Chapter 172: The Village

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Three tanks drove forward in the slightly thinning fog. Following behind them were several armored cars and dozens of SS infantry who had already dismounted. Even with half his body exposed, Rein could feel the massive roar of the engine from inside the tank.

The houses of the small village in the distance were already faintly visible. The SS soldiers set up their machine guns on a low wall by the side of the road, followed by the sound of rifle bolts being worked. Rein knew they were already very close to the Polish army’s defensive line, so he had no choice but to duck into his tank’s turret, closing the hatch behind him.

“Clark! Scan for targets to our direct front! If you see anything, open fire immediately,” he commanded as he closed the hatch.

“Boom!” Just as Rein finished giving his command, he felt his tank lurch slightly. He knew a tank had fired, but it wasn’t his. “Andre, hold steady! Did anyone see a target? Number 2, Marcus! What happened? Was that you firing? Answer me, quick!”

“Static… hiss… Number 3… you… what?… I can’t hear you clearly…” Marcus’s broken reply came through the headset. “1… fire… damn it!”

“Fire!… Fire!” another voice shouted at the same time. It seemed to be the commander of tank number 1, Carter, giving them an order.

“Damn it! Number 1 has fired! Baumann, reverse!” Rein scrambled up from his seat, fumbling to open the hatch above his head. “Number 2, fire smoke grenades! Cover our retreat!”

“Smoke… grenades! I’ve fired them!” the reply from number 2 was a little more coherent. “Firing!”

“Boom!” Because the hatch happened to be open, Rein heard the loud roar of a cannon outside. Fortunately, he was still wearing his headset, otherwise he probably wouldn’t be able to hear anything now. But the dust blown in his face by the blast wave still forced him to retreat back into the turret, close the hatch, and yell, “Damn it.”

“Stop, Baumann! Stop! I’ll say it again, stop! You bastard!” Rein cursed continuously. Finally, he felt his tank come to a halt. He pushed open the hatch again and climbed out.

Raising the binoculars hanging on his chest, he carefully looked at the small village ahead and saw a dozen or so Polish defenders in a panicked retreat. And next to the Poles, a French Renault FT-17 tank was slowly reversing.

“Andre, 11 o’clock! See those infantry? Don’t bother aiming, just fire the high-explosive shell!” Seeing the enemy tank, he didn’t dare to be careless. He quickly pressed his throat microphone and commanded loudly, “Bruce! Armor-piercing! Load! Quick! Quick! Quick!”

He felt his tank’s turret slowly turning with his command, the large cannon in front pointing in the direction he needed. But at that moment, Rein saw the smoke from number 2’s smoke grenade drifting over, severely affecting his vision.

Not far in front of his tank, number 1 was reversing. In its haste, it had knocked over a fence by the side of the road and then veered into a ditch.

“Boom!” Rein felt his own tank shake violently. Because he wasn’t holding on tightly, he was thrown about, and the back of his head slammed into the rear hatch. A sharp pain followed, jolting his brain. In any case, his tank had fired, and who knew where the shell had gone.

“Damn it!” he clutched his head, ducked back into the turret, and gripped the handhold tightly. He said to Andre beside him, “Aim before you shoot! The target is the Polish tank! Same direction!”

“Boom!” Number 2 fired another shot. A house in the village collapsed with the sound, kicking up an even thicker cloud of black smoke. It was clear that number 2 had not found its target at all and was firing, either to build up its own courage or to vent its frustration, at a building.

“Boom!” Tank number 1 also fired, but who knew where the shell went. Due to its angle, number 1’s cannon was pointing high up. Common sense dictated that at that angle, it couldn’t hit anything.

At this moment, Rein felt his tank’s turret adjust its position slightly. He subconsciously tightened his grip on the handhold inside the vehicle.

“Boom!” With a loud roar, this time Rein saw the breech of the cannon in the turret recoil deeply, the recuperator compressed to its shortest position, and then the entire tank shuddered. He quickly put his eyes to the commander’s periscope and just happened to see, about two or three meters to the left of the distant French-made Renault tank, mud and dirty water shoot into the air.

It was clear that this shot had missed the target, but Rein saw a Polish tanker jump out of his tank and run back in a panic. Two seconds later, the other crew member of that tank also climbed out and ran off with a Polish infantryman who was covering the rear.

