Chapter 455: Street Fighting
A German soldier, his boots covered in dust, leaped, hunched over, into a pile of rubble. He held his steel helmet with one hand and a G43 rifle in the other. As he slid to the bottom of the crater, he kicked up a cloud of dust.
“Sir! There are some British soldiers in the building opposite. They have machine guns,” the scout reported, having found his company and platoon commanders in the crater. Around this crater were scattered some 70-odd German soldiers.
The company commander carefully examined the map of the neighborhood, then looked at his deputy. “The enemy has defensive positions here and here. We’ll take losses if we attack head-on. We either wait for the rocket launchers from the ‘Building Demolition Squad,’ or we try a flanking assault.”
“Let’s wait. Word from battalion is that we’ll be getting some powerful support weapons this afternoon,” the deputy said, gesturing at the map. “It’s not worth taking this ruined block by force.”
A rumbling sound came from the street corner. A grey behemoth appeared at one end of the street, followed by another strange tank. The black and white Iron Cross on its hull, however, greatly reassured the German grenadiers.
In the lead was a German StuG III assault gun. There was nothing special about this tank, but the dozen or so kill rings on its cannon barrel told them that this was undoubtedly a top performer among the infantry support vehicles. But the strange vehicle behind it, also on a Panzer III chassis, was unfamiliar to the soldiers.
On the hull of this Panzer III was a large, circular, semi-open turret. But mounted on the front of this turret was not a single large cannon, but four smaller, menacing-looking guns. That’s right, this was a German 30mm quad-barreled self-propelled anti-aircraft gun. Normally, these special vehicles were part of the divisional air defense forces, but now they had been brought in to participate in the street fighting as a much sought-after “super weapon.”
“Hey! I say! Is this the support the battalion was talking about?” a grenadier asked, swallowing hard as he looked at his stunned comrades and the company commander. He had heard about how formidable this thing was, even more so than the “Building Demolishers” the engineers had.
“I don’t know…” the grenadier company commander said, shaking his head, though there was a clear hint of a smile in his eyes. The support he had been expecting was just some rockets or something similar. He had never imagined they would get such a powerful piece of equipment. It seemed the coming attack would be exceptionally easy, and his unit could avoid losing a few more soldiers.
Soon, a new round of the German attack began. This time, the 30mm self-propelled anti-aircraft gun led the way. Its four dark muzzles aimed at the tall building occupied by the British troops, and then, at a terrifying rate, they spat brilliant tongues of fire.
Thump! Thump! Thump! The shells easily tore through the thick concrete walls of the building, turning the furniture inside into powder. Carrying with them fragments of stone and twisted rebar, this torrent of metal pierced the bodies of the people inside, sending blood and severed limbs flying in all directions. In just a dozen seconds, a building defended by dozens of British soldiers was turned into a perforated ruin, from which came only desperate groans and the occasional sound of falling rubble.
Crack! A single, crisp gunshot. The British defenders had finally begun to fight back. But compared to the overwhelming, tide-like firepower of the German army just moments before, this one gunshot was as weak as a moan.
Ping! The bullet struck the gun shield at the front of the 30mm self-propelled anti-aircraft gun, creating a spark. But this round was no more than a pinprick to the thick shield. Soon, the massive turret of the anti-aircraft gun began to rotate, aiming at the window from which the shot had just been fired.
Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump! The four anti-aircraft guns roared again. The shells riddled the window, and the entire window frame fell to the street below. The originally rectangular window opening was blasted by the dense shells into something resembling an oval. The German grenadiers watching from behind had no doubt that the people in that room were now deader than dead.
The self-propelled anti-aircraft gun, with its high elevation angle and relatively comprehensive armor protection, was a divine weapon in this kind of street fighting. Because it was designed to deal with targets like aircraft, its turret could traverse at a very high speed, which meant its reaction time was shorter, allowing it to deal with threats from all directions more quickly.
Through long use, the German army had also mastered the method of using this weapon in urban warfare. For example, they would have an assault gun accompany it to deal with any potential enemy tank threats, and they would have infantry cover its rear to protect the more vulnerable open-topped turret. In short, this weapon was extremely effective in street fighting, a truly terrifying siege weapon.
