Codegease: Air and Land Warfare 1946

Page 215

Several burnt General Motors trucks were swept away from the square, and the Britannian flag slowly rose over Magdeburg. General Windsor stood at the flagpole, personally holding the rope, while his accompanying officers opened an iron box entrusted to him by Prince Kelly.

“We will change all of this, Your Highness.”

The national flag that Lieutenant Shishian had rescued earlier had been stored in this box. Elizabeth had also told everyone that if the flag could not be raised again in the same spot, the Elbe River's defensive counterattack could not be considered a great victory. Unfortunately, she was temporarily back in District 11 to handle some business and could not receive this news immediately.

Of course, raising the flag was only a secondary task for the general; he also had to lead the Black Prince's army westward to continue fighting the British forces.

"How is the situation?" He was very worried about the news from the front.

"General, the commander of Helmstedt reports that they have just stormed the defensive line and are still 2 kilometers from the city, but they have been stopped by the British army. There are artillery positions and trenches everywhere, and there are also many obstacles on the secondary marching roads."

“Oh…” Windsor wasn’t too surprised. “In that case, it’s good that there’s no sign of a counterattack. Or perhaps the British here are only good at defense?”

"I'm not so sure I can be optimistic, Your Excellency. I just hope that His Highness Kelly isn't acting rashly and sending us all heading west. Besides, even if we build anti-aircraft guns on every British trench we capture, it doesn't necessarily mean we can stop the 'Phoenix' heading east."

“You’re still young, Major.” The general smiled slightly. “It’s normal to be afraid of your opponent, but your ultimate goal is to surpass him. Her Highness brought the 38th Army on the Elbe back to the EU front in the home world not because they were exhausted, but because they had learned a lot.”

"So, what are your plans next?"

“There is no defense that cannot be breached; it’s just that your forces are insufficient or your methods are wrong. Keeping the British busy is not necessarily a bad choice.” With that, he led the major back to the command post. “Get me connected with General Morrison.”

The vanguard of Britannia's offensive on the west bank of the Elbe consists of Windsor's Army and Morrison's 39th Army. The former is responsible for opening a sufficient salient in British-occupied territory, while the latter needs to quickly ascertain the threat posed by American ground forces.

“To be on the safe side, Your Excellency, you should understand that you are not here for leisure.” Windsor’s tone was rather serious. “So far, we have never engaged in a protracted and massive offensive and defensive war with the U.S. military.”

“It’s been almost a week, do you think I still can’t figure it out?” Morrison smiled calmly. In the video, he reached out and grabbed a tattered sleeve of a US military uniform, on which was clearly printed a familiar large red Arabic numeral.

"See this '1'? I think Her Highness, and even the guards at the 11th District POW camp, are very familiar with it. From the day in Berlin, it was the US First Infantry Division that was fighting us in the city. Then they came back from west of the Elbe, fought their way through Magdeburg, and were driven back by us. The frontline soldiers have seen plenty of the sight of blood on their clothes, the same color as the number 1."

“I’m curious if the Americans only have this one infantry division.” Morrison spread his hands. “Especially the arm of their tank driver, if it weren’t for the different numbers in the red, yellow, and blue triangles, I would even think they only have one armored division!”

"Is this your answer, Morrison?"

"But the facts are right in front of me, my dear general. Perhaps this monotonous insignia proves that the American ground forces are terribly poor compared to the British. If you ask me, this '1' on the infantry division also proves that the Americans only know one military strategy—'fast guns and quick kills to hell with protracted warfare'?"

“Sigh…” Windsor felt he couldn’t persuade him, so he left a message before turning off the communication: “If you have a diary, you must keep track of how much you have advanced each day, what the results are, and how many casualties you have. Small changes in numbers could affect your life.”

……

"The 1st Infantry Division and the 3rd Armored Division have begun to consolidate their defensive lines, and the main force of Britannia's troops has now arrived at the village of Egern."

Meanwhile in Frankfurt, General Eisenhower received a report from the 1st Infantry Division. His deputy, Clay, was busy coordinating air support, and he was discussing the matter with General Dwayne.

"How many wounded and supplies have been lost?" Ike remained relatively calm, but he was somewhat apprehensive. "This position is already 23 kilometers from Schönebeck. With such a large salient, I am very worried about the deployment of the enemy's follow-up troops."

“The problem may not be too big, sir.” Dewey took another telegram and walked to the map. “According to reconnaissance by air and ground forces, there is no sign of a large-scale enemy buildup south of Schönebeck, and we can also be certain that the concealed locations of the 2nd and 4th Armored Divisions have not been exposed.”

"That is to say?"

