All Quiet on the Western Front

France, 1918. You are a young soldier in a waterlogged trench somewhere on the Western Front. Across the mud, whistles sound, a bugle calls, and another wave comes over the enemy parapet. Your orders are simple: hold the line.

Stand on the fire steps to shoot over the sandbags. Crouch low to let the storm pass overhead. Bolt-action rifle, stick grenades, a gas mask with a finite filter, and two mates who won't all see November. Shell barrages land with a falling whistle you'll learn to dread; chlorine gas rolls across no man's land and turns every breath into a decision.

Five days. Dawn, dusk, and the long hours between. Letters from home arrive when the firing stops — and then the whistles start again. Every shell crater, every ruined tree, every silent stretch of wire pulls you deeper into the quiet horror the novel made famous.

Survive all five days and the guns fall silent on the eleventh of November. Fall, and the army report records only that it was a quiet day on the Western Front.