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Page 37
"What do you want to do!" The lieutenant was flustered. His legs were being forced backward by the person in front of him, and he couldn't stop it at all.
Immediately afterward, the sergeant swung his arm violently, and the lieutenant was sent flying into the air before crashing into the large crater behind him.
There, a thick gun barrel had been raised high by Private Jimmy and aimed at his back!
With a roar like a firecracker, the lieutenant's chest was ripped open as if a truck had smashed through a broken wall, turning into a shower of blood and flesh that stained the entire sky red.
The lifeless body finally landed steadily on the ground in front of Jimmy, blood flowing freely and soaking the floorboards red.
Jimmy didn't immediately turn away. He raised his gun again, walked towards the mangled corpse, and aimed at the poor head.
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"Go to heaven and be with Li. He didn't like being alone..."
boom! ——
Section 39, Chapter Twenty-Five: Treasure Hunters and Raiders
The streets of Berlin are gloomy and bitter.
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The sporadic sounds of gunfire, like the chirping of sparrows, drifted from not far away, disturbing the hearing of the insects on the ground. But they were already used to it—the devastating red storm of a few months ago still haunted every stone here like a ghost.
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Unbeknownst to them, the shadow of a large bird swept across the street, leaving a trail of dust that danced among the pebbles.
With its green fuselage and a large red star painted on the vertical tail, the Yak-9R reconnaissance aircraft hovered low over the city. The pilot in the fighter jet pressed his face against the cockpit window, carefully observing the ground below.
"Ok?"
The scene that followed was a bit strange—several green trucks were parked in front of a church-like building, and ant-like people were running back and forth between the convoy and the church.
Not far away, there was still smoke, similar to that generated by a battle, dissipating.
"Is that so? Hehe..." The pilot continued to control the circling aircraft and reached for the radio walkie-talkie.
"Call! Call!"
"Report the situation, comrade." The reply over the radio was crisp and clear.
"Ah, report. A large number of U.S. soldiers have been found in the reconnaissance area, as well as many of their corpses. They look like the enemies we encountered in the eastern city. Preliminary assessment is that they have just finished a firefight."
"Can you confirm the identities of those unidentified individuals?"
"Unable to confirm. There are no flags on the ground that can identify them. Over."
"What is the number of US troops? Do they have heavy weapons? What are their movements?"
"At least 30 people, including an armored vehicle and at least 5 trucks, the rest are unknown. They are loading a large group of people onto the trucks, presumably preparing to depart for somewhere."
"Okay, comrade, you can come back now."
"Understood." The pilot put down the walkie-talkie and breathed a sigh of relief.
"call……"
He pushed the throttle valve to its highest position, moved the control lever, and prepared to make the plane, which was almost touching the buildings, climb up and fly back to the East.
Suddenly, several golden meteors shot out from the lower left corner of the nose of the plane without warning, streaking across the fuselage with a crisp hissing sound, and flew into the sky.
"What?!" The pilot panicked instantly.
However, before he could make any further maneuvers, a meteor struck him again, and this time, he was not so lucky.
After a series of violent machine gun blasts, the green eagle in the sky swayed, a long black tail appeared, and then it spun around and around, its belly emitting faint flames, before falling into the ruins and turning into a deafening thunderclap.
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"Ha, Wilson, see that? Your marksmanship still needs improvement!"
On the exterior wall of a relatively intact building, a Gloucester and a Sunderland mech are grappling with their grappling hooks, their machine guns pointed at the spot where the green eagle crashed.
"Um, Mr. Harlan, I still don't quite understand, how exactly did you do that?"
"As I always say, it's all about hard work, practice, improvement, and a little secret..."
"You've never told me what this secret is! Can't you just give me a straight answer?"
"Ahem! Calling command center!" Harlan changed the subject. "The target aircraft has been shot down."
"Well done, gentlemen. Now, the railway bridge is 100 meters to your southeast. If you don't want to come back for the time being, you can start moving around freely from there. As long as you don't mess with the Red Flag and Red Five-Star, everything is allowed."
"Yes, sir, we'll set off now."
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Back to the bustling church.
"Run! Guys! Time is of the essence!"
On the road in front of the gate, several trucks were lined up in a long row, waiting quietly.
At the very front was the same M8 armored vehicle that had been making such a splash earlier. Mr. Harry seemed to be leaning back on the turret with a relaxed air, watching the busy crowd around the convoy. He would occasionally turn around and take a look through his binoculars at anything that might distract him.
Then came trucks covered in large white five-pointed stars. Soldiers were gathered around them, and wounded soldiers, some wrapped in bandages and some lying on stretchers, along with neatly arranged rifles and cannons, and boxes of sealed ammunition supplies, were continuously being carried onto the trucks' cargo boxes in a relay of arms.
Of course, one of the trucks seemed to be specifically used for transporting corpses. In the street battle that had just ended, Jonathan's own squad lost three men, two of whom were completely obliterated by the damned armored vehicle's machine gun. Three others were wounded to varying degrees; one was unable to hold a gun, while the other two were still able to move.
Sergeant Dilt and his men fared no better; three of them were killed and four others were injured to varying degrees. Fortunately, the machine gun team and the rocket launcher team were unaffected.
In addition to the few corpses that had just been carried out of the church, the hearse was now fully loaded, allowing each brother to rest in peace to lie upright on the ground on his way home.
