Codegease: Air and Land Warfare 1946

Page 158

"Number 10... God, it's been a whole year already..."

"A year? Yes, it seems like the first time I reported to the sergeant, it was also around this time of light snow."

Chapter 183 First Snow in the Ardennes Forest (Part 1) (Section 253)

"OK! Listen up, you sons of bitches!"

"Sir!"

"Our mission is to guard the bridgehead at Osleben village and keep an eye out for Britannian troops approaching, understand?"

"Yes sir!"

"If I find any of you bastards dozing off on guard duty, jump into the river to freeze them awake and get out here, understand?!"

"Yes sir!"

"Put your helmets properly on your stupid heads. If you find them uncomfortable, take them off, piss in them, and put them back on your heads. Understand?"

"Yes sir!"

"Get out of here, you newbies! Get back to your positions! Dismissed!"

"Thank you, sir!"

……

After a fierce reprimand, Jonathan herded half of his soldiers like sheep to the positions guarding the bridgehead. Only a few of his men remained—Carl, as a corporal, had considerable freedom of movement, Tommy could leisurely inspect the M1919 machine gun in front of him, and the other two privates who had followed him back from Berlin could light the cigarettes the corporal had just given them.

However, there is one person who is quite special.

"Hahaha! Come here!" The sergeant leaned against the doorway in the distance and called over Private Pat—well, it seems he was recently promoted.

"What is it, sir?"

"You just told me that the identification tags you got from these corpses look a bit like Chinese names?"

“Ah, right.” The soldier pointed to what Jonathan was holding. “Look at this. Spell it out. This person’s surname is Jia, and his given name is Feng. Of course, I don’t know which part of the character ‘Feng’ it is. Anyway, we can be sure that he can’t be Korean or Japanese.”

"Haha, then tell me how to distinguish their names, okay? Here, I have a chocolate bar here, are you hungry?"

Seeing the harmonious atmosphere between the two from afar, the new faces guarding the position couldn't help but chime in.

“I said, Corporal.” Hmm, Carl seemed easier to talk to than Jonathan. “Do we have to bribe this dog of a sergeant to get a smile from him?”

"Why say something that's easy to get kicked in the butt?" the corporal replied in a low voice.

"Look at our boss, why is he chatting so happily with that kid? Just because he's a private?"

"Look at that guy smoking over there, isn't he just a private noob like you guys?"

"That's terrible!" The soldier was even more displeased. "Why is the sergeant so fierce to us? Are we new here or has no one told us about the unspoken rules?"

What are you doing here?

“I know it’s a fucking war, but look at Pat, isn’t he always showing off with a book? Why is it that he can spout nonsense without any problems, but we get a lecture for flipping through a book we picked up off the street?”

"Looks like you still haven't gotten to know the old hands in our class." Carl pointed at Pat. "Did you notice anything different about his gun compared to yours?"

"A sniper scope? Is that all you're capable of?"

"Let me tell you how Pat followed the sergeant here. By the way, I hope you understand soon why he's so fierce."

……

It feels like just a year has passed. On that day, just like now, a few snowflakes were quietly falling from the sky.

However, the location was not so close to Berlin; it would be at least three months before we arrived. In January 1945, the Ardennes Forest was shrouded in a silence as desolate as the Black Death, except for the roar of snow and wind mixed with the roar of gunfire.

In this clearing in the woods, there was a place for American soldiers to rest and recuperate in the rear. They pitched tents, made fires, and roasted dog poop luncheon meat in small cans. Occasionally, there were gauze and bandages that had just been thrown out. With blood on them and the painful cries of the wounded, no one could remember that it was Christmas 10 days ago.

Few people in the camp looked excited and hopeful, and Jonathan and his group were no exception.

Carl was drying his sleeves to dry, while the sergeant sat beside him, his back bent, face down, his hands clenched into fists in front of his head, his hands covered in mud and dried blood, his arms and legs wrapped in small bandages, his face so gloomy that no one dared to approach him.

"Stop sulking like that, buddy." The corporal nudged him with his elbow. "Come on, hurry up and take off your leg wraps. If you don't warm up your trench legs soon, they'll get tired."

Jonathan remained unmoved, his upper body and arms shrinking even tighter amidst a few sobs, his clenched fists making a metallic crunching sound—the corporal knew that he was holding several of his brothers' dog tags, including one of his most cherished names, which had been torn in two by the explosion.

