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Page 46
The first few carriages of the train were sealed-off cars for soldiers. By this time, the carriage doors would certainly be closed, and those inside wouldn't know that someone was going to rush in with a jeep. So, the flatbed carriages at the back naturally became the only seats available for the soldiers.
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The two jeeps didn't seem to be in a hurry, first following the train in a few S-shaped maneuvers. The dummy's machine gun was obviously not idle either, the drive wheels whistling and the machine gun roaring, like a whip driving cattle, forcing the new car to the front.
The train had already sped up considerably, reaching about 40 kilometers per hour, and it was obvious that it would be difficult for the group to get on.
Fortunately, the two jeeps stabilized in the second-to-last and third-to-last carriages respectively—flatbed carriages piled with weapons. The people on the jeeps were jolted and simply jumped onto the carriages.
There were some anti-tank guns piled up on the flatbed trailer, but their gun mounts had been packed away and the ammunition was nowhere to be found, so they certainly couldn't be used to shoot the puppets.
"It's your turn, Sergeant!" The co-pilot and the three men in the back had already boarded the vehicle, leaving only Jonathan trembling as he gripped the steering wheel, quickly checking back and forth between the train carriage and the jeep's dashboard.
"Give me your rifles!" Two Garand rifles were thrown over from the train. He inserted one gun into the steering wheel, one on the left and one on the right, wedging one end under the steering wheel frame and the other end out and wedging it into the hood. The shaky wheel finally came to a stop.
The sergeant then slowly stood up from his seat, looked at the two hands that were being offered to him from the carriage, lunged forward, and grabbed them with all his might. The instant their hands touched, the two men used the force to fall backward, forcefully pulling Jonathan onto the tablet.
Fortunately, the legs didn't leave with the now empty jeep. Instead, they crashed into a signpost beside the railway tracks and overturned into a pile of scrap metal in the distance.
"Hey!" A shout was suddenly drowned out by gunfire, and the four sergeants had to press themselves tightly against the carriage, afraid to look up.
"Calm down! Calm down!" Jonathan tried his best to calm the other three down. "This thing can't keep firing indefinitely! When I say so, we're running to the front carriages, understand?"
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"Heh heh! Run!" Wilson sat in Gloucester, recklessly spraying the machine gun onto the train. He could vaguely see several green figures running like rats on the flatbed carriages towards the front.
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As they drew closer to the train, he put down his gun, lowered the spear from his right shoulder, spread his arms, and lowered his waist slightly, as if he were about to make a big move.
However, the soldiers in the carriage had no time to watch him perform acrobatics...
"Hurry up! Don't just stand there like an idiot!"
A group of people, panicked yet cautious, crawled over the iron barrels, guns, and boxes on the carriage. Although they didn't spout nonsense like mental patients, they were already close to collapse and wished they could slap all the things in the way off the carriage!
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Just then, an accident happened!
"what!--"
Jonathan, who was just running around on the flatbed trailer, has vanished!
"Sergeant!"
"Fxxk!" Suddenly hearing a familiar curse, one of the three turned his head to the side and looked in the direction from which it came, his face turning pale with fright!
Fortunately, Jonathan did not fall off the train. What the soldier saw was his upper body remaining on the fourth-to-last carriage, his hands gripping the tiny bumps and dents of the carriage like withered tree branches.
His lower body, his entire lower body, was already hanging below the carriage, and less than a meter below that were the rolling train wheels and the rapidly retreating tracks!
"Sergeant... Calm down! We're coming to your rescue!"
"Don't... don't worry about me!" The sergeant's voice had become as if he was about to die.
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"NO NO NO!" A soldier waved his hands wildly in front of his face and chest, clearly utterly bewildered. "No, Sergeant... listen carefully, I'm going to..."
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"Hey, look!" A startled shout interrupted the rest of the conversation.
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"Alright! None of you can escape now!"
At that moment, Wilson's Gloucester straightened his chest and launched the grappling hooks from the front of his mech toward the train car. The two metal anchors, dragging steel cables, slammed heavily onto the last car.
"Hahahaha!—"
He laughed wildly as he began to pull in the rope, the winch creaking and his legs driving the wheels on the rails, sending sparks flying, making Gloucester a surfer riding a sea of sparks.
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"Hahaha! Hahahaha!" He couldn't help but unleash a massacre!
"Wilson! Wilson!" Why is the radio coming from Lieutenant Harlan so excited all of a sudden?
"What is it?! Don't bother me!"
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The radio waves turned into intermittent static at this moment, and he could only vaguely hear Harlan's words coming out in fits and starts, which left him somewhat confused.
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Then, the radio waves suddenly became clear!
"Wilson! Watch out behind you! Watch out behind you!"
"Huh?" His heart suddenly tightened.
"airplane!"
"Enemy planes! Enemy planes are swooping down from behind!"
Wilson felt a chill run through his body instantly. The warning was just a tiny drop of water, but what followed was the roar of gunfire, the rumble of engines, and the even more ominous sound of air slicing through the air—the real blizzard that enveloped him completely in an instant!
He strained with all his might to make the mecha turn around, only to find that the call of hell had already followed behind him!
A silver-white fighter jet with black and white stripes on its wings suddenly appeared behind him, flying low above the railway tracks. It trembled and roared, the machine guns on its wings spitting out belts of ammunition and the rockets trailing fiery tails from beneath its wings howling like a pack of wolves, filling Wilson's pupils with a ferocious image of this final scene of his life!
