, life was still so beautiful, with warm sunshine and gentle breeze. But then came that year, everything began to change, everything became a distant memory. I firmly believe that God left humanity that year, abandoning us to our fate. And thus, the world changed forever!"

  "My story is very long and I need some time to recall it carefully. I need to record seriously the life of mine from 1914 to 1920."

  The past pain has long since scabbed over and fallen off, leaving behind only scars on the body and marks on the soul. The young soldier now has an early decline: his fair skin has been smoked black by gunpowder and flames, and only after careful washing can the scars on his face be revealed, adding a bit of life's faint red to his dark, old face.

  The empty left sleeve clearly showed the soldier's situation, it was hard to imagine how he managed to roll a cigarette with one hand, light a match with one hand, perhaps relying on his legs, but that didn't matter. He dragged over half of a wooden board, probably from the wall of this house which had been blown open by a cannonball, and a clear scorch mark proved it.

  The soldier placed a wooden board on a stone and sat on it as if it were a bench, not wanting to sit on his worn-out backpack. The rickety chair that had been creaking and swaying precariously earlier was now his desk, from which he pulled out a pen and some paper he had scavenged from the house. With these basic tools in hand, he began his journey of reminiscence, slowly recalling the long-forgotten war.

  "If someone were to ask me who was the luckiest and unluckiest person in the German Imperial Army, I would say it's me. In my opinion, I'm the luckiest because I survived many brutal battles during the war; but at the same time, I'm also the unluckiest because I sent one comrade after another to their deaths, and repeatedly forgot whether I was killing humans or beasts, losing even a shred of humanity, compassion, and sanity. And so God punished me by taking everything away from me, including my left arm..."

  The soldier looked up at the sky, where the pale yellow sunlight was shining down on the earth. The light was still in the world, but it seemed to be waiting for something that never came. He looked around and saw that he was alone, except for a wooden house that had been destroyed by cannon fire. In this desolate environment, the sun would not set for some time yet, so he had enough time to write something down. After thinking carefully, he slowly wrote:

  "My name is Roberts Karl, I'm lucky to still remember my own name. I can barely make it back to my hometown, even though my home has been reduced to rubble. I've been searching the house for a long time, but I have no idea where my family went. The house is empty and bare, but what's infuriating is that this empty shell of a house still got hit by another bomb? Where can I take shelter tonight?"

  It doesn't matter, it really doesn't matter. I've been dead for a long time, don't know where my soul is, don't know where my spirit has gone, and of course, I don't even know if I died in vain or not. Indeed, for 14 years, I've treated myself as a lifeless object, a hard stone that's been soaked in a pit of emotions for too long!

  My story should start from December 2014, I firmly believe this.

  It was a very mild day, and I had just received my wages and was eager to spend the money in my pocket or bring some goodies back home, but before I even left the boiler factory, I heard someone shouting slogans, shouting great "Long live Germany" and the like. Only after asking did I learn that war had broken out, with the great German Empire declaring war on those damned Slavs, and then also declaring war on our arch-enemy France...

  The streets were filled with people in a state of frenzy, while on the highways, troops marched by in formation, shouting slogans and maintaining a steady pace. The sound of their footsteps echoed through the air, accompanied by cheers from the crowd. I imagine that even God was blessing these foolish people at this moment, blessing them to reap the suffering they would eventually harvest.

  No words can describe the madness of that moment, the shop owner didn't even charge me a penny for a pack of cigarettes and kept telling me, "Young man, go to war! For the great tomorrow of Germany, for the grand vision of Wilhelm II, for the future of the Empire, a strong empire needs excellent and loyal soldiers, let the war bring honor and benefits to the Empire..." In short, he said a lot, anyway, I got that pack of cigarettes for free and was convinced, my heart surged with passion like a volcanic eruption, boiling with hotter blood than magma. (It seems that at that time, I was as foolish as I was fanciful...)

