Codegease: Air and Land Warfare 1946

Page 184

The target coordinates were transferred through several hands before being delivered to these M40 self-propelled howitzers. The 155mm howitzers slowly raised their thick barrels, like the hand of a conductor. When the audience saw it, it meant the performance had begun.

"Target firing position, 3-1-6, all units of grenades, instantaneous fuse, time on target!"

"Ready!"

"Fire!—"

Fort Magde was like Pompeii beneath Mount Vesuvius; all that remained were swarms of falling bullets, accompanied by the distant roar of artillery fire, crashing between buildings, engulfing the world like a torrent, until no one could stand against the advancing American troops.

All that remained before Jonathan were ruins, with the sounds of Sherman tanks and M26 Pershing engines churning behind him. A Thunderbolt fighter flew overhead, skimming low over the city square, snapping the last thread holding the Britannian flag.

"Guys, let's put an end to this today, take the Elbe, and personally go to Berlin to kill those sons of bitches! Attack!"

"Hurrah!"

Chapter 226, Section 301: The Death Race

"No... Hold on, I'm coming to help you!"

Shells rained down from the sky, crashing into the ground like a series of raging waves, trapping the half-collapsed house and the young men inside. The merciless bombardment naturally dragged the rest of the men directly onto the carriage to the underworld, leaving only Griffin and another young man crushed under the broken wall.

For some reason, as Griffin cleaned the bricks and tiles, he felt like a plumber plugging a leak—his hands were wet, the sand was wet, and there was a sound like water flowing between the cracks.

The difference lies in the color. The water in the pipe is colorless and odorless, while what the captain faces is filled with a bright red, fishy smell, mixed with the agonizing cries of the dying. Terrified of leaving the realm of the living, Griffin's hands can only numbly toss aside these lifeless substances, wanting only to get there as soon as possible, before the last drop of blood is drawn.

"Angelina? Colonel Darwin?" Just then, two figures stumbled in from outside the house. "Hurry up and help me... Hey?"

The hysterical wailing stopped abruptly, followed by two intermittent, choked coughs. Griffin caught sight of the head under the rubble out of the corner of his eye, his gaze becoming lifeless, no longer moving at all.

“It’s beyond saving.” Angelie didn’t say much, calmly pointing to a huge wooden stake stuck straight in the rubble. “Want to know where this pierced the aorta?”

"I……"

"You were too late from the start." The colonel came over and helped the captain up. "Too many failures. Where did that silly look on your face go, huh?"

"gentlemen?"

“There is an order that the Soviets have given you.” Darwin told him to listen carefully to what was happening outside—a series of organ-like, sharp yet steady roars, like a tornado, echoed far away from another village.

"They call them Katyusha weapons, right? Luckily, they're not big enough to travel that far to land on our heads, otherwise..." The colonel shook his head helplessly, his face looking as if he were seeing his own corpse.

“Sometimes it’s just too late, no matter who you’re saving.” The colonel slowly pushed him out. “Come on, take your ladies and get into the air immediately. At least you can hold off the Soviet ground troops from the sky for a while before they reach this building.”

Stepping out of the house, he watched as the entire town rushed to the front lines under the KMFs soaring through the sky. He then stopped his lover, who was about to take him to the aircraft parking area.

"What exactly should we do?"

Angelie turned her head, letting her arm slowly slide down Griffin's hand. She glanced at the blood-soaked sleeve and elbow, patted it off, and sighed helplessly.

"Let's fight to the death, my dear... just like the past few months..."

The captain's eyes fell into a daze, like the girl's long-lost smile, fading away in the swirling dust.

……

"That's not enough..."

Under the Britannian flag in Berlin, urgent messages fluttered. Inside the Reichstag building, the meeting rooms were filled with taciturn generals, and the princess's seat had been empty for a long time.

No one could be optimistic. The Soviet army had advanced too far along the west bank of the Oder River, with the help of Polish land and air cover. Now, they were only 38 kilometers north of Kostyan. Even more alarming, according to reports from soldiers on the front lines, the Soviet army was not only repairing bridges in the captured riverside towns, but also busy building pontoon bridges.

They used to think they hadn't received any favors in the 45th district, but that's not true. How fortunate we were to have the Oder River between the Soviet capital and Berlin. Now we know what kind of presence the large army eyeing the other side of the river was; and what kind of presence the establishment of these river crossings represented.

Each time, everyone thought they had learned the enemy's military tactics, but each time, they were disappointed to find that there were still many shortcomings. The Soviet army's ability to detect the weaknesses in their defenses far exceeded their ability to desperately absorb new knowledge.

