Chapter 57: The End Point

Lowering their heads, bending their bodies, tiptoeing cautiously, and vigilantly looking around, their posture felt like that of petty thieves sneaking into a wealthy estate, not just one, but a group. Discarding their easily identifiable German-style helmets with prominent ear flaps, they wore brimmed field caps, sailor hats, or simply went bareheaded. Apart from the five carrying large boxes, each soldier retained only a long rifle. The heavily wounded and those with leg injuries were also assisted by their comrades as they moved forward as swiftly as possible. This small squad of German soldiers chose not to retreat into the wilderness but instead advanced rapidly towards the riverbank along the war-torn wreckage of tanks, which resembled heaps of graves.

As the direct planner of this operation behind enemy lines, Lynn slanted his mp44 assault rifle to regain a box of ammunition, squinting his eyes every few steps to survey the surroundings. Such cautiousness was a first for him—a battlefield rookie, confident yet nervous. He didn't know that what impressed his comrades wasn't his perceived determination but rather the fact that the soldiers selected for the "Vampire" assault team were all fervent supporters of the Fuhrer. Even if they harbored doubts about the war, they would never show any disrespect towards the Fuhrer in any public setting.

This vast open ground was clearly within the firing range of the enemy across the river. The defeated Soviet forces did not leave their main troops behind, and the few remaining sentries had no inkling that German soldiers were advancing from behind. As long as there was no face-to-face contact, Lynn judged, the chances of the group safely crossing the battlefield were quite high. As desired, the open ground of over a hundred meters soon came to an end, and the murmuring sound of flowing river water became clear, filling Lynn with excitement. However, at this moment, a low, cautious voice in Russian came from the side. Lynn realized if they couldn't quickly regain control of the situation, the thirty to forty meters wide river ahead would become an insurmountable barrier.

At this critical moment, one of the "Night Stalkers" who spontaneously walked at the forefront of the team waved his hand to signal everyone to continue forward while calmly responding to the other side. In Europe, due to family backgrounds, professional needs, and other reasons, there were always many people who could speak multiple languages, especially between neighboring countries with larger populations. Although Lynn didn't know what his comrades said to the Soviet soldiers concealed along the riverbank, the Soviets didn't ask any more questions and didn't aim their guns at them, which was enough.

Swiftly descending to the riverbank, they saw scattered tank wreckage on the riverbed and surface, resembling exhausted iron warriors, allowing the cold river water to wash over their bodies as they waited for their masters' rescue and call. Helmets half-buried in the mud added a different kind of horror, as if there were zombies buried underneath ready to rise and launch an attack at any moment. Intact or fragmented firearms were also scattered around, and there were even some tear gas canisters and severed limbs, but no remains of the deceased—those not washed away by the river were probably taken back by the Soviet soldiers after dark.

The river water was still bone-chillingly cold, but this time Lynn didn't find it unbearable; instead, he felt a small happiness akin to returning home. The most agonizing part of this final stretch was carrying the two severely wounded soldiers. Whether shot in the spine or in the head, these two casualties were essentially unconscious. Abandoning conspicuous stretchers, the soldiers could only carry them two at a time, using ropes and straps for support. This meant the fate of these three men was tightly bound together; one bullet could end any chance of escape for all three. Fortunately, the riverbed, made of sand and stones, wasn't too soft. Although they struggled to move, they continued to trudge stubbornly towards the opposite bank.

The winter morning was exceptionally cold, with thin mist floating above the river. If not for this, the gradually brightening light would likely have exposed these German commandos to the Soviet sharpshooters' eyes. However, the rushing sound of water caused by wading was particularly harsh in the quiet morning. Suddenly, a barrage of bullets came from the front, hitting the surface of the river and creating a series of small water spouts. Lynn and each member of the commando were terrified, instinctively taking cover behind the destroyed tank wreckage. Reminding the friendly forces across the river in German might prevent friendly fire, but deadly bullets could come from behind. Considering the firepower density and angle, the threat posed by them would be greater than that from the German positions on the north bank!

