My soldiers are all Fourth Calamities!

01. In the trenches, each person is a commander.

pain.

thirsty.

uncomfortable.

Rochester awkwardly pushed away the heavy corpse pressing down on him. The moment he did, his headache returned. In his dazed state, Rochester saw the sun and the sound of gunfire. For a moment, he even felt as if he were sleeping in a pale cradle.

Waiting for the gentle, reliable words that would surely be spoken to him—Rochester uncontrollably covered his eyes, a strange, complex emotion making him burst into tears.

But soon, this feeling vanished abruptly with the roar in his ears.

"Commander Rochester, Commander Rochester! Wake up!"

Rochester could vaguely feel someone shaking him, and the shaking was extremely strong. After the shaking failed, the person seemed to start dragging his body until he fell into a pit.

The pain in my face followed immediately.

"Bang!"

"Wake up! Commander Rochester! You can't die yet, don't fall asleep!"

Rochester gradually regained consciousness after being punched hard, and the scene before his eyes gradually became clear—a soldier in military uniform.

The other person spoke a heavily guttural Slavic language, but it was somewhat different from the Russian Rochester was familiar with.

Even though he couldn't recognize the language, Rochester could still understand what the other person was saying.

And what's this called... "Vistula Federation"? What the heck is that...?

The Vistula River, I've heard of it in Rochester, it's the longest river in the Big Bang, and also the largest river in that basin.

"Commander Rochester, are you alright!?"

To be honest, Rochester still doesn't understand what happened. He only remembers that he was in a casual class, and after class he played a full-fledged Iron IV game with anime mods. Suddenly the power went out in the dormitory, and when he opened his eyes again, he was here.

This appears to be a cat-ear hole, a small, covered cave dug into the side wall of a trench to provide cover for soldiers from artillery fire.

Also hiding in this cave were several soldiers dressed in old military uniforms, holding a rifle that looked very much like a Mosin-Nagant.

He was wearing the same military uniform.

Rochester now roughly understood his situation. He had most likely encountered the much-anticipated time travel, and unsurprisingly, he had traveled to a war... Was it World War I or World War II?

It doesn't look like it.

Based on the current information and some fragmented memories in my mind, I should be a platoon-level commander.

This made Rochester realize quickly that he couldn't afford to show any signs of amnesia or confusion. Otherwise, if the other soldiers found out that he had lost his memory, even if the unit didn't collapse, the blow to morale would be enormous.

"Cough cough... I'm fine," Rochester waved his hand, but amidst the bombardment, he had to raise his voice to ask, "What's the situation now? Have the enemy charged in?"

Although Rochester was a battlefield prisoner in his previous life, a game is still a game. It has to be said that the noise of artillery fire is indeed frightening. Just listening to it makes adrenaline rush.

Hearing Rochester say that he was alright, the soldiers breathed a sigh of relief—thank goodness, their commander was not dead.

The soldier who had pulled Rochester into the cat-ear hole finally relaxed, his tense expression dissipating. He recalled that the soldier's name was Anton. "Great... our platoon's deputy commander is dead. We can't afford to lose you, our commander."

This passage contained a lot of information. Rochester looked at his left sleeve, on which was embedded a symbol that was all too familiar. Below this symbol was a square.

Rochester quickly recognized the armband insignia, and as he thought about it, the memory in his mind became clearer, and a word appeared in his mind—"Redwitt Alliance".

Historically speaking, that should have been the end of World War I?

Thinking of this, Rochester frowned.

The explosions nearby suddenly stopped.

Instead, they were met with fierce gunfire from the rear.

The attack is coming.

Suddenly someone outside shouted, "Everyone out! Out! Charge! Hold them off! The 'Vistula' canned goods are here! Hold them off until reinforcements arrive! This place cannot fall!"

can...?

Canned food?! Holy crap!

When Rochester heard this word, his heart sank. It undoubtedly proved one thing: he had definitely entered some hellish world.

