Chapter 241: Landing

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The green light suddenly came on. The sound of anti-aircraft guns exploding was continuous. However, the number of transport planes had been greatly reduced, clearly because they had dispersed to fly to their respective drop zones.

Borol yanked open the plane’s door. The cold wind blew on his face. Outside the door, a line of tracer rounds could be seen just grazing a Ju-52 as they flew into the higher sky. He turned his face, which was already trembling from the wind, and looked at his subordinates. “Start the jump!”

Everyone hooked their parachute static lines onto the anchor line cable in the plane. This would ensure that when they jumped out of the cabin, their parachutes would be pulled open smoothly. The cold wind howled into the cabin. Even wearing their short field trench coats, they could still feel a bone-chilling cold.

Soon, the first paratrooper leaped out of the cabin, spreading his body as much as possible, his hands extended forward along his ears, his two feet together in an unbent position. When they jumped out of the cabin, they were 450 feet from the ground. This was the minimum distance to ensure they could land safely. Even so, the paratroopers still had to endure the danger of floating in the air, exposed to the enemy’s guns. Those twenty-odd seconds felt endless.

On the ground, in a Dutch machine gun nest, a young officer looked up at the sky. He saw the Ju-52 transport planes, as if by magic, drop one, two, and then more little white dots. First there were twenty, then fifty, and then a dense swarm of over a hundred. The German soldiers jumped out of the planes and arrived silently. He shouted to his men to return fire, and the machine gun beside him began to fire fiercely at the sky. But there were simply too many targets. He had no idea where he should be shooting.

Borol had once again escaped death’s grasp. He had seen with his own eyes a bullet sever one of the suspension lines of his parachute, but he had still landed safely. The moment his feet touched the ground, he felt an inexplicable sense of security.

He scrambled out of his parachute, then took off the pack on his back and threw it on the ground. He hurriedly took the G43 rifle that was secured to his chest, worked the bolt, and chambered a round. He crouched low and approached a small patch of grass, where he found a position to cover himself. Only then did he begin to carefully observe his surroundings.

He saw a German soldier running toward him, crouched low, changing direction from left to right. It was clear at a glance that he was a veteran. The German soldier ran all the way to the edge of the patch of grass. After seeing Borol, he put a hand on his helmet and did a slide tackle, landing on his back beside Borol.

“Password!” Although this soldier was a veteran from the parachute squad that Borol commanded, Borol still asked with a frown, in accordance with discipline.

The German soldier adjusted his helmet, glanced at his superior, and replied with a smile, “Friendly, sir.”

“Idiot! Next time you answer like that, I’ll blow your head off,” Borol said as he took out his map and began to find his bearings. “Next time I say the challenge, you are to reply with ‘canned food’.”

The veteran slung his MP-44 assault rifle over his back and began to keep watch on their surroundings for Borol. Borol made a simple measurement on the map, then held up a photograph that was clipped to it and compared it with the buildings in the distance. In the photo was a tall church with a white cross on its roof—not far away, there just happened to be a church that looked exactly the same.

“The good news is that the plane didn’t drop us too far off this time,” Borol said, pointing to the church over there. “Our objective is right there.”

As he packed his map away, he said to his subordinate, “But there’s plenty of bad news, too. For example, right now, you’re the only subordinate I have.”

“Squad leader! I can’t see you, but I know you’re nearby!” Suddenly, a loud shout rang out. Not far away, Borol heard a familiar voice calling out in German. It was clear that some of his men had also landed nearby, but because they were all in cover, they couldn’t see each other.

“Baru, shut up!” Borol shouted back.

Sure enough, before he could figure out what to do next, the Dutch machine gun nest that had stopped firing roared to life again. The bullets made a thud-thud sound as they hit the ground around the patch of grass. Borol felt the dust kick up around him. He tried to curl his body up, hoping that the low mound of earth could cover him.

“Damn it! I knew it…” he cursed in a low voice, holding his helmet. Beside him, the other German soldier was also lying flat on the ground, doing his best to avoid the bullets from the Dutch machine gun nest.

Not far away, the unique sound of an MG42, like tearing linen, rang out. It seemed a German machine gun had begun to return fire. Soon, the Dutch machine gun nest was suppressed. Borol turned on his side and glanced at the German machine gun nest not far away. Next to a small tree, about four or five German soldiers were firing fiercely.