"Do not!--"
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"Evade! Evade!—"
It was too late! The gunpowder had already transformed into the fangs of a vicious wolf. The fighter jet swept overhead in an instant, leaving only flames and explosions that tore the steel knight to pieces, leaving scattered limbs and burning fragments everywhere.
"Wilson!"
Only Harlan's heart-wrenching cries remained as the knight, now reduced to ashes, departed.
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The pristine white fuselage flew past the three green helmets, casting shadows on their upturned faces. Gradually rising into the sunlight, it flew away from the speeding train.
Jonathan remained perched on the edge of the carriage, straining to lift his head as he watched the white eagle disappear into the distance.
Hope gradually returned to his eyes.
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Harlan was in the driver's cab, watching the debris still flying around the train carriages.
It's hard to imagine that the most outstanding student, who was just joking with me, is gone just like that—he didn't die in the mech's hand-to-hand combat.
Before he could freeze for even a few more seconds, another sound of bullets scraping the ground came from all around him—damn it, another one, another white fighter jet, was firing at him!
This time, it's coming for him!
He urged Sunderland to run off the tracks and onto a side street.
To be fair, both are moving objects, and it's not an easy task for a fixed-wing fighter jet's machine gun to knock them to the ground with a single punch.
But the pilots didn't think so, because for them, machine guns generally had two uses when attacking ground targets.
First, it's used to suppress enemy infantry on the ground; this number of machine guns is sufficient.
Secondly, it fires a trailing ammunition belt to perform a simple aiming and calibration of the rockets under its wings!
Harlan was less than twenty meters away from the narrow gap between the houses, but in an instant, the sound of a gust of air surged out, and it felt like a knife was stabbing into his heart!
He guessed right, and the mech quickly answered him with its steel body! A sharp explosion followed from Sunderland's legs; he felt his vehicle become a carelessly thrown hammer, tumbling head over heels through the air. Finally, it smashed open the ceiling of a small house, merging with the bricks, tiles, and shattered furniture...
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Let's turn our attention back to the Brandenburg Gate.
"Attempting to reconnect!"
"Calling Lieutenant Harlan, respond if you hear me!"
"Lieutenant Wilson, report the situation!"
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"Received...received..." Faintly, a sound came from the radio.
“Lieutenant Wilson… KIA…” Harlan’s voice was filled with the pain of a wound being torn apart, “I’m stuck… next to the train station… in a house…”
"Keep in touch, Lieutenant! Lancer Squadron is on their way! Hold on!"
No!...No!
"Make them...evacuate! A new...new air raid is coming!"
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"What was that sound?!"
"Huh? They've already wrecked the train?"
Captain Lancer and his men were about to reach the railway bridge when a series of rapid explosions came from the south, causing a stir among the young soldiers.
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"Command Center calling! Lancer Squadron! Evacuate from the railway bridge immediately!"
"Oh? Okay..." Before the captain could react, a soldier shouted out rashly, and everyone's face immediately turned ashen.
"Captain! An air raid is coming!—"
Upon closer inspection, everyone saw two white fighter jets, their propellers atop their noses and their wings laden with ammunition, swooping down from the sky and casting their shadows menacingly onto the railway bridge!
"Scatter! Get out of the open area!"
As soon as the captain jumped off the assault gun, the machine guns of the two fighter jets roared at the fleeing crowd, cutting through the mud around the tank like a plow. Several green recruits who were not good at walking were instantly hit by the 12.7mm machine guns, either turning into rag dolls with broken arms and legs, or simply shattering into pieces.
Fighter jets flew overhead one after the other, followed by a whistling sound as four 250-pound bombs, one under each wing, rained down from the sky.
The instant the explosions landed around the tanks, four sparking, mud-colored roses erupted from the ground, carrying shockwaves and a cloud of dust and debris as high as a three-story building, hurling the black-clad soldiers who couldn't escape further in all directions. Only the tanks, lined up in a row, remained, pitifully sandwiched between houses and the explosions. Their black steel exteriors had become rusty boxes covered in gunpowder, blood, and dirt, trembling in the aftershocks of the blast.
Those lying on the ground had their clothes torn apart by shrapnel and shockwaves, and some even had their limbs turned into blood-soaked figures by invisible blades. The demons of the underworld had already wrapped them in crimson carpets and veils, preparing for their final farewell.
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Meanwhile, on a street a little to the north, that tan-colored medical vehicle was speeding along.
"What was that sound over there? An explosion?" The young man in the passenger seat stuck his head out and looked in the direction they were coming from.
As they were talking, something seemed to fly over their heads, startling the driver so much that he couldn't help but stick his head out as well.
"Enemy aircraft?"
"Focus on driving and don't make wild guesses," the passenger muttered, quietly peering into the small window behind the driver's seat that opens into the passenger compartment.
Inside, everyone was crowding around the hospital bed, trying to save the injured pilot. The girl lay there quietly, seemingly oblivious to everything.
On the left side of the carriage near the door, the company commander's men were awkwardly treating the wounded soldiers' injuries with bandages and gauze.
On the right, a large pile of corpses torn apart by bullets and shrapnel lay there like unfolded blankets, lifeless, with only the still-dried blood flowing onto the carriage floor, turning it into a crimson mirror.