It is definitely not the history he remembers.

However, it seems to have nothing to do with Warhammer. Could it be the Trench Crusade?!

In any case, Rochester needed to see what that canned thing was.

Just one glance was enough to send a chill down Rochester's spine. It was a multi-legged walking mech, its outline resembling a giant beetle or crab forcibly upright, its torso a riveted steel box—truly befitting a canned food container.

The top of the torso is a rotating turret, but it is by no means the streamlined turret of a modern tank—it is more like a small gun turret on a World War I warship, cylindrical or truncated conical in shape.

This stunned Rochester, filling him with a sense of dread about a pure, enormous behemoth born of slaughter.

In the instant Rochester was stunned, Anton grabbed him by the back of his collar and pulled him back into the trench. "Commander Rochester, don't rush to the front."

No one would believe that there would still be people in this bombed-out wasteland.

But now, steel helmets emerged from the trenches all around, and machine guns, already set up, began firing just fifty meters from Rochester.

Rochester's brain seemed to freeze.

What kind of place is this?!

A commander who seemed to be of the same rank as Rochester was pushing young faces out of the trenches.

They wore grey tops and trousers, and boots, but most of the uniforms were too big for them, hanging precariously from their limbs.

They had narrow shoulders and frail bodies.

But clearly, the intense firepower outside rendered them helpless, and they fell down like flies.

Positional warfare requires soldiers to have knowledge and experience. They must be able to clearly see the terrain, distinguish the sounds of various shells, understand their power, identify the impact points of the shells in advance, know how they explode, and how to protect themselves.

The young reinforcements knew nothing about this.

They were killed because they couldn't tell the difference between hand grenades and shrapnel.

They were mowed down because they were terrified by the barrage of large-caliber shells that were falling behind them and were not paying attention to the buzzing shrapnel being sprayed from below.

They didn't run in scattered formations, but rather huddled together like sheep, and even if they were injured, they would be shot down by the air force like rabbits.

They all looked pale and clenched their fists. These poor young men, with a meager courage, charged forward and attacked.

These honest young men were too frightened to shout. Even with their chests, stomachs, arms, and legs injured by the explosion, they could only sob softly, calling out for their mothers. As soon as someone looked at them, they immediately fell silent.

Their faces were lifeless, thin, and covered in downy hair, like those of prematurely deceased children, terrifying and expressionless.

Rochester watched them jump, run, and fall, feeling as if he had a lump in his throat.

Although Rochester wasn't exactly a battlefield expert, and didn't know what the canned food was or the state of war in this world, his knowledge from another world allowed him to understand things to some extent. In any case, charging like that was pure suicide.

Rochester really wanted to grab those young men by the arms and drag them away from this fruitless place.

Rochester rushed over and grabbed the commander. "Don't let them get up there!"

"Damn it, this is 'Zhoxymir,' and Kiev is right behind us. If 'Zhoxymir' falls into enemy hands, it will become a crucial logistical base for their army's advance towards the Dnieper River!"

Zhytomyr...

Rochester was so impressed by the word that the end result was the fall of Kiev, which was captured by the enemy a month later.

Budyonny's cavalry army gained fame after a successful counterattack.

However, this world is completely different from the world Rochester knew.

Rochester quickly realized that the person in front of him wasn't a commander at all... but a war supervisor!

Because the commander who had been stopped by Rochester instantly pulled a gun from his waist, pointed it at his head, and said, "Let your men go up too! This is the most intense moment of the war, and I have the right to shoot anyone who deserts in the face of battle."

Seeing this, Rochester had no choice but to relent and quickly smooth things over, saying, "I think we need to try a different approach, a strategic retreat. Our morale is too low right now."

"You're ordering me around? You hastily trained bastard! Get out of here!" the supervising officer yelled at Rochester.

Soon after, the supervising officer turned and directed an old soldier to pick up the explosive charge on the ground. "Go blow up that can. If that can gets near the trench, everything will be over!"

