Chapter 342: The Real Battlefield

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A German infantryman, trying to cross the street to the other side, was hit by a bullet. His body shuddered and he fell to the side of the road. His body was somewhat twisted by the curb, and after twitching twice there, he did not move again.

Not far from him, two German soldiers were firing fiercely at their target with their rifles at the ready. They were attacking a position held by the French, a three-story old building.

A shell whistled over the roof and exploded not far away, kicking up a cloud of black smoke. The huge explosion was deafening, and rubble and debris were scattered everywhere. The violent vibration could be felt even two hundred meters away.

The shockwave and the huge sound shattered all the glass on the surrounding buildings, which fell to the ground. And the building closest to the shell, in an instant, collapsed.

“Machine gun team! Set up here! Fire at that building over there to cover the infantry as they approach! Quick!” a German infantry platoon leader commanded loudly to the soldiers behind him, leaning against the wall of a building. His voice was a bit hoarse. It seemed that the continuous battles of the past few days had also brought him a bit of fatigue.

In the room behind him, a German machine gun was quickly set up by the busy machine gun team. Through the curtain, the dark muzzle of the gun extended out of the window, aimed at the French position. They were waiting for the platoon leader’s order. As soon as the order was given, they would pull the trigger to suppress the French army’s fire.

A bullet hit the ground by the platoon leader’s feet, kicking up a cloud of grey smoke. As if he had not seen it, he bent over in the rubble and urged his troops to advance quickly. “Left! Right! Move separately! Pay attention to those French firing points. Anti-tank team, come to me! Quick!”

A bullet hit the wall on his side, leaving a deep bullet hole less than twenty centimeters from his ear. He squatted down, waited for the rocket launcher team to run up, and then, patting them on the shoulder, he put his face close to their ears and shouted, “See that building over there? The French defenders there are resisting stubbornly. Give that place a shell. I want them to shut up!”

The soldier carrying the rocket launcher nodded, indicating that he had heard the order clearly. The ammunition loader behind him stuffed a rocket into the rocket launcher tube and then knocked on the anti-tank man’s steel helmet.

The platoon leader saw that they were ready and then gave a loud command. “Three, two, one! Covering fire!” After speaking, he himself took a sharp step forward, raised his G43 rifle, and fired all the bullets in his magazine at the window on the second floor of the building, which was constantly spitting fire.

The machine gun that had been in ambush for a long time also began to roar, spitting a tongue of flame and sweeping toward the French position with tracer rounds, kicking up a cloud of white smoke there. One look and you would know that the other side must have been hit hard.

And the German infantry on both sides raised the weapons in their hands and fired a fierce volley at their target. The bullets rained down on the building that the French army was defending. The advantage of the German army’s dense firepower was on full display at this moment. Soon, the French machine gun nests fell silent, and some of the rifles that had been providing covering fire also disappeared.

The anti-tank man with the Panzerfaust knelt on the ground, leaned out, and aimed at his target. A cloud of thick smoke spewed from the rear of the rocket launcher, and a rocket flew rapidly toward its target. A violent explosion followed, and the window where the French Hotchkiss heavy machine gun had been placed could no longer be seen clearly due to the smoke of the explosion. But the sound of gunfire in this entire area seemed to have stopped with this one explosion!

“My God! We surrender! Don’t shoot! We’ve surrendered!” a voice on the French position shouted awkwardly in German.

“Hands high! Let us see that you have no weapons in your hands! Then walk over!” a German soldier replied loudly in French, leaning against a wall.

“Don’t shoot! We’re coming out! We have no ammunition left! Don’t open fire!” the Frenchman continued to shout in German. Then a haggard-looking French soldier walked out of the ruins. He held his hands high, then threw his gun onto the rubble on the side and walked out cautiously.

He was still holding a white handkerchief in his hand. His neck was shrunk into his overcoat, and his body was covered in dust. Many places on his pair of leather boots were already worn out. On his head, he wore a steel helmet with a wide rain guard that looked a bit like ancient armor. His eyes were filled with fear and a pleading look.

“Medic!” a German soldier cried out from the ground not far away. A few minutes before the battle had ended, he had been shot in the thigh and was now lying in the middle of the road, clutching his wounded place and waiting for help.

