Chapter 50: A Bloody Slaughter

Seeing some Soviet soldiers rushing frantically from the center of the village, the two "Night Warriors" halted their steps one after the other. Without seeking cover, they stood in the gap between the armored vehicles, raising their rifles to fire. The MP44s leapt rhythmically, spitting out bright yellow tongues of fire from their muzzles. The operators' shoulders moved back slightly, then forward again, as the crisp and melodious sound of gunfire composed a beautiful symphony of the battlefield.

If Lynn were an outsider, he would prefer to quietly listen to it all.

But he clearly wasn't.

Sweeping his gaze within a 90-degree fan, Lynn swiftly climbed onto a Soviet tank with the explosive force of his limbs. The 500-horsepower diesel engine remained silent, its closed hatch likely ready to be easily opened with a pull. However, Lynn didn't do so. He climbed onto the tank simply to get a better view of the battlefield and to shoot down those Soviet soldiers most likely to enter the tank.

The first target immediately appeared. Dodging the Night Warriors' gaze, a soldier climbed up the side of a T-34 and swiftly headed for the tank's driver's hatch. Due to the obstruction of the turret and barrel, Lynn could only see half of his body. If he had been two seconds later, this soldier would have entered the driver's hatch and closed the hatch, making him impervious to ordinary bullets.

Three days in hell had given Lynn extraordinary calmness. He aimed, fired, and performed the most basic actions fluidly, compressing each step to the shortest time possible.

The precise bullet directly hit the Soviet soldier, leaving half of his body stuck in the hatch as he died.

Not just courage, Lynn was not worried about the Soviets shooting at him from a distance. He swiftly pulled the bolt with his right hand while scanning the limited range of changes with his eyes. Several Soviet soldiers who had just climbed onto the tank's body were taken out by the "Night Warriors" with assault rifles, but there were dozens of tanks, assault guns, and trucks occupying a large area, and the German soldiers only controlled a corner of the parking area. Seeing a Soviet soldier's silhouette appear on the turret of a tank in the distance, about to open the hatch, Lynn immediately marked him as a prime target. He aimed, fired, and continued with his actions. The soldier fell back into the turret, and the half-closed hatch closed completely.

Among various types of manual rifles, the British Lee-Enfield was known as the king of firing rate. A well-trained soldier could shoot an astonishing 20 rounds per minute in rapid fire, but this had little practical significance in actual combat. Lynn could only achieve a rate of five or six seconds per reload at his fastest, and with the time taken for aiming and shooting, firing seven rounds per minute was already the limit for continuous shooting. Lynn had learned this lesson the hard way several times. This time, as he aimed at a nimble Soviet soldier who was about to enter the tank's driver's hatch, he shot with a slight urgency. Although there was a sense of exhilaration in pulling the trigger while aiming, the bullet flew past the target and splattered against the tank's side behind him as the soldier flew into the tank.

Making a mistake in such a surefire situation brought forth a feeling of regret. The lesson was deeply imprinted in his mind. Lynn forced himself to clear his mind and calm down. When he aimed again, he intentionally took half a second longer to stabilize his body and hands.

This time, a slightly chubby Soviet tank crew member who had just climbed onto the T-34 turret became Lynn's new prey. Although he deliberately lowered his body and half-crouched on the turret, he was still a very clear target in Lynn's Mauser 98KD sight.

Bang...

As expected, the shot hit its mark. Lynn quickly ejected the shell and reloaded, then shot another Soviet soldier who had just stepped into the driver's hatch.

Crouching slightly behind the T-34 turret, Lynn pulled the bolt, opened the chamber, held the rifle stock firmly with his left hand, and quickly took out a row of bullets from his ammunition pouch around his waist with his right hand. He skillfully and quickly loaded five bullets into the magazine along with the stripper clip, then chambered the round with a crisp click, scanning the battlefield with stern eyes. The battle in the center of the village was drawing to a close, and more and more soldiers were rushing towards the area where the fighting and supply vehicles were parked—both Soviet soldiers trying to start the armored vehicles and German soldiers following closely behind. The attackers still had the upper hand at this point, while the Soviets were trying to disrupt the enemy's attack with two tanks that had started up first. Just as Lynn was about to aim and shoot again, a deafening explosion erupted nearby. Though his eardrums rang, he remained undeterred and pulled the trigger.

In front of him, a defenseless Soviet soldier fell before he could climb onto the tank.

Boom!

Another deafening explosion sounded from behind. Lynn knew it was his comrades using explosives to destroy Soviet vehicles. He didn't need to turn his head to know that his companions had already blown up two tanks, and now it was crucial to destroy the Soviet trucks that might be carrying ammunition and fuel. Lynn felt a sense of urgency but realized that acting alone would be futile. He could only curse angrily. As the only rifle marksman among the attackers, he was busy with both hands.

"Hey, soldier!"

As Lynn crouched to reload for the second time, a magnetic voice came from the side. Turning his head, Lynn saw a tall officer holding an MP44 assault rifle in each hand, a posture that reminded him of many action heroes such as Stallone and Schwarzenegger. Was this leader of the "Night Warriors" also ready to be a battlefield heartthrob?

Without waiting for Lynn to speak, the tall officer tossed up the MP44 without an additional sighting device held in his left hand. Poor Lynn, holding the rifle in his left hand and the bullets in his right hand, had no spare hand to catch it. But this MP44 happened to be the weapon he had dreamed of. After a moment of hesitation, he opened his arms to catch the rifle, but it was too late. The assault rifle flew into his embrace vertically, and the cold muzzle hit his nose, while the solid wooden butt hit his knee...

The rifle was in his hands, but his nose and knee hurt.

Seeing Lynn in such a sorry state, the tall officer had no time to ridicule or pity. Without waiting for Lynn to adjust his posture, he threw another curved magazine.

Catching the magazine with open arms, Lynn felt like he was back on the soccer field, heading off a forward's shot with his head—though not professional, he had once been proud of his "goalkeeping" skills during his high school years.

Just a few seconds ago, he was using an old-fashioned bolt-action rifle. Now, he had an MP40 slung over his back, cradling an ebony MP44 in his arms. The pleasant dilemma came too quickly for Lynn to handle. He had to make a tough decision. For a heartless man, the choice between a wife at home and a tender mistress was obvious. Although Lynn wasn't that kind of person, he couldn't wield three guns in battle. Thinking that weapons were just weapons, he released his hands, letting the entire row of 7.92mm rifle bullets, along with the Mauser rifle that had already killed dozens of Soviet soldiers, fall to the ground. Then, he stuffed the magazine in his arms into his pocket, picked up the MP44, and quickly leveled it. Although not entirely sure, he smoothly pulled the bolt back with his right hand. With a glimpse of a bullet rolling out of the chamber, all his attention focused forward, leaving only a furious roar in his heart:

"Russians, I'm here to clean you up!"