Chapter 195: War and Peace

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“Did we… did we… win?” Andre asked, his hand holding the cannon’s firing mechanism trembling slightly. He didn’t turn his head, his eyes still pressed to the gunsight.

“We won!” a voice shouted in the headset. A German tanker in a nearby vehicle had already opened his hatch, was exposing half his body, and was waving his cap to celebrate this hard-won victory.

“We should… have won,” Rein said, reaching into his breast pocket. He took out the tin box, tipped out two chocolate candies, and threw them into his mouth, his words muffled.

A few minutes later, nearby friendly forces arrived and established a defensive line in the village not far away. Only then did the German tankers, still waiting in place, truly believe that they had survived the brutal battlefield.

“You guys wait here and get some rest,” Rein said, looking at the almost completely exhausted Bruce and the still-trembling Andre beside him. He managed to force a smile. “I’m going over to tank 124 to see if they need any help.”

He pushed open his commander’s hatch and climbed out of the tank’s turret. Just as he was about to get down, he saw a Polish soldier lying on his back in the muddy ground. The blood from his nostrils had already dried slightly. His two blue eyes were not yet closed, staring blankly at the grey sky.

The soldier’s chest had been pierced by machine-gun fire. A rifle lay discarded beside him. He didn’t even have a single hand grenade and seemed to pose no threat to a massive tank. But he had still been hit and had fallen here, as lifeless as a pile of dirt.

Rein looked at the body in silence for a few seconds, then jumped off the tank. His slightly mud-spattered leather boots stepped on the corpse’s arm, and he stumbled. But he never looked down at that strange face again. He just walked around to the front of his vehicle and looked at the deep dent from the shell impact.

This spot had just been hit by a shell, but because of the design of the sloped armor, the shell had been deflected at another angle, glancing off the tank’s front armor plate and flying into the sky. So their tank had been lucky not to be penetrated. Apart from a bit of a shock, everyone was still safe and sound.

The Panther tank is truly worthy of being called a weapon of victory by the Führer, Rein thought silently as he walked on the slightly muddy ground toward the distant tank 124, which was surrounded by a crowd of people.

“Gentlemen!” Akado said proudly to the capitalists and merchants gathered around him. “Today is September 28th. The war has entered its 15th day. In fifteen days, we have swept through western Poland, annihilated 450,000 Polish field troops, captured 700,000, and occupied the entire western region of Poland.”

“Clap, clap, clap.” Applause rang out. Everyone looked at their Führer with admiration, their hearts filled with infinite longing for the future of Germany.

Akado pressed his hands down, signaling for everyone to pause their applause. When the clapping had subsided, he spoke again. “On the vast territory of Poland, there are ores, farmland, a population, and factories. These are all the fruits of victory for everyone present!”

This was undoubtedly the Führer’s announcement that he intended to distribute the vested interests. So everyone applauded even more enthusiastically, all feeling that this trip had not been in vain. Those properties would be used as compensation to repay the debts the government owed to companies and individuals. The real gold and silver from the various regions of Poland would enter the German treasury, becoming the driving force to keep the German war machine running.

“Gentlemen, for a fairer distribution of the subsequent strategic resources and the space for profit brought by victory, Schacht and I have designed a type of war bond. For the specific details, you can ask my economic advisor, who is also my wife, Mercedes,” Akado said with a smile. “If you wish to purchase or exchange MEFO bills for these war bonds, you can contact Minister Schacht.”

Akado had learned this trick from the transmigration novels of his past life: using war bonds to gather private wealth to support the state’s wars of foreign expansion. However, Akado had always considered this approach to be too wishful, so he had held off on bringing it up for fear of being ridiculed.

But recently, Germany’s economic growth had slowed down, and the war had led to severe material shortages. So Akado had sought out Schacht and, with a “let’s give it a try” attitude, had proposed this idea. To his surprise, Schacht had praised it highly. Schacht believed that simply asking people to take out money to buy national debt or war bonds would obviously be met with resistance and opposition from many. But if they used MEFO bills to exchange for war bonds, the risk would be much smaller.

In any case, they were all future checks that could not be cashed immediately. For large factories and enterprises, it made no difference which type of government-backed security they held; it was just a strange kind of exchange. And as for the small enterprises, they had joined the great army of producing military supplies one after another, relying on the verbal promises of the Wehrmacht’s logistics department.

Amidst the applause, the slogan “Heil Führer!” resounded through the hall.

When Rein arrived next to tank 124, Captain Carter was leading several tankers in pulling a wounded man out of the tank’s hatch.

