Chapter 59 Returning to the Town
The phrase "Parting is such sweet sorrow" is particularly apt in the context of a brutal war. Faces that were alive and vibrant just moments ago suddenly become part of the past. Those on the battlefield have all experienced the pain of farewells to some extent. In the short span of five days, Lynn, a newcomer to war, has witnessed the departure of many comrades—not all through death, but none of the ways are comforting.
Though he knows there may be no chance of seeing each other again, Lynn doesn't even have a moment to sigh. He turns away, not wanting "Butcher" to see the tears in his eyes. Despite the short time they spent together, their bond is genuine. If it weren't for this brash and straightforward SS sergeant's help, Lynn, appearing as a rookie, might have already been reduced to debris in this unfamiliar land. It's no wonder they say the camaraderie of comrades is as deep as the sea. The battlefield, with its intertwining of blood and fire, is like a great crucible where all false and insincere things are burned to ashes, leaving only the gold of true emotions.
Prompted by "Janker," the five soldiers he selected quickly packed up their belongings, including personal items and rolled-up military blankets that are not typically brought to the battlefield. Lynn initially wanted to give his assault rifle to "Butcher," but he shook his head with a bitter smile. With his injured left hand, handling the lightweight and easy-to-use MP40 was already a challenge; using the MP44 for accurate shooting would be even more difficult. Moreover, in a battlefield dominated by artillery and tanks, the role of a single rifle is minimal.
Picking up his canvas backpack and slinging his assault rifle filled with bullets, Lynn once again walked with the squad led by "Janker." Until he gets answers to his questions, he curses bitterly in his mind: You call yourself a lieutenant in the Wehrmacht, yet you're arguing with a mere SS private like me. It's so unseemly, unreliable, and despicable! While we were shedding blood on the front lines, you were nowhere to be seen. Now that we've repelled the Russians' attack, you come out to select men. Is this how you value the lives of these soldiers, by desperately currying favor with your superiors?
Despite Lynn's scathing thoughts, the burly Wehrmacht officer still held his head high and stood tall, reminiscent of Kasten Janker, the former Bayern Munich and German national team striker on the football field. However, among the soldiers he selected, besides Lynn, the other four are all injured—although not severely enough to be kept off the front lines. However, their spirits are usually not in great shape. Despite the warm sun overhead, they look like wheat that hasn't received rain for a long time, standing straight but still with a grimy appearance.
Though the weapons carried by the soldiers selected by "Janker" the night before are not very uniform, they all have submachine guns. This time, the five soldiers are armed with five completely different firearms as their primary weapons: the German-made Mauser 98k, MP40, and MP44, the Soviet-made PPSh-41, and a Mosin-Nagant rifle with a fixed scope, as well as two pistols strapped to their belts. Lynn's Mauser military pistol is already quite rare in the German army, and another soldier's Mosin-Nagant M1895 is an even rarer trophy. It's an old-style double-action revolver that became a standard weapon for the Russian army from the late Tsarist period and continued into the Soviet Red Army era. Although the overall number of these pistols is not small, when calculated according to the size of the army, their distribution ratio is far lower than that of the American, British, or even German troops, and their fame is not as great as Browning, Webley, Ruger, or Walter.
After leaving their positions, the motley crew of German soldiers walked along the road in the direction of the town of Horgen. The distance between them was less than two kilometers, and even at their sluggish pace, they could reach it in fifteen minutes. However, the daylight here belonged to the Soviet Air Force, with sporadic attacks from Soviet aircraft appearing near the riverbank, either singly or in small groups, even during breaks in the intense bombings by large formations. Whether harassment or provocation, the German fighters largely ignored them, and the extremely limited anti-aircraft firepower on the defending positions was ineffective in driving them away. As a result, the only option for the German ground forces when encountering Soviet aircraft was to take cover. Lynn and his group had to retreat into the woods twice along the way to avoid air raids, which delayed their arrival in the town by more than half an hour.