"I know you like him the most, and I'm really upset about it, but..."

"Shut the hell up, will you?!" The sergeant suddenly had a jolt of his head and started cursing at Karl, spitting everywhere. "Do I need you to give me that crying face and whining?! Fuck!"

……

The sergeant lowered his head again, in the sight of the surrounding soldiers.

"Hey, I was saying..." Two soldiers leaning against the shed in the distance chatted, "If I remember correctly, in that tough battle before, Jonathan's squad lost the most guys, right?"

"Yeah, yeah. Those damn 'Death Number One,' those damn Nazis... Besides machine gunner Tommy, there were two wounded in their squad, and only these two were left, and they're all gone..."

"His classmate who was an amazing shot is gone too?"

"Gone, all gone. The bastards who followed him from Normandy to now are almost all wiped out..."

“Jesus…I thought we were the worst off…”

"Now let's see if the new rookies can make a name for themselves. Look, they seem to be here?"

As they spoke, they stopped not far from the camp, and a group of relatively inexperienced soldiers slowly jumped out of the back of several general-purpose trucks. Each or several of them held a piece of paper in their hands, and while looking at it, they began to ask questions around the camp—of course, these people all had different goals.

"Hehehe! Sergeant Jonathan Campbell is over there." After a flurry of chatter, several soldiers, wearing helmets and carrying guns, finally found the two sergeants warming themselves by the fire.

"Sir! We're new here, reporting for duty!"

"Oh..." The sergeant stood up, looking coldly at the group of young and strong men, his face full of displeasure.

"Hey, sir?"

"Are you grinning like that because you think your teeth are too white, you brat?" He scolded the smiling young man as soon as he opened his mouth.

"You?" Then, looking at the next private who looked timid and cowering, he punched him in the chest. "What? You really are like General Patton said, more afraid of us than the Germans?"

Anyway, after looking at a few new recruits, I started finding fault with each of them like a nitpicker, and finally got to the young man with the bookish look on his face.

"Which typewriter did you just get off from, huh?" The look on his face didn't seem like he'd been in a war at all. Then, lifting his hand to examine it, "Wow, your hands are filthy, and there's a wound? Looks like you got scratched by the blanket while sleeping last night, didn't you?"

Hmm? That's strange. The young man's face didn't change at all. He just stared into the sergeant's eyes, letting him say insulting words.

"Do you like this criticism? Ha, I don't care if you listen or not. Name your name, it's your turn."

"Private Pat Gris, formerly of the 394th Infantry Regiment, 99th Infantry Division, Sir."

“Oh? Okay!” Jonathan sneered. “The 99th Infantry Division, it just finished fighting the Germans not long ago, right? Ah, you remember your brothers who died on the battlefield, right? Oh right, you ran away quickly, you probably don’t remember.”

"Sergeant..."

"Shut the hell up, Carl," the sergeant retorted again. "When are you going to come up with something nice for me to talk to Captain Davis about? How come the stuff we got is newer than this kid's virginity?"

"Need me to help you write something, Sergeant?" Pat suddenly spoke up. "I've read plenty of books; I can easily make up sweet nothings to coax old men..."

"Shut up, you son of a bitch!"

Jonathan suddenly turned around angrily, grabbed Pat's helmet along with the Garand rifle on his back, and ripped it off his head and shoulders.

……

"What the hell is going on here..." The surrounding soldiers were furious but dared not speak out. "That green recruit must have angered the worst-tempered guy in our company..."

"You're quite the scholar, huh?" The sergeant pulled a book from Pat's bag, glanced at it, then tossed the private's pistol toward his rifle, slammed the book in Pat's face, and walked away angrily.

“Karl, tell them to assemble in an hour.”

Chapter 184 First Snow in the Ardennes Forest (Part 2) (Section 254)

"Hey guys, how did this thing break?"

"Bazooka, from behind this thing, boom! Haha, want to taste what a well-cooked German tastes like? I think you should forget it, the Han driving this thing is probably just stepping on the gas and not looking at the road, the quality is probably terrible."

An hour later, Jonathan led his men on their assigned patrol route, passing a StuG III assault gun that they hadn't had a chance to see before. The soldiers looked at it from all sides; the body was covered in charcoal black, and the open hatch reeked of a foul, burnt smell—most likely, the bazooka had set the entire vehicle ablaze.