According to the pre-arranged plan, the German soldiers wading through the river gritted their teeth and remained silent, waiting only for the gunfire to ease before continuing forward. Bullets didn't discriminate between friend and foe, and Lynn soon saw comrades getting hit, but apart from a groan, none emitted any cries of pain that worried Lynn. Nevertheless, Lynn felt as if his chest had been torn apart by a vicious blow, and he was plunged into an extreme state of crisis. Dying then and there might have been somewhat comforting, but he witnessed another comrade, just a stone's throw away, getting shot and falling. The man clutched his rifle tightly, fell backward into the water, and didn't even struggle...

The "Night Stalkers" carrying the large boxes were not exempt from the indiscriminate gunfire. Two of them were hit in quick succession. The one with the injured arm could barely hold on, but the one shot in the chest was almost instantly killed. Lynn struggled to quicken his pace, but another "Night Stalker" ahead of him helped his fallen comrade first. He weakly raised his right hand, gesturing, and struggled to hand over his rifle with an infrared sight and the battery-packed box to the rescuer, before seemingly finding relief as he sank into the water. Moments later, he resurfaced, facing downstream and drifting along with the current.

The relentless gunfire from the opposite bank persisted, but Lynn was numb, swinging his legs as the river became shallower, yet feeling as if his heart were being sliced.

Finally crawling onto the riverbank, Lynn looked around. Surprisingly, all five sets of infrared night vision equipment were still intact, but out of the fifty soldiers who had launched the attack, only seventeen remained. Climbing up the slope, a burly "Night Stalker" almost cried out, "We're on the same side!"

Lynn usually detested people speaking in a whiny tone, but in this environment, the near-breaking voice of a man on the brink of despair was more infectious. Even Lynn, who prided himself on being strong, felt tears rolling down his cold face.

"We're on the same side!"

As the gunfire finally ceased, Lynn was dragged by his comrades into the foremost position of the defensive position. He stared blankly at the sky, shrouded in gray mist.

Was this a sign of what lay ahead?

"Fall back, fall back!"

When the surviving commandos all returned, the one squatting in the foxhole, his ear-flapped helmet pressed against his throat, shouted hoarsely to Lynn. But Lynn felt an unprecedented exhaustion, wishing only to lie there motionless. To sleep, never to awaken again!

However, the German soldier didn't want Lynn to linger in his territory. Seeing that words were ineffective, he reached out with a large palm and patted Lynn's right cheek, seemingly asking with concern if he was alright.

Lynn's gaze, which had been fixed on the sky, finally shifted to the face of this soldier, with thick eyebrows and a somewhat simple demeanor. The vacant look in his eyes made the soldier somewhat uneasy.

"Alright? Yes, I'm fine! Just as fine as the weather!" Lynn recited this "everyday phrase" as if by rote, mustering the strength to get up. Suddenly, the soldier grabbed him, bullets whizzing past overhead.

"You're crazy!" the soldier muttered. "Crawl, crawl back!"

"I'm fine, just as fine as the weather!" Lynn repeated the phrase in a daze, following the soldier's gestures as he crawled backward. Inadvertently lifting his head, he caught sight of a two-and-a-half-story building amidst the mist.

Unexpectedly back at their original position, he couldn't help but feel a sense of irony.

The night that had just passed wasn't a nightmare; after experiencing a brief respite, they had fallen into an even deeper abyss.

He didn't know how he had ended up behind the lines. Lynn sat numbly in the trench until a mess tin filled with hot soup and half a loaf of bread was placed in front of him. Looking at the hand bound in white bandages, Lynn lifted his head in astonishment. The butcher's fierce and wicked face momentarily reminded him of the image of Jesus in the church.

Tears trickled down his cheeks, warming his face.

"Why?" he asked, looking up at the butcher, but not reaching out for the soup and bread.

The butcher's response was a prayer: "May the Lord forgive our sinful souls!"