Just as Rochester was pondering what to do, a voice echoed in his mind.

[The closed beta test will begin in ten seconds. Please, Rochester, the game's sole planner, get ready!]

What does it mean? !

Planning? Game?

Although Rochester was somewhat bewildered, as someone who had read many works, he now understood what it meant.

A screen appeared in front of me.

[Permission: Task posting unlocked]

[Player forum is now open]

The Reputation Shop is now open.

Please confirm the player creation rules.

[Dear Game Planner, please read carefully and check the box to agree to the "Game License and Service Agreement" and "Privacy Protection Guidelines"...]

Looking at the screen in front of him, Rochester knew without a doubt what the system could do.

Summon the Fourth Calamity.

The Fourth Calamity is an extremely terrifying existence in any world. It has unlimited resurrections, rapid leveling, impervious to pain, and a terrifying ability to create mischief. It also has forum guides and in-game voice chat.

However, the more free the game is, the more dangerous it is. The biggest problem with The Fourth Calamity is its uncontrollability. Without restrictions, the probability of being headshot by a player is not zero.

But if you can make use of it, things will be completely different in this world.

Currently, he needs the players to figure out a way to deal with that can of food.

Changing history... Damn it, so be it.

Rochester simply couldn't bear to see those recruits being sent to their deaths!

Now that we've all come to another world, how can we leave the limelight to the natives?

Rochester set up simple character creation rules, just the usual ones, to prevent fully open character customization—he didn't want to see a bunch of players with muscular bodies, bear limbs, and walnut-sized heads.

So he used the soldiers of the "Red Witt Alliance" around him as a template.

Rochester promptly positioned the player next to him, and also gave the player a name with a Russian flair...

In short, Rochester added everything he could think of...

Oh right, right, there are also sensitive words. A group of players couldn't say anything when other soldiers shouted words that would send the world and Rochester to meet Carl.

Having just arrived in this other world, he didn't want to die at the hands of some invisible force called "Shenhe".

As for the soldier's template...

Rochester glanced at the soldiers around him. There was no real distinction between them, so he decided to set them to blank for now and decide on professions later.

After doing all this, Rochester could already hear the cans making a sound, very close by.

Clearly, those charges did not get anyone to the can.

The system panel also displayed a message.

[Player creation rules have been completed. Mr. Rochester, the sole planner, please note that you currently have 200 reputation points. As you and your players have a greater impact on this world, your reputation will increase further.]

Based on the template settings you provided, summoning a player requires 10 reputation points, and resurrecting them costs the same.

The player's spawn point has been set next to yours.

Rochester glanced at it and saw the second point, which meant that the template settings would affect the price. Did that mean that once his reputation increased, he could generate weapons out of thin air?

Holy crap, Martian weapons! (PS: Items in the game whose origin cannot be clearly explained and which are added out of nowhere are generally referred to as "Martian XX".)

[You are currently in combat. Players cannot be deployed near you. Please find a safe location.]

A safe place?

Is there anywhere safe?!

Cat ears pierced!

Rochester moved quickly through the trenches, encountering Anton along the way. Anton immediately asked, "Commander Rochester, let me go, let me open that can!"

Rochester looked at Anton, the man who had saved his life twice, a man with a true fighting spirit. It was such a pity that he died, especially not in such a tactical human wave charge.

Rochester patted him on the shoulder. "From now on, you're the deputy commander of our platoon. You stay in the trenches and tell everyone in the platoon who's still alive that we're not allowed to charge. If the trenches fall, we'll retreat. There will always be a chance."

While Anton was somewhat bewildered by this sudden "battlefield advancement," Rochester had already run straight to the cat's ear cave and started recruiting players, initially recruiting ten people.

It's just enough to form a ten-person squad. The remaining reputation points can't be used anymore. At least players should have a chance to revive. The one-life mode is realistic, but it's too discouraging.

As Rochester clicked the recruit button, at the same time, in another world called "Earth".