  I ran back home excitedly only to find my old man was even more enthusiastic than I was. He was trying his best to persuade my elder brother to take over from him and serve the country, but unexpectedly, it was me who ended up being persuaded instead. The reason might be that I wasn't married yet, or maybe there were other reasons, which I couldn't recall anyway. All I knew was that I was thrilled at that time, foolishly thrilled, nothing more than that.

  I don't know if I was born foolish or I'm just not cut out for being a soldier, but after going through four whole months of training, it wasn't until the end of 2014 that I finally passed the assessment and prepared to follow orders. What kind of sad experiences did I have during that time? I've already forgotten, but fortunately, after going through such long training, God gave me enough ability to live longer and experience more suffering.

  "The train, with a mournful whistle, always puffed out terrifying steam. When I was ordered by the officer to rush into the cramped car, my comrades, who were pushing and shoving, were extremely excited, like compressed biscuits being stuffed into the carriage. But everyone was still chatting and laughing, thinking that this was just a parade and that victory would be easily won."

  In my eyes, the Russians are just a bunch of soft eggs. They are farmers from the primitive era, how can they possibly have cannons and machine guns? Our division has nearly 100 light and heavy machine guns, while the impoverished Russian division only has a dozen or so Maxim heavy machine guns. The superiors told us again and again on our way to the Eastern Front that our army's combat effectiveness is astonishing and our battle tactics are flawless. In fact, after arriving at the front line, we really felt what the superiors said was true.

  The great German Empire Army is the best in the world, it is absolutely invincible. We have strict and harsh discipline, hard and effective training, uniform equipment, and high morale, but those damn Austrians are a soft egg, they lost nearly five million people in the Russian attack, while our Rudolf led our Eighth Army to easily defeat the Russians, killing countless enemies and capturing tens of thousands of prisoners. From that moment on, I also firmly believed that the great German Empire will win a glorious victory.

  But everyone has forgotten a sentence, "Not afraid of god-like opponents, but afraid of pig-like teammates". Our German Empire is so powerful, with the Austro-Hungarian Empire, Ottoman Empire and Italy, these pig-like teammates as companions, how can we possibly have a good future? But at that time, indeed no one thought, from Emperor Wilhelm II to me, an ordinary person, who could predict that these pigs would not be able to withstand the storm.

  The war was going very smoothly, but just when we were continuously reaping the lives of the Russian guys, those damned British pigs and French bitches stabbed us in the back. Thinking they were clever, they launched two offensives at Champagne and Adowa, but we won victories against overwhelming odds. Under the effect of cannons, machine guns, and barbed wire, the British pigs and French bitches could only leave behind their corpses. Of course, this also consumed a large amount of our ammunition, and made us realize that those damned Anglo-French armies still had the ability to launch active attacks on us. We must do something to prevent the fruits of victory from falling into others' hands.

  Without any chaos or panic, it was as if everything was part of a carefully planned strategy by some mastermind. We were winning victory after victory on the Eastern Front, but that couldn't satisfy us - French wine and beauties were what soldiers yearned for, including me! So we were packed into the stuffy train again, chugging along to the Western Front. During our rest days, I learned about many good things that had happened on the Western Front before. (These wonderful memories are still vivid in my mind today.)

  During this period of rest, I learned many things, such as:

  When I was still in boot camp, the great German army, those regular soldiers, occupied Luxembourg and Belgium at an unimaginable speed, then chased the disheartened Belgian army all the way to the French border, and then they took over northern France. At this rate, many people thought that before winter arrived, they would be able to hold beautiful Parisian girls in their arms, lying in warm beds enjoying the fruits of victory.

  The area from the Marne River to Verdun in the Paris suburbs was where the French sluts, who were on the verge of being destroyed as a nation, finally managed to put up a strong resistance. Many of our proud and arrogant troops were turned into meat by their machine guns, just like we used hail of bullets to greet the Slavs on the Eastern Front. However, this did not affect the continuation of the war. The defeated army began to defend itself while waiting for reinforcements and actively advanced on both flanks. As a result, those damned guys successfully captured vast territories in northeastern France but never managed to cut off the transportation lines between England and France. After the Battle of Flanders, nothing good came out of it either.