At the command, the German grenadiers began to leap from their trenches and charge the British position from several directions. But the expected British return fire never came. It wasn’t until the Germans had charged into the building that sporadic gunfire was heard from inside.
A dozen or so minutes later, a German platoon leader, a cigarette dangling from his lips, walked out of the building and came over to his company commander, who was leaning against the mudguard of the self-propelled anti-aircraft gun. “It’s done. There were 45 British soldiers inside. When we went in, there were 17 left. They put up a fight in a few rooms. We have 2 killed, 4 wounded.”
“When are you leaving?” the company commander asked the sergeant standing on the anti-aircraft gun.
The vehicle commander smiled slightly and pointed to a nearby street corner. “We’re under orders to help you take that corner over there, then we’re heading back to divisional HQ to rearm and refuel,” he said in a thick Ruhr accent.
The vehicle’s engine started up, its exhaust pipe vibrating as it spewed black smoke. The German attack continued, and the British began to withdraw from the surrounding area. Just half an hour later, the Germans had occupied half of the nearby city block, taken control of two air-raid shelters, and annihilated about 200 British soldiers.
The grenadier company commander, having seen off the armored vehicles that had supported them, descended into a British air-raid shelter that was filled with the stench of decay. The scene inside was nauseating.
The place had probably been abandoned for several days. Bodies were piled up haphazardly inside. Although it was only March, maggots and swarms of flies could already be seen. Because the ventilation fans had been turned off, the temperature was high, and the bodies had begun to rot and decompose.
There were dozens of civilian bodies. From their tattered clothes, one could tell there were children and the elderly, men and women. Of course, the faces of these bodies were now unrecognizable. Unbelievably, judging from the scene, many had been killed by grenades. In the center of the air-raid shelter, several grenades had exploded, ending the lives of these bodies.
There were also a dozen or so bodies of British soldiers, which had clearly been moved here later. They were soldiers from the nearby British garrison who had been killed. When this area was still under British control, it had been used as a massive morgue.
From some details, it was clear that this place had also once been used as a hospital and a command post. It was probably abandoned later due to a power outage. A few bandages were scattered around the bodies of two British wounded who had clearly been treated, and a few maps, now covered in dust, lay on the floor.
“Notify the engineer battalion to come and deal with this,” the company commander said, covering his nose with his hand and frowning. “Tell the men not to spend the night here. Even after it’s disinfected, try to stay far away.”
He glanced back at a body lying not far away, a body without a wrist. Judging by the marks, this British soldier had held a grenade and detonated it here. For whatever reason he had chosen to die with these civilians, it was clear that many had not been killed in the blast but had left this once-crowded air-raid shelter.
The German grenadier company commander walked out of the shelter and back into the sunlight. He turned and asked his deputy, “Have you checked the other air-raid shelter?”
“It’s very clean. Only a few dozen panicked British refugees. They handed over their grenades and were very cooperative,” the deputy replied, lighting a cigarette for himself.
The company commander nodded, then, as if remembering something, asked, “Any prisoners?”
“Yes! Two wounded,” the deputy replied. “Their men didn’t take them when they left. Both are seriously wounded. I guess they knew it was useless to move them.”
“Mm,” the company commander said, lighting a cigarette of his own. He threw the empty pack at his feet and gave a bitter smile. “Give them a quick end. We don’t have any extra medicine to waste on them. Tell the men to grab something to eat, quickly. At 3 PM sharp, we’ll try another attack.”
This was war. When you see dozens of corpses lying in front of you, apart from disgust, you have no other special emotions. You no longer feel pity or sadness; there is only a cold indifference that blurs the line between good and evil.
When you order the execution of the enemy’s wounded, there is no longer a trace of guilt, because it is simply the logical thing to do. The medicine you save might save your own life in the next second. Of course, whether that same medicine can also save your conscience, only God can know.
March 21st, the street fighting in London continues.
Published: 2025-08-26T05:09:24.000+00:00
Last Edited: 2025-11-15T07:14:31.000+00:00
URL: https://www.patreon.com/caleredhair/posts/mtr-c455-street-137361579
Advance chapters at Nightjar Reads · nightjarreads.com