Standing in different positions, one has different understandings of war. On the front lines, war can be felt in reality, with death and killing.

But in the Supreme Command, war is completely different.

There was not even a need for a supreme command. Even hundreds of kilometers away from the front line, there was no rumble of artillery fire. The offices there were cleaned every morning and were shrouded in a peaceful atmosphere of handling official business. The soldiers serving there had never fired a shot themselves, nor had they ever been shot at. Their war was even just flirting with female stenographers and typists in the corridor. The senior generals there, wearing neatly ironed uniforms, stood in front of maps, staring at them, writing in newspapers, saying that everything had been done humanly and that they had to rely on God for the rest.

As we all know, God often gets up early for a day's work. He observes the ships, the men who sink into the sea, the flight of the shells, the aiming of the gunners, the superb skills of the naval officers, the bodies of the unfortunate flying in the air, the waves crashing against the steel barriers on the shore, the loading of the shells on the batteries, and the construction of the fortifications behind the narrow battlefield between the two armies with a biased and critical eye.

On the other side of the area, every morning, there were offices that were equally clean, and there sat enemy generals wearing different uniforms. They looked at very similar maps, read very similar reports, and competed with their colleagues and the enemy hundreds of kilometers away with their spiritual strength and intelligence.

On the walls of offices in these places hang large maps, carefully marked with red and black pencils. In these places, war is a methodical business. Battle plans appear on the maps constantly. If Plan No. 1 fails, Plan No. 2 is implemented. If Plan No. 2 is only partially successful, the pre-made Plan No. 3 will immediately take effect.

All the generals studied in military schools, whether it was the Imperial Army School in Southwark, West Point in the United States, Spandau in Germany or Sandhurst in the United Kingdom. They all studied according to the same textbooks. Many of them wrote their own books and read each other's works. They all knew how Caesar acted in similar situations and what mistakes Napoleon made in Italy...

Now, although the generals were on both sides, they all hoped that the decisive moment would never come, because then they would have to utter "yes" or "no", and these two words would decide the fate of the battle and perhaps the fate of the country; these two words would rob a man of his last ounce of courage, these two words might cripple or destroy a man for life, and might also cost him honor and prestige.

Therefore, they sat calmly in their offices, or looked at maps and reports, and prayed secretly: Plans No. 1, No. 2, and No. 3 could be implemented according to the ideas of Suzaku Square in Zhongdu and Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington, with only insignificant and minor changes made on the spot by those on the battlefield.

But for the men on the battlefield, everything was quite different. No one asked them how to isolate the enemy's front from the rear. No one asked them how long it would take to prepare for an artillery attack, and the soldiers did not attend meetings to discuss how many divisions had to be lost in order to advance one kilometer into the enemy's territory.

There were no female stenographers to flirt with on the battlefield, and there were no maps on which the actions of the soldiers were transformed into a set of clear, orderly symbols - symbols suitable for military command and included in charts.

But what the soldiers at the front saw were the steel helmets on their heads, the vomit, the green sea water, the exploding shells, the thick smoke, the shot down planes, the bright red blood, the underwater torpedoes, the rumbling cannons, the expressionless pale faces, the crowds overwhelmed by panic, the running and falling soldiers - they seemed to have forgotten everything they had learned after leaving their jobs and wives and putting on military uniforms.

As for the generals sitting in front of the map hundreds of kilometers away, the images of Wei Qing, Huo Qubing, Yue Fei, Caesar, Clausewitz and Napoleon came to their minds. Military operations were carried out strictly according to plan, or almost according to plan; however, in the eyes of the soldiers on the battlefield, everything was not as it seemed.

“Damn it…”

About 2 kilometers away from the front line, artillery shells hit the marching soldiers, and the road was filled with the groans of the wounded and the curses of the people.

For the generals hundreds of kilometers away, the war was just another manifestation of the war game, and even the casualty figures were used to inspire people. But for the soldiers on the battlefield, the casualties were real.

When a bullet hits him or his comrades, when a shell explodes within a few meters, when a soldier who has lost both legs cries out for his mother, and his voice becomes weaker and weaker, this soldier will only slowly move towards death.

“…”

As he pushed bullets into the magazine one by one, Kang Mingwei's expression became more and more indifferent. About ten meters in front of him, the soldier whose thigh was broken by a bullet was crying and begging for help, but they were powerless to do anything.

"Have you spotted the sniper?"

Once again, Kang Mingwei shouted.

"No, for God's sake, there are snipers everywhere..."

After entering the city, Kang Mingwei felt that he was trapped in a disaster. Every building and even every piece of ruins needed to be fought for. In order to seize a building, several people might die. In the city, you never know where the bullets will come from.

In such a moment when death is present, everything becomes meaningless and everyone just wants to survive.

To survive, you must kill your enemies.

"Captain, I think we can throw a smoke bomb over there and drag Dongzi back..."

The director, with a gun in his hand, stared at his crying comrade through the cracks in the bricks. His comrade's wails made him want to rescue him.

"The range of the smoke bomb is too small. You don't know if it can block the sniper's sight. We should get rid of the sniper first..."

As the commander, Kang Mingwei had to make a choice: sacrifice a comrade for the injured comrade, or...

"Xu Han ran over..."

Just as the director finished speaking, gunshots rang out again, and Xu Han, who was running, seemed to be tripped by a rope and fell heavily to the ground. He was not fatally injured, but he was hit in the lower abdomen and lay on the ground groaning.

"Damn it, everyone must obey orders and don't attack rashly..."

On the battlefield, comrades are generally willing to die for their brothers, but this can also result in unnecessary casualties.

The most sensible thing to do at this time is to stay here and not move. But what does this mean? It means that they have to watch their brothers lose their lives bit by bit.

In fact, the battlefield is so cruel, and many times, people are powerless...