"The commander of the Third Army is now requesting your assistance, sir." He produced another telegram. "Is it possible, as you previously instructed, for General Patton to temporarily assume command of my forces and lead the 2nd Armored Division in a coordinated attack with the 4th Armored Division?"

“Go ahead and do it, General.” Eisenhower nodded silently, turned around, and gazed thoughtfully at the clouds outside the window.

"This time it's up to you, George. This is your only chance to persuade the Pentagon..."

Chapter 283, Section 365: A General on the Tracks (Part 2)

This small village south of Schönebeck is called Deben. It's not much of a sight on the map, except for a helicopter that crashed in a cowshed, causing the livestock inside to squeal.

“No problem, General Morrison, I won’t let you down.” The officer in charge was a major. As an outpost for observing the American forces in the South and the first wave of defense, the mission was important but not urgent.

The real focus of their attention was in the west, where the main force of the 39th Army, aside from being busy rushing from the east bank of the river, had launched an offensive. It was said that the Britannian troops blocking their path were once again those infantrymen with "1" written on their arms—damn it, they really were born from the same persistent ghost as the American warplanes.

However, the US military's planes are no longer able to fly over them every hour to announce the time with bombs. What are the ground troops doing?

Britannia has probably mastered the military strategies of the Soviet Union and Britain: the former is a huge anthill, and the deeper you go, the easier it is to be torn and bitten; the latter is a stack of steel plates, and even biting through just one layer will cause serious damage.

The latter requires sufficient strength to fight it head-on, while the former has to contend with an even larger scale, and especially needs to make more backup plans and additional arrangements.

Americans? The propellers have captured every shot of their bloody battle all the way from Bernburg, and some have almost forgotten that a brief but extremely fierce raid took place in Schönebeck behind them.

Finally, all of this changed with a call over the radio and the faint sounds of gunfire from the distant woods.

……

"A six-wheeled armored vehicle? A small cannon on a turret that looks like a jar?" The major listened to the reports from several KMF scouts while checking the records of US military weapons with the officers beside him.

"Where are you, Captain?" he asked the squad leader who had reported the situation, and then sent over the information he had found.

"They just fired a shot at us from the woods 4 kilometers south of the village. There are no casualties on either side so far." The other side on the radio seemed quite calm. "We haven't spotted any friendly vehicles or infantry providing cover. They're definitely scouts."

"Return immediately, Captain. Do not pursue any further." Seeing this, the major quickly ordered the village soldiers to prepare for battle. "Return to your defensive positions. The American forces are likely to launch an artillery barrage or something similar."

"We've already split up and continued to probe forward, sir." The squad leader's tone was as calm as a wise old man. "Don't worry about us. If our lives can be exchanged for any news... wait?"

Before the captain even needed to speak, the major had already heard the strange noise from afar in the village.

"Rocket artillery attack!" One after another, bursts of flame and thick smoke streaked across the sky, exploding in the streets and suburbs, but the conscious major immediately realized what was happening.

"Captain! Are you sure the armored vehicle we found earlier had white stars painted on it?"

“I know what you’re thinking, sir! Even the squirrels in this forest would believe we’re facing Soviet troops!” The captain couldn’t help but open the cockpit door and lean out to watch the steel spikes flying overhead. “But I didn’t hear that bull mooing sound?!”

Before they could react, a swarm of propellers, churning and swirling, swept down from the treetops, carrying the white star emblem of their aircraft, and flew toward the village.

"Major! A squadron of American warplanes is breaking through at low altitude towards your position! Get ready... Oh damn, we're under mortar fire!"

"Captain! I hear the tank engine! At 11 o'clock!"

"Back up! Back up! Watch out, it might fire! Ah..."

……

"Captain! Captain! Oh no..."

Before the rocket launcher's steel spikes had even stopped pounding away, those treacherous Thunder fighter jets arrived first, forcing the major to climb onto his KMF and hide in a nearby crater.

"Attention everyone! This is the main force of the US military coming to challenge us! Evacuate the wounded, the rest of you hold your ground. I'm contacting General Morrison right now!"

"Assault artillery units, provide fire coverage into the forest! Recoilless rifles, destroy US tanks. Infantry fighting vehicles and KMF machine gun teams, watch out for the air, provide cover for helicopter takeoff, and beware of more enemy aircraft!"

No sooner had the words been spoken than, in the forest ravaged by artillery fire, amidst the smoke-filled branches and leaves, rows of gleaming steel armored vehicles, topped with massive turrets, bared their fangs at the scattered crowd like pent-up cougars.