The surviving soldiers were clearly unwilling to hitch a ride here. They were looking for places full of supplies to climb up and find a place to rest. The journey ahead was not short, so it was only natural to find a place to rest their legs.
The two trucks at the end of the line seemed to be reserved for soldiers who were not in danger, while most of the able-bodied soldiers were still lined up there.
"One after another, slowly, don't rush." Jonathan was standing on the side of the line, directing the passengers to board the bus with his arm like a conductor.
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"Hey! Sergeant Campbell! Is your unit full?"
"Not yet, but it should be able to fit one or two more."
"Okay, I have someone who's late. I'll have him get on the bus at your place."
A series of crisp, noisy clanging sounds rang out, and a disheveled soldier, carrying a large load of supplies, stopped in front of the sergeant like a street performer. One hand was on the vehicle, and his heavy breathing and hunched posture made him look like he was about to die.
"So you're the one who's late?" The sergeant looked at the damn brat with disdain.
"Ah...sorry, I was on guard duty, I'm late."
"Oh..." the sergeant replied coldly, "Did you see anything that would make the newspapers?"
"Ah, that..." the soldier swallowed hard, "You saw that plane circling above our heads, that Russian plane, right?"
The soldier continued speaking, in front of the sergeant and the equally disgusted audience in the vehicle.
"It was flying back east when it was shot down by something!"
"That's all?" Jonathan seemed to think it was expected.
"...Ah, that's all..."
"So why didn't you come back sooner?"
"Me..." The soldier turned around, and a yellowish-brown iron rod with a big head on top stood out among the odds and ends on his back.
"Look, Sergeant! Look what I found! Iron Fist! A German's!"
"Huh?" Several people in the car turned around with their eyes lit up when they heard "Iron Fist," but the sergeant remained unmoved.
"So this thing can make a fortune at the auction? We're not so poor that we don't even have a bazooka, are we?"
“Um, Sergeant…” a soldier in the vehicle chimed in, “We have indeed run out of bazooka ammunition.”
Looking at the passengers' sincere faces, the sergeant felt a little embarrassed.
"Okay, get in, kid..."
The green convoy finally began to crawl along the streets, heading south towards the other side of the river.
Inside the truck that was second to last in line, the clanging and clattering of drums spread out.
"Come on, let me show you what I've got!" The late soldier spread out his huge pile of luggage in front of everyone.
Jonathan sat in the outermost seat, glancing sideways at this irritating brat. He first placed his Iron Fist and his own M1 Garand rifle on the ground.
"Look! Look!" Then, from the bag that was taken off his back, was a large handful of German M24 wooden-handled grenades.
"How much do you want mashed potatoes, buddy?" A soldier next to him took one out, held it in his hand, and looked it over. "Are our iron eggs not enough for you to play with?"
The car was filled with sarcastic laughter. Yes, the M24 grenade's famous nickname—Potato Masher—was something the soldiers remembered well and passed down by word of mouth.
"Hey, don't say that!" the porter replied, looking unconvinced. "To be honest, I just think the German mortars feel better! They're so much more comfortable to hold than ours. Back then, I even..."
“Hey, hey, hey, just because you feel comfortable doesn’t mean we all feel comfortable!” Another soldier sitting inside chimed in, “Maybe the bones in your palm are different from ours? Come on, let’s shake hands.”
Seeing the other person extend their hand, the porter foolishly reached out his hand as well. However, the other person suddenly grabbed his hand and squeezed it hard. The porter screamed in pain and jerked his hand back with lightning speed, almost falling backward out of the vehicle.
"Hahaha! You're bullying the newbie again! Hahahaha!" The laughter in the carriage grew even louder.
"Ahem...ahem, never mind, I won't mess with you. So, do you guys want it or not? If not, I'll play by myself."
"Well, anyway," the soldier who picked up the mortar first patted the thing in his palm, "thanks anyway."
After he finished speaking, several soldiers came over, took a few grenades, and put them on their bodies.
"Ha! I knew it! This trip wasn't in vain." The porter chuckled and put down the last bag he was carrying.
When the contents of the bag were revealed, everyone's eyes lit up.
"This is fucking..."
Aside from a few Luger and P38 pistols—which may have belonged to a German officer or soldier back then—there were pocket watches, necklaces, rings, earrings, and even several medals of various shapes!
"My God..." a soldier couldn't help but blurt out, "Dude, did you just rob a jewelry store?"
"Stop talking nonsense! These are all good stuff, take them while you can."
Clearly, these things that could sparkle in the sunlight were more appealing to the soldiers' discerning palates. Ignoring the bumpy ride of the truck, they all swarmed around it.
Jonathan was left alone, still sitting in his seat, coldly watching the group of shoppers who had caught the big sale scrambling and laughing, a faint smile on his face.
He looked down and seemed to see something, then grabbed the Garand rifle that the porter had placed on the ground.
"Hey, Sergeant?" Turning around at the sound of his voice, the porter, with a fawning look in his eyes, handed him a worn Iron Cross medal.
"Won't you have one?"
"No need, I have something much better looking." The sergeant was probably secretly pleased with what he had gotten before.
However, what followed had little to do with this. The sergeant simply stared at the rifle he had picked up, looking at the upward-pointing muzzle.
“Oh, 'German salesman' sir,” the sergeant greeted the porter with a sarcastic tone.