  So, after our arrival, the headquarters with greatly increased strength immediately launched a full-scale counterattack. I was very lucky not to have participated in this battle, which started from the Russian border and went all the way to the French territory. The drastic change in climate made it unbearable for many people, and this battle required fierce fighting and rapid advances. Therefore, the troops left us behind, those of us who were so sick that we could only breathe through our mouths, and taking us onto the battlefield would have been like using live targets.

  So I dodged a bullet. The reason for this is that the strategic plan of pursuing fierce strikes and rapid advances was wrong, and the damned command allowed the lower troops to use poison gas shells at will, which killed many British pigs and French whores. Although the yellow-green "bombs" would not explode into deadly shrapnel, they would release large amounts of toxic gases after exploding on the enemy's position, drifting far away with the help of the wind. Not long after we started the war, we achieved a record of killing over 10 million enemies, and our losses were minimal, but we still failed to achieve a decisive victory.

  The illness had not yet healed, and I joined the ranks of war. The tension on the Eastern Front had to make the Western Front troops appear at a disadvantage, originally planned large-scale offensive forces, as a result, many were delayed in the East and did not arrive, so we had to sleep in trenches and practice shooting frequently, dense barbed wire and machine gun fire would not pose a threat to ourselves, our only fear was the enemy's artillery, under the bombardment of large-caliber artillery, no one dared to say that they were God's own child, even if they were lucky enough not to be blown up, they would still be buried alive and suffocated.

  Fortunately, our army is of high quality, and the artillerymen are even better. They have never woken me up from my good sleep with their cannons, mainly because the enemy on the other side has not been able to compare with us in terms of either quantity or quality of their guns. The outdated M1897, a 75mm rapid-fire cannon that is still in use, has a range of only a few kilometers and can't even reach our fortress line unless they get too close to our lines. The result is that their artillerymen haven't even had time to set up their positions before being blown to kingdom come by our howitzers. From that moment on, I have truly fallen in love with the artillery, especially those 155mm howitzers that everyone calls "Great Brother". Their explosive power and range are simply the greatest among all cannons, a true man among men...

  Not long after, I witnessed something even more formidable. When the Anglo-French army was preparing to launch a large-scale attack on our weak Western front, a machine gun called the Type 1 Universal began to shine, accompanied by the terrifying death god ZJQ-1 heavy machine gun. At that time, it was still very heroic to say "let thousands of troops come and attack, I have a hail of bullets to greet them". Rows and rows of French whores were shot down like sieves on the road of attack, while our Mauser rifles in hand were simply useless compared to the machine guns that kept firing non-stop.

  After surviving that damned 1915, I myself am no longer clear how many people I killed. All I know is that the British pigs and French whores, like a flock of sheep, stupidly charged towards our positions, yelling and screaming, and then were covered by our artillery fire, machine gun sweeps, and rifle shots. In the end, what was once good land became pockmarked and uneven, and the fertile soil became even more fertile with the addition of hot blood and corpses.

  Of course, since then I was really fed up with the dark and humid trenches, day after day of canned food, thinking that we were being raised like livestock, once out would be slaughtered, the enemy also had snipers ready to take our lives at any time. In the lonely and boring days, I finally matured a bit, calmed down and thought again, if we attacked, others would also use machine guns to sweep us away, wouldn't I become one of the many rotting corpses in front of the trenches, or be shot into two pieces, or even more... I always doubted the meaning of life's existence, just doubting like this, every day nearly ten thousand people went to accompany God, could it be that God was not lively enough? But I didn't dare say these thoughts to anyone, their helpless eyes also told me they knew what I was thinking in my heart, because we were all the same.