"Aim at those 'porcupines'... oh no!" They thought it was a swarm of Shermans charging out, but it turned out to be a whole pack of Pershings? "Triceratops! Triceratops! They're everywhere!"

"KMF, target the tracks! Assault gun, shaped charge rounds, fire directly! Quickly!"

Taking advantage of the M2 heavy machine guns overhead, fueled by the gunners' anger as they pulled the triggers, the 90mm tank guns, not too late, launched a counterattack, immediately responding to the guns facing them.

Armor-piercing shells hooked the shattered KMFs like a tattered fishing net, dragging them along as they slammed into infantry fighting vehicles and assault guns; high-explosive shells, with a violence far more ferocious than that of three-inch cannons, shredded and chopped flesh and blood, scattering them into the air, leaving a trail of bones, flesh, and blood. In an instant, the small village of Deben resembled a giant dye vat spewing crimson dye, soaking away all that remained of peace.

"Move the central positions into the village! Spread out from the middle to the flanks! Don't concentrate too much!" The major continued to order the soldiers, who gradually realized just how terrifying these rather unfamiliar faces were.

The assault guns seemed capable of blasting a hole in its front, while the KMF and infantry had no way to stop its advance except to flank and attempt to attack its side armor and tracks.

One after another, Pershing tanks, painted with the insignia and signature of the 2nd Armored Division's "Wheels of Hell," rolled over the blood-soaked trenches under the cover of rocket artillery and the bombardment of more howitzers, their shattered heads and severed limbs lubricating their tracks.

……

"I need to confirm, were the soldiers... the troops stationed in Deben encountered American forces?"

At that moment, General Morrison, dozens of kilometers away, received a report from a group of KMFs who had come to his aid from the air. He was less shocked by the enemy's feint and more shocked by the sheer sharpness of the drawn blade.

Inside and outside the village, there were burning vehicles from both sides and a pungent stench. The soldiers guarding the village entrance were amazed that these American tanks painted with white stars were just like the "bullish herd" that haunted everyone like a few months ago—the T-34 tanks that swept in like waves, disregarding casualties and even charging head-on like bulls. This had always been the most direct impression of the Soviet army.

Now, the United States, Britain, and the Soviet Union have joined forces to besiege us. It's normal that they share the same goal, but why are their military strategies so similar? What exactly happened in the past few months?

"What the hell is going on?" Morrison couldn't sit still any longer. "A Soviet general has come to command American troops? Isn't this a bit too effective?"

"Should I be sent to find a way to steal back a general from District 45, sir? If the Soviets don't work, then maybe the Germans will?"

"Is this what you should be thinking about, you idiot?" Morrison snapped. "Call Deben! Answer me now! Answer me!"

……

The village was quiet by this time; of course, this meant that the battle cries of the two armies fighting on the visible battlefield had ceased.

Instead, there were all sorts of US military vehicles and soldiers chatting noisily. On the open ground to the side, besides the somewhat bulky self-propelled howitzers and the self-propelled anti-aircraft guns looking warily at the sky, there was also a friend that was rarely seen.

A Sherman tank was topped with a bunch of top-heavy, bottom-light iron contraptions, resembling the wooden gate of an ancient military camp, with rows of pipes neatly stacked on top like chopsticks. The roars of the steel spikes that had previously slaughtered the village's defenses came from here, unlike Katyusha's shrill voice that tore this place apart.

Now, Kaliobo, along with the other indirect fire units of the 2nd Armored Division, set up his microphone in the still-warm meeting room and, facing Schönebeck in the distance, his gentle yet deadly voice rang out once more.

Several soldiers standing at the village entrance were helping to direct traffic and even checking everything along the roadside. Just then, a rather unusual M26 tank stopped in front of them.

Unlike other armored soldiers who like to write inflammatory words or grotesque faces, this time a familiar yet unfamiliar portrait of a general is painted on the side of the turret. Unfamiliar, because he was not seen on the battlefields of World War II; familiar, because the helmet under the Stars and Stripes has never forgotten his dignified appearance.

The banner, featuring the nickname "Jack of Spades" and a portrait of General Pershing, was so clean it looked as if it had been wiped clean countless times, as if it had just been applied that day.

The general in the tank pushed open the hatch and climbed out. The soldiers carrying rifles raised their hands in unison to salute. Facing this general, who wore a glass-goggles helmet, riding boots, and had a riding whip and an ivory-handled revolver at his waist, and who might be swearing at any moment, they were filled with respect—he was just like those Yankee youths who were about to go to Europe 30 years ago and both loved and feared General Pershing.

"Which son of a bitch dared to shoot you in the shin, Sergeant?"