It's terrible. Of the six armies and corps facing the Soviet army, four have already begun to be torn apart like pieces of cloth. The situation on the southern front is almost out of control. Bison, rhinoceros, woodpeckers, and infantrymen shouting "Hurrah!" are everywhere, and they have even lost contact with the 39th Army command.

In fact, not only Her Highness Elizabeth was seated, but many generals were also absent because they had to be on the front lines, personally arranging and directing the retreat and defense of the troops, and even ordering the reserves to launch a counterattack regardless of the consequences.

"Haven't we been struggling and fighting for so long? Why is it getting worse and worse?"

The blood of the expeditionary force will eventually run dry, and what's more, the students, as the opposing force from another world, will have to pay a heavy price in blood. They have always had a plan: to gather the elites from each army group and legion who have survived the battles of District 45 for a long time in the rear, to ensure their safety, so that they can later provide hands-on training to more troops coming from District 11 to participate in the expedition, and then send the more inexperienced soldiers forward for a bloody selection process on the battlefield.

So now, all plans have been disrupted, and all that can be done is to use the carefully accumulated savings as hostages to desperately plug any leaks, like a church pastor in the apocalypse who, in order to warm himself by the fire, uses a cross to build a campfire frame, then tears pages of the Bible into it and throws them in to light.

That's right. It's not that their soldiers and officers hadn't made progress, but rather that the underachievers were constantly dying on the front lines. As the American and Soviet armies got closer to Berlin, they encountered more and more experienced soldiers, which naturally made things more difficult for them.

However, if we're talking about whether there's a way to save as many veterans as possible, there is, but the cost is much higher.

The Lancelot Judge's hadron cannon is a force to be reckoned with, its power evident to all, whether it's friendly forces or the hundreds of Allied aircraft and pilots that have been reduced to ashes.

But Her Highness the Princess didn't see it that way. Currently, only she could fully control this machine, and the danger of another sortie was extremely high. She was determined never to go to the front lines again unless she could see the hammer and sickle flag from within Berlin. This wasn't cowardice; in the eyes of the veterans, Her Highness Elizabeth's existence was more important than the national flag or the distant Emperor. This wasn't just because she had personally accompanied them in the past, but also because: if Her Highness Elizabeth were no longer there, who could replace her in this crucial moment and take over the position in the shortest amount of time?

She is not the best commander, but she is currently the only suitable commander.

……

"OK, so the 'last person to be cremated' has come up, right? Looks like things will be a little easier for us?"

Looking back at Magdeburg, which was engulfed by gunfire and smoke, two soldiers sitting in a truck smiled bitterly at each other, relieved.

"Final cremation" is a sarcastic remark made by these frontline combat personnel, referring to those seasoned veterans who have distinguished themselves and received protection. On the one hand, their presence means that the distance between two things may change—they themselves may be further away from death, and the battle situation may be closer to defeat.

Behind their truck was a uniquely designed towed artillery piece—yes, one of the works of Bruno—with the artillery crew members hurriedly boarding the truck.

"Damn it, Magdeburg still fell..." Several men said dejectedly. "We could have held out for a while longer. With just this cannon and these shells, no matter how many tanks the Americans and British came with, we could have..."

"Stop talking nonsense. Do you know why the Knights of the Round Table were defeated in District 45? We always make the mistake of 'one person can fight ten, and the whole army can fight ten.' This time, the situation is hopeless. Magdeburg is not our fault. We have done our best, and this cannon is the best it can be, compared to those buried in the city."

“Cough, that’s true.” Another guy chuckled smugly. “Canterbury’s massive build makes it difficult for him to roam freely in the city. Direct fire would only leave him exposed, lying prone on the street. KMF and assault guns? Ha, those armor-piercing rounds would be a miracle if they hit him from a distance. I really want to ask why we don’t give them the AP shells we’re having so much fun with? Did they live their lives in the wrong way?”

"Our stepmother raised us, and then kept raising those knights' biological daughters to be Mary Sue comedians. But she didn't expect to run into the relentless troublemaker from District 45. The biological daughters couldn't beat us, so we had to rely on the tough and resilient spirit in our bones, hahahahahaha."

They smiled wryly, laughing at the KMF aircraft still rushing overhead, laughing at the front lines that were getting further and further away from them, laughing at how the last road connecting Magdeburg and Berlin had been cut off without them realizing it. They felt that those elegantly dressed knights were nothing special after all. Finally, they laughed as they used their PDAs to send their battlefield reports back to Berlin.

"Hey, you guys," the young man suddenly remembered something and stopped typing just before sending it, "that new big American tank, I think it doesn't have a nickname yet, right?"

“Okay, look at how big its head is, and those three deadly ‘spikes’—one cannon, one machine gun at the front of the vehicle, and one on the roof.”

"Then I suggest we call it Triceratops."