He had just smiled and greeted the dead German with the sergeant watching the car, but before he had gone far, his face turned stern again.

"You want to watch the show? You think you're worthy of watching the show? Rookies, keep a close eye on the nearby woods. If anything seems amiss, call out. Yes, like that guy who cut his hand on the blanket and yelled like a girl. Don't think of German soldiers as sissies."

Carl and Tommy could only remain calm, because these words were clearly directed at these privates. Look at their bewildered faces, cough, how did they end up being sent to the First Red Division to die?

Look at the trees and the falling snow on both sides, and wonder how many poor souls have lost their lives here in the past month.

……

“Hey, Carl,” Jonathan called the corporal over. “When we passed that assault gun just now, did you see what kind of Iron Cross that sergeant was playing with?”

"I couldn't see it clearly. Although the shape is the same, it shouldn't be an ordinary product."

“Oh…ah, it’s like this.” As he spoke, he pulled a small gadget out of his pocket. “When I rescued my old friend, the German soldier who stabbed him to death with a dagger, I found this on him later.”

"Hmm? I've never seen this before."

Jonathan pulled out a medal, but unlike the Iron Cross, this German-made item was in the style of a Maltese cross. It was made entirely of silver, with a Nazi swastika in the center of the cross and two swords crossed on top of it.

"I know that thing, sir." Damn it, why is it that Pat again, the one who sticks his neck out and shouts like that?

The sergeant looked annoyed, but seemed unable to vent his anger. He grumbled as he put the medal back in his pocket and continued walking.

"Hey, Private," the corporal came over and admonished him, "Learn from this, okay? The sergeant's spitting at you earlier was meant to tell you rookies not to act like you're more knowledgeable than him all the time."

"Hmm? So, the sergeant doesn't read much?"

"Damn it, don't tell anyone." The corporal smacked him on the head, then casually warned the noobs around him, "Listen up, or you'll get into trouble later and won't even know why you got beaten up."

"So, corporal, we're just going to stick with this powder keg until the war ends?"

“No, the sergeant is doing this so you can perform well.” Carlton paused. “To put it simply, the more Germans you take care of, the more the sergeant will like you. Tanks and armored vehicles would be even better. Of course, having some special skills, like being a good marksman, handling a machine gun, or being proficient in a bazooka, will all earn you extra points.”

"I see... But corporal, I believe the Germans won't be around for long with the medals the sergeant just took out."

"How to say?"

"The silver medal that the sergeant found is most likely the German Spanish Cross. I've heard officers say that it was something that only soldiers the Germans sent to Spain to participate in the civil war had."

"what?"

"There are two possibilities for the Germans that the sergeant killed—one is that they were veterans who participated in that war, and the other is that they were descendants of some veterans who brought their belongings to the battlefield."

……

"Hold!"

Jonathan's low growl and clenched fist as he walked ahead startled the entire class.

"What...what happened?"

"At nine o'clock, there was movement in the woods."

"Germans?" The soldiers all crouched down, panicked.

Carl noticed that while the other soldiers were still reaching for their guns, Pat quickly and steadily brought the Garand to his face, aimed at the crosshairs, and looked around with a cold expression.

However, after the sergeant quietly went over to take a look, he told his men to put the gun away.

"Brothers, rest here." As he spoke, he pulled out a dagger from his body. "Keep your voices down, or you won't get to eat grouse tonight."

"A grouse?" Well, it seems this damn bird gave the whole team a big fright. But just as the soldiers sat back down, Pat still held his gun with a serious expression, looking in the direction the sergeant had gone.

"Not carrying a gun, Sergeant?"

"Shut up, you woman! Hunting with a knife is a man's job." The sergeant quietly crept into the woods, leaving Karl with the others. "OK, stop running, you little bitch. I've had enough luncheon meat. Lift your ass up."

"Hey, put the gun down." The corporal noticed he was still holding the gun. "You're overreacting."

“Heh…” Pat remained unmoved, still gripping Garland’s gun with trembling hands.

"You still hold a grudge against the sergeant?"

"No, the sergeant has no idea what I went through..."

……

Seeing them coming into the woods, Jonathan was sneaking around behind the tree trunks.