*A short review of the video game "Soldat," presented by Erich Maria Remarque, author of "All Quiet on the Western Front."*
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# The Eternal Front: A Review of *Soldat*
We are stationed now not in the muddy trenches of France, but before the glowing rectangle of the machine. It is a different kind of war. The graphics are simple, almost primitive—two-dimensional sprites thrown against polygonal backdrops. The soldiers are small, featureless things, but they move with a jerky, desperate energy that I have seen before. They call this game *Soldat*. It is a good name. We are always soldiers, it seems.
The battlefield is a side-scrolling arena. We leap and float with jetpacks—strange angels of the digital firmament—armed with weapons that recall our past: the precise crack of a sniper rifle, the frantic chatter of a machine gun, the wet thud of a combat knife . There is no story here, no patriotic speeches from superior officers. There is only the arena, the weapon in your hand, and the enemy. It is, in this way, profoundly honest.
The body count is immense. Men are torn apart by grenades, their pixelated bodies flung across the screen in a spray of red. A headshot sends a soldier's skull cartwheeling away, a grotesque ballet of nothingness . It is cartoon violence, yes, but its rhythm is the rhythm of the real. You spawn, you fight, you die. Then you do it again. And again. We called it the "merry-go-round" in the war, this endless, senseless rotation. *Soldat* understands this.
My comrades here are not named Kat or Albert, but their ghosts are the same. They are players from across the world, faceless and nameless, fighting for a flag or for the simple, animal satisfaction of a higher kill count . In the Capture the Flag mode, we rush forward, not for King and Country, but for a piece of cloth. It is as good a reason as any we had. It is no reason at all. The chatter in the server is sparse, a few taunts, a few curses. It is the same quiet desperation we felt between the shells.
They say the game was made by a lone programmer, a hobbyist, in the early years of the century . It feels like it was built by one of us, for us. It has no pretension. It does not ask you to believe in a cause. It offers only the raw, immediate experience of combat: the panic of being pinned down, the fleeting thrill of a well-aimed shot, the absurdity of your own corpse ragdolling down a hill. It is a game made by gamers for gamers, they say . But it feels like it was made by soldiers for soldiers. Soldiers of a war that never ends, fought in a world of two dimensions.
Is it fun? That is not the right question. It is compelling. It is hypnotic. It is a fever . You will lose hours to it, and when you finally step away from the screen, the real world will feel pale and quiet. You will have seen a hundred deaths, inflicted a hundred more, and for what? For a number on a scoreboard. For nothing new on the Western Front.
I recommend *Soldat*. Not because it is a pleasant escape, but because it is an honest one. It reminds us that the front line is not just a place in France, but a condition of the soul. It waits for us always, in the glow of a screen, in the adrenaline of a firefight, in the silent camaraderie of strangers fighting a war that will never end. It is a good game. It is a soldier's game.