Sorry everyone, I've kept you waiting. After going through the endless abyss of being rejected in love and getting overly hung up on some people's opinions while writing my book, I've figured things out now and feel much lighter. If I have some free time during the upcoming Spring Festival holiday, I'll try my best to get back into the swing of things and write a few chapters for you all. Anyway, I'm on the train to Liaoning now. Goodnight everyone!

Chapter 227 Avalanche (Section 302)

"All units, prepare for the countdown: 5, 4, 3, 2, 1... Fire!"

"Fire!—"

When dozens of high-explosive shells from howitzers were fired from the American artillery positions, swept across the city of Magdeburg, and splattered haphazardly onto the central train station in the city center, it foreshadowed that the deadly demons were already close behind.

“Jesus Christ.” Jonathan glanced dejectedly at the PDA in his hand; the battery was dead and it was completely dark. He put the walkie-talkie in his other hand behind his back. Accompanying him was an artillery observer, who was lying on the ground with a pained expression, while other men bandaged his calf.

The KMF and black tanks in front of the train station were swallowed up by the artillery fire as if in the dark night, and all the gunfire disappeared. Without the enemy's ingenious gadgets, they still had to rely on their own resources to fill their stomachs, and only in this way could they invite a group of gentlemen to the table.

"We're late, gentlemen." These squads were seething with anger as they watched the British soldiers in straw hats and helmets slowly huddled around a Churchill tank and made their way towards them.

"It must be tiring to put shoes on each of these fathead fish's feet, everyone, right?" The sergeant immediately made a few sarcastic remarks. He couldn't help it; he was too angry inside.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, how about we move on once the smoke from the artillery fire clears?"

Once Churchill's tank had passed the destroyed Sherman tank at the intersection, and the smoke grenades were in place, the green-hatted soldiers could finally crawl out of their bunkers.

"Hey sir, slow down," a British private called out to Jonathan as they walked. "I'd like to know how many enemies are in the train station?"

“You probably didn’t look up on the way here, brother.” The sergeant was still furious. “Didn’t you see all those odds and ends that flew over from the other side of the river and landed at the train station? They’re busy evacuating. This should be their last hideout in the city.”

Shells and ammunition belts flew indiscriminately through the smoke, landing on the Churchill tank's hard steel armor, and the exploding sparks burned black spots onto the heads of these Western soldiers.

The enemy's will to survive was strong. Magdeburg's central train station served as the headquarters of the Britannian garrison and also became the final gathering place for the remnants of the army. KMF aircraft, carrying Nightbat transport planes, constantly flew in from the east, using rudimentary methods like steel cables to pull the survivors out of the city one by one. Mustang and Thunder fighters would occasionally fly over this last stronghold. The enemy had no intention of surrendering and constantly chased away the birds that attacked them. The soldiers and Union Jack soldiers advancing along the streets were also having a hard time.

Whether it was because there weren't many survivors left at the train station or because the enemy's transport capacity was running low, there were hardly any boats left moored at this last survivor's ferry crossing. People were rushing to leave, their instinct to escape far outweighing their fervor to save a few more lives.

"We're here to bring warmth!" This wasn't an ordinary tank. This Churchill tank towed an armored fuel tank on a pair of wheels. When the fuel inside began to churn, it meant something was about to ignite. A tsunami of flames erupted from the front of the tank, and in an instant, the train station building, like a wooden cage immersed in molten iron, began to emit a pungent yet pleasant fragrance.

The tank crew in the vehicle were preparing to point the flamethrower upstairs. Just as the flames were about to engulf the roof and the flagpole, a Gloucester man dressed entirely in blue rushed down without hesitation, snatched the rope of the Britannian flag, and wrapped it around his arm.

"What's wrong with this thing?" Completely ignoring the tank's turret moving and aiming at it, KMF returned fire with its uniquely shaped twin autocannon while sliding down the building and rushing to the ground, constantly accelerating, preparing to slowly fly away.

"Take cover!" Jonathan pulled a few soldiers around him and rolled to the back of the tank, shouting at the top of his lungs to get away from the fuel tanks.

Just then, an M16 weapons carrier rushed out from another street corner and fired wildly at the KMF that was about to leave, finally causing the reckless blue-clad stranger to crash headfirst into a pile of buildings on the other side of the street shortly after taking off.

"Everyone, continue to tighten the encirclement of the train station," the sergeant shouted, still shaken. "And you, the KMF's disengagement device isn't activated. Go and confirm that the driver is definitely dead."

……

When the two soldiers reached the KMF inside the building, they found the hatch wide open.

"Oh no, the person has escaped?" The two looked at each other, looked around, and prepared to communicate with the people who came later.