Compared to when Lynn first laid eyes on it, this typical Eastern European town was now unrecognizable. Traces of battle were everywhere, with the devastating power of shells and bombs destroying most of the buildings on both sides of the river, including the church standing in the center of the town. The circular small square had become a natural dumping ground for all kinds of "war garbage," with large and small pieces of wood, cement blocks, stones, and glass shards completely covering the ground paved with gravel. The winding streets of the town were no longer clear from end to end; they were either interrupted by collapsed buildings or disappeared in segments amidst the ruins.
Buildings can be rebuilt, towns can be reconstructed, but time can never go back.
Following "Janker," the group proceeded north from the entrance of the town. By chance, Lynn caught sight of an arm dangling at the edge of a pile of debris, and his mood plummeted to the freezing depths.
This was a terrible war, and they faced terrible enemies!
The main body of the town was situated on the slope north of the river, with the highest point less than a hundred meters from the river surface. The group quickly bypassed the central part of the town and arrived at the ridge. From the high ground, Lynn looked back and saw a stone bridge spanning the river, now reduced to half its length with only a few pillars remaining, and a small section of the bridge deck near the riverbank. On the other side were scattered wrecks of Soviet tanks and the bodies of soldiers who had not been able to be evacuated in time. The scene beneath the riverbed was equally horrifying, with the once white snow stained with mottled colors and the clear river water mixed with crimson blood.
On this side of the riverbank, the German soldiers defending the river had set up positions with remnants of walls and sandbags. The wisdom of battle and the spirit of fearlessness were vividly demonstrated: some fought individually, with several rifles, complete belts of ammunition, and long-handled grenades piled beside them; others fought in pairs, with both an "iron fist" or "tank killer" and a submachine gun for infantry combat. Behind a partially collapsed house, Lynn even found a Panzer IV tank with a long-barreled gun. The armored crew had camouflaged it with nets, sandbags, and even a few pieces of furniture on the hull and turret, demonstrating their determination to hold the frontline.
Passing over the ridge, the first thing that caught their eyes was a dozen or so pointed-roofed houses scattered sparsely on the northern slopes of the hills. They all appeared to be wooden and stone structures of similar specifications, with some located on the edge of the woods and others in the midst of the flatlands. Some were solitary, while others were accompanied by wooden buildings such as sheds and stables. Looking up further, beyond these hills was an extremely vast expanse of white: covering the snow-covered wilderness equivalent to several dozen football fields, with a few black lines winding from the foot of the mountain into the distance. The patches of woods were either naturally separated from each other or connected at acute angles. Among these woods, there were occasional gray-brown-walled houses, scattered in pairs or threes, without forming compact villages. In the woods and fields, wooden stakes about waist-high resembled stitches on a large piece of cloth, separated from each other but connected in lines, delineating the outline of a racecourse.
The natural scenery and traces of human activity here were almost perfectly integrated. After just a glance, Lynn suddenly felt much more cheerful. However, the open terrain, filled with simple harmony, also meant that once the Soviet tanks broke through the river defense line, they could rampage through the fields without hindrance. Squinting, Lynn looked around and saw that besides setting up small-scale positions in some hills or woods that could control the surrounding areas, there were no linear fortifications to block the Soviet advance in this area. As for the distant horizon, the faint gray-blue color, could it be the shores of the Baltic Sea?
"Hey, soldier, keep up!"
"Janker," who was leading the way, finally noticed that one of his subordinates was lagging behind. He walked sideways to the side of the road, letting the other four soldiers continue marching in formation, and turned his head to look at Lynn. Although he still wore the same cold and proud expression, there was no obvious arrogance or bias in his tone, and he even seemed to be communicating gently. Lynn was momentarily stunned, then hurried to catch up. As he passed by "Janker," he actually saw the guy smile at him, a smile that seemed somewhat malicious.