Chapter 173 The Battle of Poland (36)

In the streets and alleys of the ongoing conflict, the intricate and winding paths, along with the complex terrain, made urban warfare unpredictable. The hidden enemies added countless unforeseeable factors to the street battles. Once close combat ensued, the significance of rear artillery cover and aircraft bombing support became obsolete. Even if observation teams guided artillery fire, the slightest deviation in artillery parameters could result in significant friendly fire. Moreover, delayed intelligence updates for frontline troops in unfamiliar, intricate terrain could lead to ambushes, jeopardizing even the most skilled units.

The elusive snipers, barely visible, acted as the grim reapers of regular forces. One shot, one kill – a gunshot echoed with death.

In the devastated half-building of Warsaw, sniper Michel, equipped with an SVD and its scope, focused on a street 500 meters away. The urban warfare units hadn't advanced there yet, making it a probable location to catch sight of Polish movements.

Closer by was a destroyed Polish light tank. It was unknown how many tanks the Poles had gathered in the city, but a few rounds of bombing could easily eliminate them. Fortunately, Panzerfaust rocket launchers had been distributed to the urban warfare units, capable of easily dealing with these lightly-armored tanks.

A stray dog cautiously approached the wreckage of the Polish tank, curiously examining the damaged steel armor. It seemed unexpectedly interested, perhaps contemplating making it a home.

Michel, through the 6x scope, closely monitored the dog's every move. They had been stationary here for hours, and boredom had settled in.

In reality, sniper tactics were akin to submarine warfare on the sea – often involving tedious waiting. Success in such situations was more about luck than anything else.

Suddenly, the observer Martin urgently exclaimed, "150 meters, enemy!"

150 meters? Michel quickly adjusted his aim towards where Martin pointed. Behind a wall at the side of the street, a furtive head was peering out.

Observing the disheveled appearance of the person, Michel didn't rush to pull the trigger, patiently waiting. Martin curiously murmured, "Where did these guys come from?"

The urban warfare units had already advanced to about 300 meters away, clearing each building to ensure no danger remained. How did this guy escape their search?

As they spoke, the person flipped over the wall, jumping out. Covered in dirt and dust, it was clear he wore a Polish military uniform and carried a submachine gun.

Despite the country being conquered in less than a month, Poland had independently developed a submachine gun. This submachine gun had an assertive name – "Death." The theoretical maximum firing rate was 1200 rounds per minute, comparable to the German MG42 general-purpose machine gun's rate. Aptly named the "Death" submachine gun, it lived up to its reputation. The submachine gun used a 24-round detachable magazine, capable of firing all rounds in just 1.25 seconds.

For machine guns, a firing rate of 1200 rounds per minute meant death, but for a submachine gun, such a high rate posed a significant problem. The recoil spring was too stiff, and the gun's firing stroke was too short, fundamentally causing the submachine gun's firing rate to be too high.

Due to the excessively high firing rate, one of the critical problems the "Death" submachine gun had to address during development was reducing the firing rate. After a series of improvements, the firing rate was lowered to 750 rounds per minute. However, this rate was still too fast for the time.

Due to the lengthy development period and late order placement (the Polish military ordered these submachine guns in March 1939), only a few dozen were produced, and they were only shipped with sample guns when the war started.

After jumping over, he didn't rush to leave but cautiously surveyed the surroundings. Then, picking up a small stone, he threw it into the walled area.

"What's this guy up to?" The next moment, the two of them stared in amazement as one Polish soldier after another jumped over the wall, totaling over a dozen people.

"Heh! These guys, they're all finished in one blast." Martin was about to pick up his radio to inform the rear artillery, but Michel stopped him. "How can you give away such a mouth-watering opportunity?" Retrieving a silencer the size of an arm from his backpack, Michel attached it to the SVD's barrel. He also took out two magazines loaded with subsonic bullets and placed them within easy reach, swapping one of the magazines already on the gun.

At this time, the group of Polish soldiers was cautiously approaching. Each person held either a submachine gun or a machine gun, with several grenades hanging from their belts – evidently prepared to infiltrate and wreak havoc in the rear.

Michel aligned the crosshairs of the scope on the frontmost Polish soldier, gently pulling the trigger.

Thunk! A muffled sound accompanied the recoil against his shoulder, and the Polish soldier clutched his stomach, falling to the ground.

"What's wrong with you?" The others, who were following, were about to move forward to check when Michel repeatedly pulled the trigger, instantly hitting seven or eight people.

By the time the unfortunate Polish soldiers realized something was wrong and attempted to scatter, only three or four managed to get up, and they were immediately shot down after a few steps.

"So satisfying!" Michel took a deep breath, inhaling the gunpowder-scented air around him. "Twenty rounds, sixteen enemies, not bad at all." Evaluating his recent performance, Michel put on thick gloves and removed the somewhat hot silencer, placing it aside.

"Ha, you." Martin shook his head in disbelief. Michel's marksmanship was good, but he was also quite ruthless. Unless it was a covert operation, he never aimed for an immediate kill but deliberately targeted areas that could incapacitate without causing instant death.

Like now, over a dozen Polish soldiers lay writhing on the ground within 100 meters, continuously moaning.

Michel considered it "merciful," giving them time for dying repentance.

Martin, in pain from being shot, thought dying repentance was a luxury he couldn't afford, and it would be more straightforward to give them a quick end.

As Michel quickly replaced the magazine, aimed at the remaining Polish soldiers, and pulled the trigger again, the unfortunate soldiers, finally realizing something was wrong, managed to crawl away. Michel, however, didn't give them any room to escape. "Two guys won't die. Notify the rear to take them for interrogation and find out where these guys came from."

"Alright." Martin picked up the radio, reporting the situation to the rear. After the report, he also began packing up, preparing to change positions.