Suddenly a figure jumped out, pinning the two soldiers down from behind, and then something strangled their necks at the same time—before he breathed his last, he only remembered a girl's knee pressing hard on his cervical spine, and the Britannian flag being twisted into this deadly rope.

"What?" Jonathan and his men had barely peeked out when they saw this scene: the young woman in the light blue military uniform, the same color as her destroyed KMF, wrapped the national flag around her shoulder, picked up her gun, and fired back in the direction they had come from.

"Damn it..." Oh no, the girl snatched a BAR. Jonathan could only hide behind the wall, reach out and grab Thompson a few times to fight back, and then watch her disappear from the sight of the soldiers.

Perhaps there would be a special reward if they captured her? But the soldiers were clearly more concerned about her life or death and that flag.

The sergeant dropped his extra gear and took a shortcut to the young lady's side. It has to be said that it was rare to see a girl that he, a former ranger, had to chase so hard for. It was time to grab the dagger and throw it at her back, piercing the national flag on her shoulder and the skin below, and bringing her down.

Jonathan was about to pounce on her to finish her off when the young woman pulled a dagger from her shoulder blade and threw it far away. She rolled to the side, stood up, and desperately injured the sergeant's arms. Then she jumped up, clamped her legs around the sergeant's neck, and threw him away in one go.

Jonathan was badly injured by this move, and the young lady's wound also burst open, causing her to fall. She could only stagger towards the river, clutching her wound. Her two long, fair legs, which were once smooth and white, were now covered in blood and grime like cracked sand in this disheveled state.

"Sir!" The men behind caught up, but it was too late. The sergeant could only watch helplessly as he lay on the ground, watching his blood-stained clothes jump off the riverbank.

……

"OK, evacuation complete..."

Meanwhile, in the small town across the river, Griffin was busy summarizing the results with Colonel Darwin, and Magdeburg had finally fallen.

“It’s still too late.” Angelie frowned and rested her chin on her hand, calculating that this operation was a huge loss no matter what. “Even if the American and British forces lose money, they won’t allow us to leave unscathed. So many veterans have been left on the other side of the river.”

"Your Knights of Agincourt have suffered some losses too..." Colonel Darwin chewed his tongue. "How many casualties have you lost?"

"Furthermore, there are fewer than five squads available for combat, and the number of those killed, seriously wounded, missing, or captured is not insignificant... The camp is also becoming increasingly vacant: tents, beds, KMF storage space, personal belongings..."

Just then, the colonel's radio crackled to life.

"Sir, according to the report from the last evacuation team, they have brought out the last survivors from the train station. They lost one Nightbat and two KMFs, one of whom was Warrant Officer Shishian Inteker of the Knights of Agincourt."

"What?" Griffin and Angelina were shocked. Before they could even process the news, a series of footsteps rushed in through the door.

"Julie?" It was her friend who ran in. "Wasn't Xixi'an with you? Where is she? Has she come back?"

The sergeant hesitated for a moment, his eyes gradually turning helpless.

"She was determined to take back the national flag that we couldn't take away. I couldn't catch up with her, and I couldn't protect her..."

"Oh no, how could this be..." Griffin couldn't sit still, clutching his head and fidgeting for a few steps before punching the wall in frustration.

"Calm down, young man, calm down." The colonel came over and patted him on the shoulder, but was pushed away agitatedly.

"Do you know what Warrant Officer Shishian's life or death means?!" He grabbed the colonel's clothes, his voice booming. "She's my subordinate, the strategist of our squad just like Angelina, and she's also my...our beloved. If she's sacrificed, the Knights of Agincourt, and even the entire expeditionary force, will feel like they've lost a finger, understand?!"

The captain's anger was still burning. Angelina was only a short distance away, patting Julie's back to help her calm down while watching the escalating argument. Her heart was filled with bitterness. It was still unknown when Ipel would be able to return, and now Shisian was probably dead. The familiar faces around her seemed to be gradually fading away as the American warplanes roared overhead.

I feel so tired. I just want to let go of everything, lie down on a comfortable green lawn, drift off to sleep, and never wake up again.

But the lawns in District 45 had become as precious as life itself. The shell casings and shrapnel scattered in the soil made even the withered grass at the end of winter look pale.

……

When Griffin got tired of shouting, Lilizia happened to come in from outside with a message.

“Mr. Darwin, several Soviet units are approaching. Don’t let your warriors become complacent.” He then turned to the captain, “Old mission, sir, we’re off again.”

“I know, I fucking know…” Griffin turned around dejectedly, only then noticing faint tear stains on Lily’s once fierce eyes. “Um… wait a minute, come back.”

"Sir?" He also saw that the young lady quietly lowered her rolled-up sleeves, revealing the plunger of a syringe in her pocket.

Tell me, are you tired?