“A bastard hiding under an assault gun, General! I’ll have the guys simmer him under the truck.”

“Oh no, no, no, son, while you certainly made his death very painful, you may have missed a great opportunity to get the photos from him and make faces at his bitch girlfriend or beastly mother.” The general patted his shoulder chuckled gently. “Where’s your captain? Where is he?”

Just as the sergeant was about to answer, he suddenly heard a buzzing sound coming from the wrecked KMF torso next to him.

"What the hell?" The guard who rushed up first pressed himself against the cockpit of the KMF, listened to the sounds inside, and then shook his head at him.

“Pry it open.”

The pilots inside were long dead; the only thing making a whirring sound was the still-functioning communication system.

……

"Major, can you hear me, Major?"

The radio continued to ring. By this time, the general had approached, but instead of immediately picking up the walkie-talkie, he instead began to leisurely search through the cockpit.

I'd heard that many of these extraterrestrial visitors had some peculiar "souvenirs" on their phones. If you want to learn about the daily lives of these bastards, this is one good way to find out.

"What a cowardly son of a bitch." The general rummaged around for ages and finally found a metal cigarette box. He opened it and smelled it, but there was no smell left. "These guys are so poor they can barely afford cigarettes, yet they're thinking of taking us down?"

However, the broken poem written on the inside of the cigarette box lid did move him. After putting it in his pocket, the general slowly picked up the walkie-talkie and opened his mouth with a bold and rough "hello".

"Cough..." The person on the other end of the radio was startled. "How are you doing now, Major!"

"Great! Excellent! The scenery here is stunning!" The general laughed and turned to look at the marching soldiers. "You could easily start a massive sing-along of the American national anthem right here, no problem!"

"Stop joking around now!" The other party still didn't seem to realize anything. "Schönebeck is under attack! Where are your men? Where are they headed?"

“I came from Bernburg, then traveled all the way to Deben, and now I’m going to cross the Elbe and head east, damn it!”

"Oh, damn it..." Well, at least he finally realized who he was talking to. "That's good, you bastard, who are you?"

"Didn't your shitty parents teach you to respect your elders?" After a sneer and a string of insults, he smashed the walkie-talkie on the ground.

"Listen up, you bastard! I am General George Patton of the United States Army! I'm going to take your ugly flags and corpses with me and burn them to make a road to Berlin, and then I'll personally kill that son of a bitch Elizabeth!"

Chapter 284, Section 366: A General on the Tracks (Part 2)

Some were happy while others were sad. While the men of the 2nd Armored Division were celebrating with their father, Patton, because they had avenged the 1st Red Division, Eisenhower had no idea that Patton would advance so far on his own.

Ike's concerns were not unfounded. The air cover hadn't even been coordinated yet, and a division was already locked in combat with an enemy that also had armed helicopters.

Patton said that we have enough weapons carriers to protect their main force as they advance, but Eisenhower interpreted it as meaning that if it weren't for his own men doing a good job, the helicopters would have wiped out half the tank battalion.

"This is insane, utterly insane." Ike was now caught between anxiety and optimism. "Can someone tell me how many enemies are on the other side of the river right now?"

“General, if nothing unexpected happens, this army group’s Britannian forces are currently facing four divisions of the 1st Infantry Division. It is conservatively estimated that two more divisions are preparing to cross the river. In other words, General Patton is now facing a pincer attack from at least three divisions on the east and west sides without air support and flank cover.”

"Tsk..." Ike couldn't help but wipe the sweat from his brow. Although there was only one pontoon bridge built by the enemy in Schönebeck that was passable, who knew if that madman Barton could stop it?

"How's the aerial reconnaissance report?"

"The reconnaissance planes brought two pieces of intelligence: First, a large number of enemy troops have gathered on the east bank of Schönebeck, and there is some chaos on the pontoon bridge. Second, there are signs that some enemy troops are approaching from the road west of Deben."

"I knew it!" Now the 2nd Armored Division's rear is in big trouble. "Where is the 4th Armored Division? Quickly send a telegram to General Kennedy and have that colonel Patton praised clean up their mess! Hurry up!"

……

This is a very simple and ordinary village, so small that it's almost invisible. There are no crops in the farmland, so the people working in the fields are not tractors or livestock, and the people crossing the ridges are not farmers.

Fifty or sixty tanks and KMFs slowly rolled over the soft soil after spring, cautiously approaching a place less than five kilometers from Deben Village.

A captain, leading the vanguard, sat atop the foremost assault gun vehicle. Through his binoculars, he could already vaguely see the American tank with its shoulder-mounted rocket launcher sending bundles of steel spikes into the sky.