Chương 152: Chapter 151 Deterioration
Lying on the sandbag with a strange muddy smell, Lynn stared intently at the ruined building ahead. The Flak 88 beside him was not loaded with unlimited ammunition, but in the absence of direct targets, it could still unleash its firepower without regard to cost as a deterrent. The Soviet forces had only temporarily slowed their offensive. Those familiar with the battlefield knew that once the smoke cleared from the ruins, a new round of combat would begin.
Whether it was a preemptive strike or a desperate attempt to shore up defenses, the German commander responsible for the street fortifications had dispatched a small team of soldiers from the flank positions. Some carried assault rifles or submachine guns for cover, while others bore explosives, playing the most dangerous and glamorous roles on the battlefield. These "steel-helmeted" soldiers moved cautiously around the doorways and square cement pillars, constantly vigilant against bullets flying out from inside. The tense atmosphere made every witness sweat for these brave comrades. Finally, they placed explosives in their designated positions and, at the signal to ignite, raced back as if their lives depended on it.
Seeing this, Lynn plugged his ears with his fingers and pressed against the chest-high wall made of sandbags, cradling his assault rifle with the infrared sight reattached tightly to his chest. Moments later, a tremendous roar erupted, and the vast space was filled with flying debris, as if a terrifying storm had swept through. But that was not all; thick smoke filled with fine dust immediately spread, evoking bitter memories for anyone who had experienced Soviet shelling in the ruins before.
Removing his fingers from his tightly plugged ears and covering his nose and mouth with a handkerchief, Lynn glanced up slightly. One side of the ruined building collapsed, with piles of bricks and cement rising over a person's height, some forming irregular jagged shapes. Even the powerful T-34 tanks might not have a chance of breaking through, especially with the steep rubble heap exposing their weakest undercarriages to the flak 88's gun barrels.
The German soldiers successfully completed the risky demolition, and Lynn breathed a sigh of relief. He turned to look at the front of the street fort. Although Soviet tanks had not yet arrived, infantry and field artillery were relentless. Both sides continued to engage in fierce cross-street firefights. In this shattered urban area filled with building materials, the Germans had easily erected what seemed to be an impregnable street fort, but under the constant pounding of Soviet artillery, most of the fortifications there had been severely damaged. The defensive line that traversed the street and extended into the ruins looked like a broken dam, ready to be washed away by the surging flood at any moment.
Unconcerned but powerless, Lynn sat against the sandbags, lit a cigarette, and exhaled slowly. His comrades also needed to relieve stress, so one by one, they smoked, leaving only two cigarettes in the last pack. He had thought of giving one to the young loader, but he was now busy with two other gunners. The flak 88's barrel turned to the left, as the intersection position across the street had already been breached by the Soviets. However, the resilient defenders merely gave up the intersection position, retreating tens of meters to continue their resistance behind the broken buildings and ruins. With high-quality close-range anti-tank rockets frequently fired, the Soviet attacking forces found it difficult to advance beyond the intersection. The destroyed T-34 tanks almost formed a new "steel barricade."
Watching a T-34 attempting to bypass the intersection from the side of the ruins, Sergeant Helwig shouted, "Halt!" The tall gunner responsible for turning the horizontal wheel stopped his actions immediately, while the sergeant himself adjusted the vertical angle of the gun control wheel slightly, then remained still for two or three seconds, seemingly waiting for the prey to enter the designated firing position. Then, with a press of his right leg, the formidable cannon, with its rugged mechanical lines, suddenly trembled, its thunderous roar enough to make enemies several blocks away feel its formidable power!
Lynn squinted as he watched. The Soviet tank at the far intersection was hit, and a strange puff of smoke flashed on the side of the turret after the dust cleared. Upon closer inspection, a blackened indentation remained on the smooth cast turret, indicating the obvious destructive power. The machine gun suddenly fell silent, and the tank came to a halt.
Without waiting for the Soviet tank crew to hastily abandon the vehicle, Lynn saw Sergeant Helwig muttering to himself, while the loader, without any correction order, quickly loaded a second armor-piercing shell. Since no new armored targets were in sight, Sergeant Helwig made only slight adjustments to the wheel before stepping down with his second foot. Lynn estimated the distance; it was at least 500 meters from the gun position to the intersection. Given the previous hits on the target from the front and rear, the army artilleryman's skills were quite solid. Shooting moving targets was a breeze, let alone fixed ones.
Bang... Boom... Bang!
Three distinctly different sounds rang out like someone casually playing three keys on a peculiar piano, each with consistent intervals.
