Chapter 352: The Snipe Kill

On the outskirts of Dunkirk, a scene of devastation. In front of a church that had been baptized by artillery shells, a light smoke was rising. The collapsed houses and the craters in the ground added a touch of tragic color to this quiet little town, giving it, in addition to its serenity, a hint of an apocalyptic atmosphere.

A British soldier poked his head out from a corner, warily scanned his surroundings, and then quickly retreated. Two days of fighting had made these British soldiers who had survived on the front line more experienced. After they had learned how formidable the German snipers were, they no longer dared to move about on the streets in a swaggering manner.

After a long while, a few British soldiers with rifles on their backs, bent over, slipped out from behind a wall that had already been broken and had collapsed. They cautiously crossed the street and then ducked into a large building on the other side.

They went up the stairs, which were littered with debris and rubble. Two soldiers remained on the first floor, while the other five tiptoed up to the second. Two of them set up a light machine gun at a window, then another person stood guard at the door of the room where this window was located, while the other two went to another room.

They had set up a simple defensive position, hoping to stop the German infantry who might appear at the street corner and attack. If they were lucky, they could at least kill five German soldiers here, and then quickly shift their position and retreat to the next block. Of course, if their luck was bad, perhaps only three of them, or even only two, would be able to go back.

“I hear the Germans have already destroyed the main pier over at Dunkirk,” one of the two British soldiers guarding the first floor said to his companion beside him as he rolled a cigarette. They were only responsible for guarding everyone’s retreat route, so their job seemed to be the most leisurely.

“I don’t know. Anyway, the company commander said we’ll be able to go home soon,” the soldier replied.

“It doesn’t seem very safe to go home either,” the soldier who was rolling the cigarette said with a sigh. “Sigh… I hear even London has been bombed. We’ve been passively taking a beating all this time. What kind of situation is this?”

The soldier beside him shrugged and said helplessly, “The Germans seem to be much more formidable this time. I heard my father tell stories about the First World War. I thought the Germans were just so-so! But it was only after we fought them that I realized they are much more formidable than what was said!”

“The Germans are attacking! Be careful of your surroundings!” It seemed that the machine gun nest upstairs had been the first to spot the German soldiers in the distance. The soldier responsible for the rearguard on the second floor whispered a reminder from upstairs.

The two men quickly leaned against the wall, worked the bolts of their rifles to check the bullets inside, and then chose a better position, extending the muzzles of their rifles in the direction of the German attack.

But just as he extended the muzzle of his gun, on the spire of the church, under the huge bronze bell, a dark muzzle with a piece of camouflage cloth tied to it also happened to poke out, pointing at the position where the British soldiers were ambushing.

Under the big bell, a German sniper in a camouflage suit was cautiously adjusting his movements. He was afraid that he would be exposed, so his movements were slow and small. If you were not deliberately staring at the place where he was ambushing, it would be difficult for you to see any change in the place where he was lying.

Slowly, he aimed his sniper rifle’s 4x scope at the target. The black crosshairs in the scope were right on the head of the target British soldier. But this German sniper did not fire. He was waiting, waiting for a long time for his opportunity to arrive.

Soon, the attacking German soldiers in the distance began to fire. It seemed to be aimless, but they were still firing probing shots at the windows of the suspicious buildings in front of them. At this moment, the German sniper squeezed his own trigger.

“Crack!” With a familiar gunshot, the German sniper felt the butt of the gun press heavily against his shoulder. A sound that could not be more familiar rang in his ear. He liked this feeling, because every time this feeling came, it was telling him a clear fact: there was one less enemy.

The bullet flew across the not-so-distant space. With its sharp body, it passed directly through the thin British steel helmet, and then, with its force undiminished, it drilled into the head of the helmet’s owner, shattering the skull, scrambling the brain, and then, with great energy, it shattered a large piece of bone on the other side.

Blood spattered out. The head of this British soldier, who had been chatting just a moment ago, shattered like a watermelon hit by a baseball bat, splashing onto the surrounding rubble and the ground, leaving a fan-shaped red area.

Because it was covered by the sound of gunfire not far away, this attack did not attract the attention of the British soldiers at all. The other man did not know that his comrade lying behind him had become a corpse with a face full of blood. He did not know that his own head was being centered in the crosshairs of an enemy.

