Chapter 6: Suffocation

The Soviet fighter jets' airstrikes and strafing were repelled by the defending forces' anti-aircraft firepower, but this was only the beginning of the German soldiers' nightmare. Just as the dark green fighter jets departed, a large group of black dots appeared in the northeastern sky. The air raid sirens along the entire German front line wailed incessantly, like a mournful melody. This time, there was no glimmer of hope on the horizon, and the German soldiers had only a few anti-aircraft guns, machine guns, and their sincere prayers to rely on.

The black dots quickly approached the defense line, and the ominous buzzing sound filled everyone with deep unease. Lynn stood lost in the trench, barely knowing the name of the comrade he had spent the last two days with. Suddenly, he looked up and saw the black Soviet planes diving from hundreds of meters high, resembling a flock of crows descending to scavenge corpses.

"Wachtek-Tek! Wachtek-Tek!"

A thunderous roar erupted, and before Lynn could react, he was forcefully shoved aside, his feeble body tumbling helplessly to the ground. He turned to see "Butcher" glaring at him angrily as he stormed past, shouting to alert other soldiers to take cover.

As Lynn tried to get up, strange whistling sounds came from outside the trench. In a tilted position, his gaze naturally turned skyward, witnessing a majestic sight as black birds spread their wings overhead. Within seconds, more of these black birds whizzed past, flying so low that not only could the red stars and wheels under their wings be seen, but even the rivets on their fuselages were discernible. The bomb racks that had previously hung under their fuselages were now empty...

Boom! Boom! Boom!

The earth-shattering explosions continuously rocked the ground, the tremors perhaps stronger than an earthquake of magnitude eight. People struggled to remain standing; even lying down, they were almost lifted off the ground by the force! The relentless and intense shock made Lynn feel like his internal organs were about to burst, his hands tightly covering his ears while his eardrums still throbbed with pain. The blue sky remained unchanged, but the view was obscured by splashing dust and debris flying into the air. Gravity pulled them back down with kinetic force, creating loud impacts as they struck helmets and causing excruciating pain upon hitting the body.

The tsunami-like explosions lasted for four or five minutes, with dozens of Soviet warplanes swooping over the trench. The anti-aircraft guns on the defense line continued to roar, but this time with little apparent effect. The trenches were now devoid of movement; in fact, Lynn had kept his eyes closed most of the time, only daring to glance around during brief lulls in the explosions. What he saw was collapsed trenches that would take hours to repair. Those visible were either lying or huddled in the trenches, some appearing like hedgehogs curling up their bodies.

Persisting stubbornly, as the ground tremors gradually subsided, Lynn found himself deafened, with only a persistent buzzing sound in his ears, unable to hear anything else.

After a while, soldiers began to climb out of the trenches one by one, covered in mud as if they could be turned into European "Terracotta Warriors" with a little roasting.

Resisting the intense soreness that engulfed his body, Lynn struggled to prop up his knees. At that moment, a strong hand pulled him up. When he looked up, "Butcher" was already helping another soldier to his feet, then continued on without a word.

Is this strange guy wearing Iron Man's invincible armor?

Lynn muttered to himself, taking nearly two minutes to shake off most of the mud from his body. The ringing in his ears had subsided slightly, but his hearing was still not quite sharp. When he saw someone standing on the steps, he followed suit, but when he peeked his helmeted head out of the trench, he was stunned by the sight: countless craters surrounded the position, turning it into something resembling the surface of the moon. The winding trenches were now divided by collapses, and some soldiers were likely buried underneath, with little time left for clearing and rescue by the defending troops. Across the open ground from the position, hundreds of tanks surged forward like ants, with thousands of Soviet soldiers further back. Looking into the distance, the black tide seemed even more ferocious this time, and whether the shattered river embankment could hold remained uncertain.

Lynn's mind was completely blank!

"Nottel... Wachtek-Tek!"

The panicked shouts spread rapidly through the trench, but many soldiers, temporarily deafened by the bombardment, remained indifferent. If it weren't for a soldier pushing him, Lynn might not have noticed that the Soviet fighters had circled back and were preparing to strafe along the trench. With wings spread, they descended from hundreds of meters high, their graceful posture resembling professional divers, and the feeble firepower from the ground was no longer able to stop them! Flames flickered on the wings of these black birds as they unleashed a hail of bullets, resembling a thunderstorm of tremendous magnitude. This time, Lynn felt like he was truly doomed, but he instinctively crouched against the trench wall. As countless bullets pelted into the earth or bodies, Lynn felt like a withered leaf trembling in the wind, yet miraculously, he survived unscathed!

Sometimes death is a release, but those who live must continue to struggle for survival. Amidst the officers' urgent urgings, Lynn and the other lucky survivors, with helmets resembling large-eared hedgehogs, rose to their feet with indifference. The leading Soviet tanks had reached the stream, their gunfire forming a close-range absolute suppression, and the defending position had only a few anti-tank guns. In the trenches, the reserve soldiers also emerged, and Lynn found himself next to a new face. He glanced at him, offering no comforting expression.

The slender youth responsible for distributing ammunition finally appeared. Having spent most of his time in relatively safe concealment, he looked the same as ever, saying nothing as he quietly distributed bullets to every soldier in the trench. This time, there were only four rows of twenty rounds placed in front of Lynn—issuing ammunition just before the battle was contrary to common sense, and reducing the ammunition supply meant further deterioration of supplies. Of course, in this trench, perhaps less than half of the current number of soldiers would survive to fire all twenty rounds, making scavenging ammunition from comrades' bodies the most desperate option for the veterans.

Boom!

Shells landing nearby exploded with powerful force, sweeping toward them. Lynn instinctively lowered his head slightly, unlike the newly arrived soldiers who retreated to the bottom of the trench. Seeing "Butcher" come up to them and kick each one, shouting for them to hold their positions, Lynn couldn't help but smile inwardly—on the brutal battlefield, a sense of pride seemed insignificant. He raised his head to look ahead; the first Soviet tank had crossed the stream, and the almost marshy bank only slightly slowed the progress of the T-34.

"God bless!"

Lynn muttered silently in his heart, although he said it in Chinese, he still hoped that the supposedly omnipotent deity could hear and continue to protect him.

Since he had been brought to this era of war, he hoped for a little more opportunity!

God did not respond, but "Butcher" appeared silently beside Lynn. He nudged Lynn's hand and said something, but Lynn patted his ear to indicate that he couldn't hear. "Butcher" nodded and handed Lynn a handful of bullets.

Unlike the long and pointed bullets of the Mauser rifle, the ones given by "Butcher" were round and short, indicating they were likely handgun bullets. Lynn suddenly realized: it seemed "Butcher" knew he had obtained a Mauser pistol, so he brought some 9mm handgun bullets. Thinking of this, a warmth surged in his heart, and Lynn quickly took out the breech-loading pistol and loaded the bullets into the magazine following his own method of fumbling, confirming its capacity of six rounds without a flaw.

Looking up at the distant figure of "Butcher," Lynn silently thanked him in his heart.