“Don’t go over there yet. Advance toward that machine gun nest! Get your grenades ready,” Borol said, picking up his rifle. He pushed himself up and leaped forward, running about a dozen paces in one go before hitting the dirt again. During this time, he saw the Dutch machine gun nest. It was only a few dozen meters away from him. The few Dutch machine gunners inside were dodging the bullets from the German machine gun.

He leaped up and charged forward another dozen paces, then took out a hand grenade, pulled the pin with his mouth, and threw it into the Dutch machine gun nest’s trench. He hit the ground with his forward momentum. A moment later, an explosion was heard, followed by the soft sound of sand landing on his steel helmet.

Borol knew his grenade had done its job. He got up again from the cold, slightly dewy ground, and, with his rifle at the ready, charged to the front of the smoking machine gun nest and jumped into the trench.

A young Dutch officer with a blood-covered face was lying on his back on the ground, his hand trembling as he reached for the pistol at his waist. The other Dutch soldiers were scattered about. Only one Dutch loader was still standing there in a daze, his hands still holding the machine gun’s ammunition belt.

“Crack!” Borol pulled the trigger. A shot pierced the chest of the dazed Dutch soldier. He then turned around and saw that the young Dutch officer on the ground had already drawn his pistol. He fired again, a shot that shattered the young officer’s head.

At this time, the characteristic sound of a German machine gun roared again. The bullets struck beside Borol, hitting the sandbags and kicking up a shower of black earth. Borol quickly ducked down into the trench. A bullet hit the Maxim heavy machine gun above his head, sparking off it.

“You bastards! Cease fire! Damn it! It’s Borol! Cease fire! I’ve taken this trench! Damn it! Cease fire!” Borol shouted frantically. If another grenade were to fly in, he would be one of the unluckiest German paratroopers.

After shouting for about a few seconds, the German machine gun finally stopped its roar. The veteran soldier who had been following Borol also jumped into the trench and put two more bullets into the head of the twitching Dutch loader. The two of them leaned against the side of the trench and only breathed a sigh of relief when five or six German soldiers carrying an MG42 arrived.

“Which son of a bitch was shouting so loudly just now?” Borol asked, gritting his teeth in anger. If the machine gun hadn’t opened fire to cover his risky assault, he would probably still be behind the patch of grass, holding his head and cursing.

“He saw your parachute land, but he couldn’t see you, so he had to take a risk and shout a couple of times,” the old soldier carrying the machine gun said with a grin. He set up the machine gun, aiming it in the direction of the church, and explained, “There are two more brothers behind. One has a dislocated arm, and the other’s face was scratched by a tree branch. The platoon medic is treating them, so they didn’t come up with us.”

“How many Dutch defenders are in the direction of that church?” Borol asked, taking a pair of binoculars from his pack. He exposed half his head and observed the distant church for a couple of seconds, then pulled back into the trench and looked at his men.

The assistant squad leader shook his head. “We don’t know. We’ve just gathered. We haven’t figured out how to deal with that machine gun nest yet. If it weren’t for you, we would have been suppressed for a while longer.”

“Baru, you take him and approach the church’s fence along the drainage ditches on both sides of the road,” Borol said, pointing to the distant road. “You and you, you two… forget it, you alone, come with me. We’ll make a feint attack from the front to draw the enemy soldiers’ fire.”

He pointed to the machine gun. “The remaining three of you, get that Maxim gun over here too. Man both machine guns. Don’t be stingy with the ammunition. Just aim for the church windows and let them have it.”

After the tasks were assigned, everyone began to move. The Maxim machine gun on the position, having plenty of ammunition, was the first to open fire. The bullets, with the sound of “rat-tat, rat-tat,” shattered the church’s glass. On the main front, Borol and one soldier, providing covering fire for each other, charged toward the church, hunched over.

“Crack!” Inside the church, a Dutch defender opened fire. But it was clear he was using a rifle, not the machine gun that the German paratroopers were more wary of. Soon, the window from which he had fired was riddled by the German paratroopers’ captured Maxim, all the glass shattering, and the surrounding walls covered in bullet marks.

The German paratroopers who had attacked from another direction soon occupied the fence outside the church. The two of them silently crossed the low fence and only breathed a sigh of relief when their bodies were leaning against the outer wall of the church.

“Boom!” a loud roar was heard. Borol, who had already felt his way to the main entrance of the church, now discovered that in the small square of the village not far from the church, a Dutch anti-aircraft gun was firing at the sky. Around that gun, at least a dozen Dutch soldiers were busy…