The first sound was the firing of the cannon, the second was the impact of the shell hitting the tank and penetrating the side of the vehicle, and the third was the internal detonation of the tank's ammunition, though its volume did not seem to exceed the roar of the 88mm heavy cannon, and the spectacle of the ammunition detonation was less impressive than imagined. Without exception, the turret and the hatch of the tank's compartment were blown open from the inside, and then thick black smoke billowed out from inside the compartment. After a moment, a tank crew member, engulfed in flames, struggled to climb out of the driver's compartment, but before the German soldiers in front could shoot, he fell to the ground at the hatch.
"Well done!"
Lynn shouted with his cigarette, like an excited soldier seeing a stripper lift her skirt.
In theory, a powerful 88mm cannon was enough to control a large area around it. However, how could the incoming Soviet soldiers and officers ignore this important opponent? The Soviet tanks previously blocked by the ruins had repeatedly fired, but either the shells were blocked by the cement framework or they flew slightly high over the gun position. This time, the Flak 88 fired two shots in a row, completely destroying another Soviet tank, and the enemy's retaliatory attacks followed. Some Soviet infantrymen crossed the ruins, found and confirmed the position of the German anti-tank gun, and called for their own artillery support—although not heavy artillery shells, the firepower of large-caliber mortar shells was still considerable. They created craters on the cement road surface, and the flying shrapnel caused significant casualties among the German soldiers near the fortifications, even knocking the Flak 88's shield several times.
The reason this 88mm gun could stand firm at the intersection for a long time without being destroyed was indeed quite sophisticated. The gunners had broken the cement ground to dig a pit about half a meter deep, burying the gun mount position entirely below the ground, leaving only the upper half of the gun carriage and barrel outside. This significantly reduced the overall height of the artillery piece, making it difficult for direct and indirect fire to pose a fatal threat to it and the crew. However, such open-air defense also had a fatal inherent flaw; once hit by artillery fire, even a small-caliber infantry shell, the gun barrel structure along with the entire gun crew could be destroyed in an instant.
Seeing mortar shells coming from a distance one after another, Sergeant Helwig became anxious. He adjusted the gun to fire a shell at the ruins in the distance, but it had no effect on the Soviet mortar team hiding behind the ruins. The seventh mortar shell finally landed in front of the gun position, and its explosion knocked over the outer sandbags, and the shrapnel pounded on the thick shield with a crisp sound. Lynn instinctively lowered his head and bent over. When he turned to look at Sergeant Helwig, he found him swaying dizzily and then falling to the side... Lynn quickly stepped forward to support the sergeant, seeing a disturbing shade of blue on his face—although there were no additional wounds, the helmet on his head had abruptly sunken in, reminding Lynn of the situation when they resisted the Soviet attack in the town in East Prussia. At that time, a bullet hitting the helmet caused a powerful shock, making the person instantly dizzy. Now, it was replaced by shrapnel, and it was lucky not to have been hit directly in the head.
"Hey, buddy! Hey, Louis!"
Lynn shouted his name, somewhat frantic, and even resorted to pinching his philtrum with his fingers. But at this critical moment, Wolfram exclaimed beside him, "Tank, a Russian tank!"
Lynn was astonished: Was he going to take up the gun himself?
Suddenly, the Sergeant Helwig, leaning against Lynn, twitched, opened his eyes instantly, still looking very bad, and his eyes seemed unfocused. In an instant, he seemed to wake up from a dream, scrambled up, and tried hard to return to his combat position, but he stumbled and knelt down to vomit.
Glancing at the battlefield, Soviet tanks appeared at the intersection in the distance and on the street ahead, and the gunfire quickly escalated to a new peak within a short time. At this moment, even the ruins that had been silent for a while began to echo with gunfire. Lynn's heart sank: No wonder the commander had been gradually withdrawing many German soldiers to the flanking positions recently. It seemed that he had anticipated that the fortifications at the street could not hold.
Why was he still here, acting as cannon fodder?
Lynn could easily let these three German gunners hold the position alone. He and his soldiers had no obligation or responsibility to sacrifice themselves, not even receiving a clear order from a superior officer. However, he still called for Tank Commander Tanze to help him lift up Sergeant Helwig. When he glanced back one last time, German and National Assault Battalion soldiers were hurriedly evacuating the street fort, and a fierce-looking T-34 had appeared less than a hundred meters from the fort, its machine gun fiercely sweeping every enemy in sight—regardless of their age, strength, or whether they were worthy of being called soldiers, there was no mercy in its fire.
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