War Three: Starting in Prague

When the Lancet cruise missile pierced down from the clouds, Pavel only had time to curse "fuck". He fought in the ruins of Prague for seventeen days, and the number of brothers around him went from fifteen to just himself. There were no reinforcements and no way out. The launch button for the missile overhead was pressed by a female operator named Eva thousands of miles away. She didn't know Pavel, didn't care who he was, he was just the fourth target to be eliminated today. At the same time, Petrov was smoking a cigar and looking at a map in the command tent. His intersecting troops had just torn apart the defensive line built by the European coalition forces for a month; the Czech Prime Minister was sitting in the broadcast room and said into the microphone - "We lost." This is World War III. The quagmire spreads from the trenches to the headquarters. No one is the protagonist, no one can turn the tables with a golden finger, and everyone has to gamble with their lives on whether the gun in their hand will jam.