Chapter 7: The Collapsing Defense Line

The brutal battle unfolded as scheduled, with anti-tank guns, rocket launchers, cluster grenades, explosives, and Molotov cocktails—all usable weapons—being deployed by German soldiers in the counterattack against the Soviet tank cluster. However, despite the immense difference in strength, with frontline soldiers sacrificing themselves, the defending forces were still unable to stop the Soviet tanks from breaking through their first and second lines of trenches. The closely following Soviet infantry effectively covered the flanks and rear of the tank units. Seeing the Soviet forces advancing, many German soldiers, without hesitation, fixed bayonets and climbed out of the trenches, using their bodies to resist the enemy's onslaught.

Emptying his twenty rounds of bullets, Lynn's blood surged. He clumsily drew his bayonet from its sheath, awkwardly attaching it to the muzzle of his rifle. By the time he fixed the bayonet, his comrades had already climbed out of the trench to engage in hand-to-hand combat. As Lynn attempted to climb up with his rifle, someone in a khaki uniform suddenly jumped down from above, landing heavily on his shoulder, almost knocking him unconscious.

Both men tumbled into the bottom of the trench, their bodies pressed together. Despite the intense pain, Lynn's mind remained clear. He rolled away, grabbing his shotgun from his belt. With less than a meter between them, he didn't need to aim. Just as his opponent poised to attack, Lynn aimed the shotgun at his forehead.

In face-to-face combat on the battlefield, where it's either you or me, Lynn couldn't afford any weakness before the enemy. Confronted with the dark barrel of the shotgun, the Soviet soldier froze.

Click!

Lynn pulled the trigger, but instead of the expected crisp gunshot, there was only a clicking sound. Alarm filled his heart. Despite having the safety off, could it be a jam? He hastily pulled the trigger again, but all he heard was another click. Despair gripped his heart.

"Ahh..."

Enraged by the mortal scare, the Soviet soldier lunged at Lynn's chest with his bayonet. In this moment of life and death, the desire to survive stimulated every nerve in Lynn's body. He kicked hard with his left foot, simultaneously swinging his upper body with the strength of his waist and abdomen. The movement was slight, but enough to dodge the fatal blow—the enemy's bayonet landed right under his armpit. Lynn fiercely threw his shotgun like a dart, hitting the Soviet soldier squarely in the face. The soldier's prominent nose instantly spurted blood, and he staggered back with a cry of pain. Seizing the opportunity, Lynn quickly grabbed his rifle from the ground, intending to finish off his opponent. However, the soldier, despite being hit hard in the face, did not drop his weapon. Holding his bloody nose, he glared at Lynn, looking like a raging bear.

Facing each other with guns raised, what seemed like a fair fight was Lynn's nightmare. Although he had inherited a reasonably fit adult male body after crossing into this era, he lacked any combat skills or instincts. In such a battle, his body's instinctive reactions were of little use.

Staring at each other for two seconds, the Soviet soldier suddenly thrust his bayonet with an "ahh." Lynn quickly moved his rifle to block, but the opponent's attack was just a feint. The gleaming bayonet instantly recoiled, with the blade now aimed at Lynn's chest. In that moment, Lynn's mind was filled with one thought: I'm done for!

At the brink of death, the sound of a lifesaving gunshot unexpectedly rang out. With a burst of bullets, the Soviet soldier's chest erupted in a spray of blood! Lynn unavoidably got splattered, feeling the nauseating taste of blood in his mouth. Watching the Soviet soldier fall with wide eyes and a face full of reluctance, Lynn almost instinctively looked back. He saw "the Butcher," his face smeared with dirt, leaping down from the trench with a submachine gun, shouting something. Although Lynn's hearing had mostly recovered, he still couldn't understand a word, but judging from the gestures, the Butcher seemed to be calling him to move to the prepared positions in the rear.

Angrily picking up the shotgun he had just thrown like a dart, Lynn realized why it had been kept in that box—it was probably sent for repairs by someone who had broken it. Without further thought, Lynn tucked the shotgun into his belt and grabbed his Mauser rifle, running sideways toward the trench that connected the lateral and longitudinal trenches on the right side. Under the Butcher's guidance and urging, several other soldiers also joined in. For protection against direct hits by shells and machine gun fire, this trench leading to the rear was dug in a winding manner, with many single or double shooting positions along the way. Initially, the Butcher would run a distance and then fire back, but further back, there were riflemen and machine gunners providing cover, so he no longer needed to stop and start again.

Head down and crouching, Lynn followed closely behind the soldier running westward. Occasionally glancing back, he saw that the hand-to-hand combat on the front line was nearing its end, with only a few soldiers still bravely fighting. The scene was tragic, filling his heart with infinite sorrow.

The front-line defense, built on the hills, consisted of three trenches and several anti-tank gun positions, while the reserve position was about two kilometers behind the hills. Crossing the open area behind the hills through the trench, Lynn saw the almost demolished anti-aircraft positions under the relentless bombardment of Soviet aircraft and artillery. The renowned 88mm guns indeed had tall gun carriages, but the broken gun parts, scattered camouflage nets, and the bodies of fallen gunners left behind, all conveyed the desolation and sadness of defeat.

The Soviet tanks that had broken through the defense line earlier hadn't been destroyed en masse like in the previous night's battle; apart from seven or eight that were blown up or damaged, the rest were still operational. Since accompanying infantry was entangled in the German positions, they didn't dare to advance alone. Some tanks had turned back after charging down the hills to support the infantry, while others were maneuvering to flank the northern section of the German defense line that hadn't been breached yet.

The long trench had many sections collapsed by Soviet shells and bombs, but Lynn and his comrades couldn't care less. They crawled over, stumbling and running for about ten minutes until they finally reached the prepared positions in the rear. Since the reserve troops had already been reinforced to the front line, the soldiers guarding the reserve positions were those who had just been withdrawn from the front line, looking disheveled. Apart from several small-caliber anti-tank guns placed in open bunkers, there were no decent heavy weapons to be seen on the position. At the artillery positions behind the trenches, the howitzers that were originally supposed to support the front line were now useless. Some soldiers were frantically using armored vehicles and trucks to haul them away.

Could such reserve defenses withstand the Soviet onslaught?

Lynn felt that unless powerful reinforcements arrived promptly from the rear, holding on was just an unrealistic hope.

Seeing the Butcher come to a halt, Lynn also ceased his steps. The food he had ingested over the past two days was barely equivalent to a normal lunch, and the state of being half-hungry, coupled with the long-distance running, made resting for a moment feel even more exhausting. He gazed ahead, where dozens of Soviet tanks, accompanied by thousands of infantry, mercilessly crushed and trampled the positions they had defended for two days. The sounds of gunfire and explosions were diminishing, indicating that the Soviets were already clearing the battlefield. Turning to the northeast, the castle that might have stood for centuries had finally turned into a pile of ruins, with flickering flames and drifting smoke signifying ongoing battles in the vicinity, but Soviet tanks and infantry were flanking from the side. Looking southeast, Soviet infantry had already stormed into the woods, and it was likely that the German positions there had also been breached.

The continuous line of defense stretching for tens of kilometers was like a dilapidated house, swaying and on the verge of collapse after being washed away by days of torrential rain!