Two German soldiers with rifles slung over their backs walked forward and squatted down beside him. One helped to treat the wound, while the other just warily watched the surroundings. About thirty seconds later, two soldiers carrying a medical kit rushed over and began to treat this wounded German infantryman.

One after another, the French soldiers walked out of the ruins. The place where they had discarded their guns was almost piled up into a small mountain of weapons. About a battalion of French soldiers had raised a white flag. These French soldiers squatted together in dejection, guarded by a dozen or so German soldiers who were smoking cigarettes.

These French soldiers held their heads in their hands and looked at the two German medics not far away who were treating the infantryman who had been wounded by one of them. A few minutes ago, they had been enemies. Now, some were wounded and screaming, some had become prisoners and were squatting here in humiliation. And on another street a few hundred meters away from here, the battle was still going on.

The German army began to use the defensive line held by the surrendered French troops to outflank the rear of the stubbornly resisting French forces. The two sides were engaged in a frantic struggle between several large buildings. A concealed French machine gun nest had caused considerable casualties to the Germans. Almost five German soldiers had fallen on the charge.

But with the unique sound of the MG42, like tearing linen, the courage of the German army had returned once again. The super-high rate of fire of the MG42 had easily suppressed the French machine gun nest. The German grenadiers had begun to insert on both flanks and had soon reached the throwing distance for hand grenades. So, without any politeness, several grenades had simultaneously visited the French machine gun nest. After a cloud of thick smoke, there was nothing left to stop these German soldiers who were charging forward, shouting “Heil Führer.”

This was an Asura field. This was an expressway to hell. Every life became insignificant here. Every breath was extremely precious here. The scorching of the fire and the burial of the rubble—every soldier who could survive here was an elite of the elite. To live for an hour here would be more thrilling than to live a lifetime in peacetime.

This was the most real battlefield. There were no madmen shouting encouragement to their comrades to charge as in the TV series. There were no scenes of attack and defense with seas of people as one might imagine. Here, there were only people with their faces pressed to the ground, praying to be able to continue to live. When they were hit, they would cry out. When they ran, they would be bent over, their legs bent, their posture as ugly as could be. But here, it was indeed a battlefield, a real battlefield.

Unlike the German armored forces that advanced a thousand li a day, the German infantry was responsible for annihilating the enemy forces that had been surrounded by the armored forces. Their combat missions were often to capture targets that were in complex terrain and were garrisoned by the enemy.

These soldiers had no cover from tanks or armored cars and lacked the fire support of the air force. Every step forward they took, they had to pay a heavy price. But they still completed all the missions assigned to them by the military.

They had proven with their own actions that the German army was not just the armored forces that were world-class. They had won the respect of all the German generals with their own sacrifices.

Whether on the muddy country roads or in the ruins of the cities, whether in the vast forests or in the endless mountains, the German infantry had proven to the whole world the power of the “number one army in the world” with their unyielding perseverance.

The French army, which lacked ammunition and supplies, had surrendered after only three hours of resistance. And this time, the scale of the surrender was unprecedentedly large. An elite French infantry division stationed here had surrendered to the German 7th Infantry Division. Approximately 8,000 French soldiers had laid down their weapons.

In the afternoon, the nearby French soldiers surrendered one after another. Apart from a small number who were still resisting, these French soldiers gathered in groups of three and five, sharing some not-so-tasty food they had gotten from the German army. But there was no expression of a defeated person on their faces. Because of hunger and lack of ammunition, they showed a very optimistic attitude toward being able to have a full meal after surrendering.

Colonel Friederici took a flag symbolizing the honor of a unit from the hands of a French major general. In his headquarters in the suburbs, he had heard that the French troops that had been resisting his advance on the main front had finally surrendered. A few minutes ago, he had led his chief of staff and guards and had driven into this small town, where the sound of gunfire was still ringing.

The German war correspondents surrounded the victorious German colonel and division commander. He was wearing a greatcoat, and the greatcoat was not very clean. Friederici had all sorts of miscellaneous items hanging on his chest, which made him look like a peddler selling groceries.

He was wearing a pistol and a web belt, and was also carrying a large leather bag for maps. On his chest was a pair of binoculars. This outfit made him look a little comical, but his face carried a tired yet excited smile.

And the French officer who was handing over his army’s flag had a face full of dejection.

The German reporters, of course, would not miss such a wonderful moment. They immediately pressed their shutters. The flashbulb went off with a “pop,” recording this moment full of contrast.