Chapter 10: Recuperation
So, under the insistence of the baker, Qin Chuan became the new owner of Trigger's sniper rifle.
Qin Chuan learned from the "bear" that Paul's strong objections stemmed from his long-held desire to become a sniper himself.
Based on Paul's record, he was more than qualified to be a sniper. In over a year of combat, he had killed more than thirty enemies with his rifle—a feat few could achieve without getting injured, and Paul was one of them. This had even earned him the nickname "Rifle."
The problem was that there weren't many sniper rifles available in the unit, and the positions were often taken by graduates from sniper schools.
This time, Paul had believed he would finally get the chance to be promoted to sniper and have a rifle of his own, but that opportunity was snatched away by a "deadweight" whom he never considered a threat.
"I didn't expect this to happen," Qin Chuan said to Paul.
He was being honest—everything that had happened was beyond his control. He was just trying to survive.
"Well, I hope you can live up to that sniper rifle," Paul replied coldly.
Qin Chuan realized there was no point in continuing the conversation, so he let it go.
"You don't need to feel like you owe him anything," the bear said, patting Qin Chuan on the shoulder. "You'll see soon enough that it's not about what he wants. It's about what you can do. And even if you don't do well, it was the sergeant's order, wasn't it?"
It was a good excuse, but it didn't ease Qin Chuan's mind. He suddenly realized that he was now responsible for the lives of his comrades, all because of this sniper rifle—and he couldn't even take care of himself.
Even Qin Chuan himself thought the baker's decision was a mistake.
The unit continued marching forward, taking a break for lunch. The meal consisted of a small piece of cold bread and a roasted potato.
Qin Chuan still had little appetite, but the roasted potato was easier to swallow than the sausage had been—it didn't remind him of the red flesh stuck to the tank treads.
On the other hand, Qin Chuan was so hungry that he felt lightheaded. If he didn't eat something, he might collapse on the road, so he forced himself to choke down the dry food.
At around 3:30 in the afternoon, when they were supposed to continue their march, the unit encountered a British stronghold—Agdabia.
According to the scouts, at least two British regiments were stationed in Agdabia.
If the Germans attacked now, the troops, exhausted from marching, would be at a disadvantage. Additionally, it would be dark in a few hours, and fighting in the unfamiliar terrain of the city at night could easily lead to disaster.
So, the Germans decided to rest and regroup, planning to attack the next day.
However, resting in the desert was far from pleasant. The daytime temperatures could reach 40°C, but at night, they plummeted to around -1°C—a harsh transition from scorching heat to freezing cold. The sudden drop in temperature felt like stepping out of a steam bath into an air-conditioned room, making the cold all the more intense.
There were also the relentless black mosquitoes and fleas that would incessantly torment you.
But these weren't the main issues troubling Qin Chuan.
In fact, he fell asleep as soon as he lay down, wrapped in his blanket and with his helmet on his head. The day's march and combat had nearly worn him out.
However, he soon awoke, not from the gunfire and explosions in the dark—he was slowly getting used to those, despite having only been in this time for a few days.
Qin Chuan was jolted awake by a nightmare, drenched in sweat… He had dreamt of the British soldiers he had killed, of the despairing eyes of the British prisoners, and of the agonizing cries of the wounded under the tank treads.
He looked around at the endless darkness, feeling a chill run down his spine. For the first time, Qin Chuan, who had never believed in ghosts, began to worry that the British soldiers he had killed might come back to haunt him.
But soon, the fear faded, replaced by a sense of hopelessness. He found himself thinking that death might be preferable to living like this… This life was hell, facing death every day, and constantly fighting to survive by taking the lives of others.
This was war, after all.
Qin Chuan had read about war in books and seen it in movies, but he had never imagined that real war could be so brutal.
A cold wind blew, and Qin Chuan suddenly felt a wave of loneliness. He thought of his parents, his colleagues, and his friends in the other world… Wondering if anyone would care, or even know, if he died on this battlefield.
After that, Qin Chuan couldn't fall back asleep. So when the order came to wake up in the morning, his eyes were red and dry, and he could barely open them.
But he quickly snapped awake… out of fear.
"Finish your breakfast!" the baker said casually. "We're about to attack!"
Just hearing the word "attack" made Qin Chuan's heart skip a beat.
This time was different—it was urban combat.
The thought of the enemy hiding in any building, shooting at them from rooftops, windows, or cracks in the walls, made Qin Chuan's hands tremble as he held his bread.
"I might not be so lucky this time," Qin Chuan thought, glancing at the sniper rifle by his side. He doubted it would be of much use in close quarters, where the enemy could be just across the street.
Even though breakfast was more substantial than usual—supply units had arrived during the night, providing each soldier with some honey and jam, making it a feast by desert standards—Qin Chuan found no pleasure in eating. His mind was consumed with the thought of running through the rubble-strewn streets, only to be suddenly shot down by a bullet from who knows where.
At that moment, the baker handed out ten rounds of ammunition to each soldier.
Protests quickly arose. "Sergeant, we're almost out of ammo after yesterday's battle!"
"Then you'll need to be more conservative," the baker replied. "You know that in the desert, supplies aren't as easy to come by as you might think. If we transport too much ammunition, we'll have to cut back on water or food. Is that what you want?"
"No, of course not!"
"Then shut up and get ready!" the baker ordered.
The German soldiers began checking their weapons, some even taking apart their rifles to clean them with oil cloths. Qin Chuan, however, just stood there, staring blankly at them and then at his own rifle.
Paul seemed to notice something and said with a look of disbelief, "Oh, no! How can we expect someone who doesn't even know how to maintain his weapon to cover us?"
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