The sun was rising, and the early summer sun could not dispel the gloom of the battlefield, and the chill that penetrated into the bones made the sunlight seem to turn gray. The no-man's land where crows swoop up from time to time still looks so desolate and terrifying in the sunlight – reminiscent of deserts, Gobi, abandoned mines, and all other places where there is no grass. But there would never be so many decomposing corpses in those places, let alone the evil creatures that feed on them.

At dawn the Defence launched a routine artillery bombardment. Charlemagne's previous raid seems to have irritated the defenders within Siegfried's Line. No one knows if Charlemagne will throw more people into this crazy charge next time, knowing that there is never a shortage of people on the other side, in order to solve this problem, to a greater extent, to gain a sense of security. Every day at dawn, the most suitable time for a surprise attack, the Wehrmacht, who was never short of shells, would shell the positions on Charlemagne's side. Sometimes it is a targeted concentrated fire on a certain area, sometimes it is an aimless piecemeal attack, and more often it is through artillery observers, using a high parabolic trajectory to fire a round of rapid fire cold artillery at a certain section of trench. The Wehrmacht tried to use this combination of random artillery bombardment to put an end to the idea of a surprise attack by the Charlemagne, according to their assumptions, no matter how stupid and bold the Charlemagnes were, they could not have gathered troops at the front of the trench at the risk of eating a shell at any time and place, and if they were assembled in the rear, the artillery observers in the air would immediately find such an excellent target and beckon the artillery brothers in the rear to shoot happily.

Sirion and Remarque didn't know what the big guys had in mind, or if they had worked as intended, they just knew that it was time for breakfast.

The trench confrontation has a fixed pattern, and half an hour after the shelling is the preparation time, and if there is no action on either side, the next time is the time for washing and breakfast.

"Corporal, your breakfast. Today it's brown bread with canned sardines, pan-fried sausages, potato salad and matsutake soup. ”

"Thank you (Danke). ”

"Paul, yours. ”

"Thank you, Skoledlov. ”

Taking the lunch box, Remarque glanced at the orc private who turned to leave. Behind the backs of the five big and three thick, several humans wearing training uniforms without rank identification and blue triangle armbands on a white background followed closely behind the privates with ammunition boxes. The group went down the stairs, and after a while, the buzz of the electric locomotive sounded and faded away. Listening to the directions, I should have gone back to the kitchen in the support area.

The Defence Force never forbade third- and fourth-class citizens to enlist in the army, and encouraged them to join the army with various preferential policies in order to alleviate the problem of lack of soldiers. In fact, a large number of people are conscripted, but the motivations and treatment of third- and fourth-class citizens are not consistent.

Third-class citizens are orc immigrants from the principality, who originally worked in violent institutions in Alfheim, and their main route was to join the army or become a vigilante. With enough pay, pay and vodka, these furry guys are the most dedicated soldiers in the world, and their combat effectiveness is guaranteed, as evidenced by a series of battles on the Siegfried Line.

Fourth-class citizens generally join the army for the treatment of military families, and some use joining the army as a way to get ahead. However, the Defence Force is not very comfortable with fourth-class citizens, and generally only allows them to participate in manual work such as logistics and transportation. Unless a soldier is really good, passes strict political scrutiny, and is recommended by three superior officers as a guarantee, he can start as a private. Fourth-class citizens are rarely allowed to enter combat units, let alone touch weapons, which are strictly forbidden to touch, even when transporting.

Generally speaking, the entry of third- and fourth-class citizens into the army has largely alleviated the pressure of insufficient manpower in the troops, especially in the logistics department. After all, no matter how developed the technology is, no matter how scientific and reasonable the transportation is, the materials still rely on labor to load and unload and be responsible for transportation. As long as it can come in handy, they don't mind what kind of citizens are coming.

As for whether some people worry about whether fourth-class citizens will defect to the other side of the battle line, it cannot be said that there is absolutely no such possibility. However, the Charlemagnes on the opposite side did not seem to be very friendly to their compatriots in Wehrmacht uniforms, and after a dozen fourth-class citizens who had defected to the other side of the line were crucified and hung on the edge of the trenches, there were no more escapes.

"What the hell are Charlemagnes thinking? Those who escaped are obviously their own kind and compatriots, right? Why do you want to kill these people? Isn't it good to use these people as propaganda material after asking for information about the fortifications of the defensive line?"

Corporal Remarque picked up the lumpy-shaped mashed potatoes and put them in his mouth, shook his head, and began to cut the delicious sausage again.

- Charlemagne's soldiers will not be humiliated by captivity!

- Cowards should be crucified!

There is no god to pray to traitors! Go to Death and learn how to be a Charlemagne!

An eerie breeze swept through the decomposing corpses, the sight of the wretched crucified, the merciless cursing of the gendarmerie captain, the deathbed wails of the executed, the begging faintly echoed in the whimpering wind. Sirion hurriedly chewed the turnip crust and swallowed the untasteful mass in his mouth with the cold turnip soup.

Charlemagne's will never be a slave to the country. No one wants Charlemagne to bow his proud head. This is official propaganda and the biggest reason why the gendarmes shot those who escaped from no man's land. But it was clear to everyone, including Sirion, that the gendarmes were just incapable and too lazy to screen whether there were spies among them, and they didn't want the rear to know about their incompetence, so they simply killed them.

Cyrion believed that this was the truth, and that those who risked being shot and rushed through the lines did indeed believe in their homeland, and that Charlemagne was willing to accept them, wanderers enslaved by pointy ears. But the officers didn't say anything about it at that time, and the non-commissioned officers just watched, and the GIs, including Sirion himself, just watched, coldly, with a little gloom, a little jealousy, as those men died slowly and painfully in the land of Charlemagne, who had been thinking about him. After those originally ruddy faces gradually lost their blood, the emaciated faces full of vegetables breathed a sigh of relief.

- We don't have to give them food anymore.

Sirion was relieved to hear someone whispering this.