Chapter 85 Shipwreck, Nightmare

During the three days of waiting in Königsberg to board the ship, aside from his daily "morning exercises," Lynn had little physical exertion. He ate sparingly to conserve food, so his physical condition remained normal, and his energy reserves were not adjusted to an ideal state. Additionally, he spent almost thirteen to fourteen hours each day studying German and memorizing vocabulary, leaving him mentally fatigued. In the unfamiliar atmosphere of the ship's cabin, accompanied by the rumbling noise from below decks, he quickly fell asleep.

In his dream, the terrifying war had ended, and he and the White Goatee family had settled by a beautiful lake, living peaceful and tranquil days. He and Alice even seemed to have had a lovely baby...

"My God, everyone look, that ship is exploding!"

Drowsily hearing these words, Lynn didn't react immediately. It wasn't until the meanings of each word sunk in that he abruptly opened his eyes, springing up like a coiled spring. His head collided heavily with the bed board, and he instinctively let out a groan.

"Hey, Lynn, what's wrong? Are you okay?" Sergeant Eric, who was sleeping in the adjacent bunk, seemed startled by the noise—heads weren't hammers, and banging them against hard objects, even without causing a head injury, was quite painful.

At that moment, Lynn's head was indeed muddled, but he couldn't afford to dwell on it. He urgently asked, "What did they say just now, a ship is exploding? What ship?"

"Um..." The sergeant turned his head, shouting to the companions crowded around the circular porthole, "Hey, Weiss, Weiss! What did you see? What's exploding?"

One of the soldiers, a round-faced man, turned his head and replied with a rather poor tone, "It seems like a ship just exploded, probably hit a mine or was attacked by an enemy submarine! It's far away, so we're not sure!"

Before the sergeant could say anything else, Lynn rudely pushed past the Night Warriors.

Outside the porthole was pitch black, but upon closer observation, a distant fire and a ship silhouette could indeed be vaguely seen.

"What's wrong, buddy?" The round-faced soldier who had responded earlier asked with genuine concern, but Lynn brushed past him without a word—he immediately returned to his bunk, hastily put on his boots, ignored his weapons and backpack, threw on his coat, and rushed out of the cabin.

"This guy..." The round-faced soldier muttered in confusion, while Sergeant Eric, from a distance, said to him, "Lynn is probably worried about his family! Poor guy! May God bless him!"

Upon hearing this, the others no longer minded the guy's strange and rude behavior just now. Some continued to gather by the porthole to watch, while others returned to their bunks, not to sleep but to wait for further orders—if there were people to be rescued, they naturally wouldn't hesitate. If they chose to turn a blind eye due to the special nature of the mission and the complexity of the situation at sea, they could only silently pray.

Lincoln, who had intended to reach the deck as quickly as possible, was now trapped in the labyrinth-like passages of the ship. Turning left and right, going up and down stairs, the more anxious he felt, the more lost he became. He even found himself in a dead-end twice, so frustrated that he wished he could smash through the bulkhead and get out directly. In the end, he had to pragmatically seek help from the sailors, knocking on several cabin doors until he finally found a sailor who was about to go on duty. Like a savior, the sailor led him up to the ship's deck through an escape passage after Lincoln briefly explained the situation.

Breathing in the cold and fresh sea breeze, Lincoln's mind cleared up a lot. The deck was slightly crowded at this time, with mostly wounded soldiers from the national defense forces and SS lying or sitting on the ground, as well as some officers who did not appear to be visibly injured. Many of them were looking towards the sea in front of them. Rushing to the railing by the side of the ship, Lincoln observed carefully. Although the silhouette of the ship under the firelight was still somewhat discernible, the darkness of the night made everything unclear. The lack of moonlight and starlight, combined with the closure of external lights during night navigation, made everything blurry. The only light was flickering like a ghostly will-o'-the-wisp.

As he stood on the deck observing, Lincoln's unease grew with the silhouette of the ship illuminated by the fire. Could that be the ship with the White Goat Beard and his family on it? Oh God, with so many refugees on board, there definitely wouldn't be enough lifeboats. Even with life jackets, being immersed in this cold seawater would be deadly. What's more frightening was how many people died or were seriously injured when the ship exploded? How many were trampled and crushed in the chaos? How many were trapped in the cabin with no way to escape?

Scenes from two major shipwreck movies, "Titanic" and "Pearl Harbor," flashed through his mind, filling him with worry. He forgot that he was just an insignificant soldier, disregarding everything as he climbed up the bridge ladder, rushing into the helm room amidst the astonished gazes of the naval officers and soldiers: "Is that the ship that left Königsberg ahead of us?"

Instead of an answer, a cold "Hey, soldier, this isn't where you should be! Get out!" came from the man who spoke. It was the naval officer who had previously conversed and shaken hands with Lieutenant Colonel Laurenz Bach, the 23-year-old commander of the armed SS special operations unit, on the deck.

Seeing this middle-aged naval officer, who was not tall but solid, Lincoln felt like he was going to explode with anger. He gritted his teeth, restraining his full anger, and squeezed out a sentence from between his teeth: "My family is on that ship! I have the right to know their situation!"

Although the naval officer's expression was unfriendly, he didn't respond with a harsh tone to Lincoln's statement. Instead, he coldly replied, "I am acting on orders, and my duty is not to be interfered with by others!"

If fists could decide everything, Lincoln wouldn't have stood there so politely. He stared fixedly at the officer, saying, "Then at least tell me if that's the ship I'm talking about!"

The naval officer frowned. Just then, a calm and powerful voice sounded behind Lincoln: "Captain, why not just say that the ship came from Latvia, not from Königsberg heading to Denmark?"

Lincoln quickly turned around and saw Lieutenant Colonel Laurenz Bach, wearing a long black leather coat, walking calmly into the helm room with his hands behind his back. The brim of his military cap was so low that it almost concealed his sharp eyes, but such a posture was undeniably cool.

"Oh, it's you, Lieutenant Colonel Bach!" The tone of the naval officer softened as expected. "Indeed, it should have come from the direction of Latvia! Because of the important mission and the unclear situation at sea, our warship cannot go there rashly. But I have arranged a rescue team, they will take the ship's dinghy to rescue!"

Lincoln had glanced at the so-called dinghy before, slightly larger than an ordinary speedboat, able to accommodate thirty to forty people at most. Such a rescue effort was probably just a token gesture. However, since it was confirmed that it wasn't the ship with the White Goat Beard's family on board, Lincoln didn't need to worry about whether to go all out or not—being just a soldier, he couldn't decide anything and couldn't change anything.

Stopping beside Lincoln, Bach halted his steps, still speaking in that composed and assertive tone, "Our young soldier is a bit impulsive, Captain, I hope you don't mind!"

The naval officer responded politely, "You're too kind! We can fully understand the gentleman's feelings!"

Bach nodded slightly to the other party, then turned back naturally, "Let's go, Lincoln. This is war, do your best in everything, and as long as you have a clear conscience, there's no need to be too demanding!"

Upon hearing this, all the sorrow and indignation in Lincoln's heart vanished, but he felt a strong urge to cry.