“Rat-tat! Tat-tat! Rat-tat-tat-tat!” The German machine guns finally opened up. Rein climbed out of the tank and looked back to see some infantry, crouched low, rushing past their own tanks and into the small village, which was wreathed in flames and smoke. A moment later, an armored car also drove over, its machine gun continuously spitting fire.

“Advance!” Rein commanded his driver through his throat microphone. “Move up! Load armor-piercing! Watch the 11 o’clock direction! Clark! Cover the infantry!”

About a second later, his tank, number 113, started up with a rumble and rolled toward the village. And tank number 112, which had been continuously spewing smoke, also stopped its panicked movements and followed tank 113 into the village.

“Number 2! Number 2! Do you read me?” Rein asked continuously into the radio.

Finally, the response he wanted came. “This is… 2… Number 1… might need help! I see them flipped into the ditch.”

Rein didn’t know what had happened, but he found that his communication equipment had suddenly become a bit more usable. He pressed the talk button and said, “In the field at 11 o’clock, about 900 meters away, there is an abandoned Polish tank! A French-made Renault FT-17. I’m going to go take a look! You go back to number 1 and see if you can help!”

“Number 2… understands! You be careful!” Marcus’s reply came through the headset. The tank following behind 113 then stopped and began to slowly reverse.

“Rat-tat! Tat-tat! Rat-tat-tat-tat!” The tank’s front hull machine gun suddenly opened fire, followed by the excited shout of the radio operator, Clark, in the headset. “Poles! I hit him! Haha!”

“Left front!” the driver Baumann’s voice then sounded. “They’re firing at us! Left front! They’re shooting at us! Cover me! I’m reversing! Damn it!” As he spoke, he brought the tank to a halt.

“See the ten o’clock direction, Andre? Point the coaxial machine gun there! As high as possible! There’s a machine gun nest on the second floor!” Rein used the commander’s periscope to search the left front for about twenty seconds before he found the Polish army machine gun nest that was pouring ammunition on them.

It was in a small two-story church opposite the village square. Part of the church roof had already collapsed, shaken loose by the shell from Marcus that had hit the house next door. And next to this church was the unfortunate building that had been completely destroyed.

His tank also began to reverse, adjusting its position and angle. At this moment, an SS soldier who had been using their tank as cover was exposed by their reversing and was hit by a Polish bullet, falling by the side of the road.

“Crack!” The German infantry began to return fire. A shot hit a Polish soldier who had poked his head out from the upper floor. The Polish soldier fell in agony, then was left hanging from the second-floor window, his rifle slung around his neck, swinging back and forth in mid-air.

“Rat-tat-tat-tat!” Rein used his commander’s periscope to keep a close watch on the machine gun nest. He knew his tank’s coaxial machine gun had opened fire. The target position was instantly covered by flying debris and dust, but the tracer rounds with their straight lines of light still drilled into the cloud of dust. The Polish army’s machine gun nest was suppressed by the tank’s fire and fell silent for a moment.

“Cease fire, Andre! Cease fire!” Rein kicked Andre’s back with the tip of his boot and then commanded loudly. About two seconds later, the tank’s machine gun fell silent. The German infantry crossed past the tank, rushed across the small square in front, and climbed to the second floor of the church, where they found the bodies of five Polish defenders.

With a rumbling engine, Rein’s tank 113 came to a stop in the field behind the church. Next to the Panther tank was the abandoned French Renault FT-17, surrounded by seven or eight SS infantrymen.

Rein pushed open the tank’s hatch, hung his headset on a hook to the side, and jumped out of his tank. He saw the crater on the ground made by his own tank’s shell. He walked over and carefully observed the FT-17.

The track on one side of this French tank was broken. The broken piece was covered in rust. It was hard to tell if it was due to age and disrepair or if the fragments from Rein’s shell had actually hit it.

A German soldier sitting on the engine of the Renault had a mocking look on his face. “This is our first battle, and your first too. But is shooting at the sky all you guys know how to do?”

Rein pointed to his own tank behind him, to the dented shell mark on the fender and the scratches on the front armor plate made by bullets. He narrowed his eyes and said nothing. He knew that by suppressing the machine gun nest, forcing the opponent to abandon a tank, and killing about six or seven Polish soldiers, compared to tank number 1 and tank number 2 behind him, this was already a very proud record.