The German sniper unhurriedly adjusted the muzzle of his gun. Soon, with the black pointed crosshairs of his scope, he had locked onto another British soldier who still had a rolled cigarette in his mouth. He did not hesitate, but just adjusted his breathing. When the muzzle of his gun was no longer trembling slightly, he naturally pulled the trigger of his sniper rifle.

“Crack!” Another gunshot. This sniper once again felt the familiar impact on his shoulder, once again heard that clear and loud sound. The bullet did not disappoint its master’s expectations either and once again accurately drilled into the head of this British soldier. Once again, blood spattered. Once again, a one-shot kill.

These German snipers were battle-hardened elites. Many of them had participated in the Polish campaign, and many had also distinguished themselves in the Netherlands and Belgium. As soon as they entered a position, they would create tens of thousands of casualties. They roamed the city in groups, disrupting the situation, and making the urban warfare, which the German armored forces were not good at, a nightmare for those opponents who hoped to use urban warfare to hold back the Germans.

After killing two British soldiers with two shots, this sniper did not rush to change his position. He aimed his rifle, which had already killed dozens of people, at the window on the second floor, aiming through the curtain at the British machine gunner who was waiting intently for the moment to fire. He knew that if this shot were fired, he would really be exposed. The remaining few British soldiers would immediately and decisively abandon this position and retreat into the woods behind the small town.

But he had to fire, because this machine gun would soon open fire and, in an instant, take the lives of several or even a dozen German soldiers. He aimed at his target and muttered, “I pray to you, God, merciful you, please take the suffering away from my side. You sent the great Führer to our side, to let us be invincible forever… I will help you save the world by sending their lives back to your embrace—if your embrace also includes hell! Amen!”

“Crack!” He squeezed the trigger of his gun, firing his fatal third shot. With this gunshot, the machine gunner opposite immediately fell into a pool of blood. The bullet had entered his head from his left eye and had then exited his body from his neck.

The blood immediately spattered on the assistant gunner beside him. He let out a sharp cry of fear, quickly fell to the ground, and then began to scream hysterically, “Sniper! German sniper! Our man is down! Antonio has been hit! My God!”

He crawled backward on the ground. The British soldier who was guarding the door hurried over to help, grabbed his feet, and dragged him back to a position away from the window.

In another room, although everyone had subconsciously moved their bodies after hearing the shout, one unlucky fellow was still hit by the German sniper. The bullet passed through his chest, and although it did not kill him immediately, it left a palm-sized hole in the British soldier’s lung. It was clear that this fellow was also beyond saving.

“Retreat! Retreat! Quick!” the leading British squad leader shouted, and was the first to leave the room and run for the stairs. Since their tracks had been discovered, this ambush had become meaningless. To stay here could only become a tally for the German sniper, so they could only leave this damned place at the fastest possible speed.

He rushed down the stairs and saw two of his own soldiers lying on the ground, blood everywhere. He did not linger, because the German soldiers opposite were already charging up. The unique sound of an MG42 rang out, hitting the ground not far from him and kicking up a cloud of dust. He quickly found a remote retreat route, which was a window on the other side—although it was a bit high. This British squad leader first threw his rifle over and then climbed up and jumped out of the building.

His feet landed, and he rolled to dissipate the force. He then scrambled up, and reached out to help the subordinate who was following him. The first subordinate jumped down, and he helped him up. When he turned back to help the third person, the soldier who had just climbed up was shot through the chest from behind.

The British squad leader, who was standing below, was splattered with blood on his face. He was scared out of his wits and quickly ran away, not even bothering to pick up the gun he had thrown on the ground. The two of them fled all the way toward the woods, as if they could temporarily save their own little lives by escaping there.

The two of them ran without looking back, one after the other, panting, until they had run a long way. But then there was a gunshot from behind, and the soldier who was running behind, like a huge sack that had lost its soul, fell down with inertia, rolled a couple of times on the ground, and did not move again.

This British squad leader had no choice but to stop where he was, close his eyes, and raise his hands. He knew that this time he was doomed. To save his own little life, he could only surrender. He was extremely nervous. It was unknown whether it was because of the intense running or the excessive tension, but his heart was beating very violently.

“Crack!” Another gunshot. This British squad leader, with his hands raised, fell to the ground, a look of disbelief and resentment on his face. Following that, in his consciousness, there was only coldness and darkness.

Advanced chapter join my patreon at https://www.patreon.com/c/caleredhair you will get free 3 chapter to read daily for free member and 10 chapter daily for pledged member