“Pull him out! Be careful! Pull him out!” Carter stood on the roof of tank 124, bent over, and carefully directed several tankers in soft caps. Next to the tank, two infantry medics were waiting. And at their feet, a private with a blood-covered face and a bandaged hand was silently leaning against the tank’s wheel, smoking.

Through a gap in the crowd, Rein saw the wounded man being pulled out of the tank. He had at least two bloody holes in him, and the blood was flowing down his black tanker’s uniform to his crotch, and then dripping from his heel back into the hatch. Rein knew that this wounded soldier was, in fact, already dead.

“A Polish tank’s shell hit a spot just below the cannon,” Marcus said, seeing Rein walk up beside him. Without turning his head, he recounted what he had seen and heard. “The shell ricocheted and went straight through the thin steel plate on top of the tank’s hull. The spalled fragments pierced the radio operator’s head.”

“The radio operator is the unlucky bastard they’re carrying out now,” Rein said, pointing with his chin to the crewman who was beyond saving. “What about the commander?”

“The commander is still inside. He has at least twenty holes in his lower body. He died a very painful death. The gunner was also killed in action. He’s like a sieve, died without any pain. The one left is the loader, the one sitting by the wheel,” Marcus said with a sigh. “Their luck was really bad.”

Rein glanced at Marcus. “You know, sometimes luck is one of the factors for survival.”

“Right,” Marcus said, lighting a cigarette and blowing out a puff of smoke. “Compared to those Soviet political prisoners we killed, we are indeed very lucky to be alive.”

He looked at Rein, his eyes filled with sorrow. “Rein! When I die, I don’t want to look so ugly.”

“Everyone looks ugly when they die,” Rein smiled.

On the golden dome of the great hall, a magnificent chandelier hung in the center. Around it were carefully painted murals of angels by master artists, which looked lifelike under the glittering light of the chandelier. As one of the most luxurious hotels in Berlin, every detail here was meticulously designed to withstand the most discerning scrutiny.

A dinner at this hotel cost 1,500 Marks. Every day, the price of a Panzer III tank or two-thirds of a Panther tank was eaten here. People spent money like water here to show the gap between themselves and the poor. Although a dozen or so workers were squatting outside the hotel door, taking large bites of their 7-Mark hamburgers, the people inside the hotel were all firmly convinced that the German economy was on the rise.

Now, the main hall of this hotel had been booked to hold a birthday party for the noblest person in Germany. No one questioned the extravagance of the event itself, nor did anyone remember the German soldiers who were bleeding and sacrificing their lives hundreds of kilometers away. Although Akado did indeed think of those who had shed their blood for him, he could not ruin the atmosphere by losing his temper and cursing here.

A hundred children, found from a Berlin elementary school, stood in five rows on the stage. The brilliant lights made the children look incredibly lovely, giving one a feeling of sanctity just by looking at them.

This was a birthday gift that Fanny had specially prepared for Akado for propaganda purposes—a children’s choir. This scene would be recorded in photographs and released as part of a propaganda series on the Führer’s concern for children’s education.

“The great Führer leads our Germany, cutting through thorns and brambles toward the future. You are a gift from God to us, your appearance is our new hope…” The sweet singing, accompanied by the orchestra, was incredibly beautiful.

“The Poles are trying to assemble here… Yes, the air force has already detected this intention,” a staff officer said, pointing at a map to his commander. “We just received news that the SS troops have been fiercely attacked. Four were killed in action, and one tank was destroyed.”

“Destroyed?” the commander was taken aback. He then looked at his staff officer. “If I remember correctly, our tank losses since the war began have only been five, right? Three were due to landmines, and two were destroyed due to mechanical failures and other reasons.”

“In any case, since we have been attached to the SS armored forces, we can’t just keep chasing after those tankers’ asses,” the staff officer said, glancing at the commander. “We have to show what we can do, right?”

“Is the assembly area within our range?” the commander asked, pointing outside. “Let’s see the real power of this thing too.”

Outside their command vehicle, soldiers were driving wedges in front of and behind the vehicle’s tires to fix its position. The hydraulic jacks on the vehicle were also slowly descending, steadily supporting the body of these special trucks.

Above the vehicle’s windshield, the iron plate that had been hanging there was lowered, completely blocking the windshield and the other windows. The canvas cover on the back of the vehicle was pulled open by the soldiers, revealing a special device with two rows, upper and lower, that looked like railway tracks.

“Let’s show those old-fashioned artillerymen how we can fire off their half-hour’s worth of ammunition in 25 seconds,” the commander said triumphantly. “In two minutes, saturate the target area!”