Chapter 484: No Matter What

“The spirit of Nelson is with us!” a British officer shouted in a low voice. Opposite him, more than forty British soldiers, following his command, began to fix bayonets to the muzzles of their Lee-Enfield rifles.

“Gentlemen! It is my honor to fight alongside you!” the officer said with a smile, drawing his own bayonet from its scabbard and fixing it to his rifle. “This is the last time we will fight together. If God blesses the British Empire, then at least our descendants will have the chance to fight together again!”

“Long live the British Empire!” they all shouted in low voices. Then, at the officer’s command, the British soldiers charged up the pile of rubble in front of them.

They all ran forward, weapons at the ready. They could hear nothing but the whistling of the wind in their ears. They knew what was waiting for them on the other side, but the honor that was deeply ingrained in their bones would not allow them to retreat a single step.

For a hundred years, they had been the masters of this world. To ask these men, who had never bent their backs, to kneel down and be dogs—it was easier to face the enemy’s bullets.

The rubble under their powerful strides tumbled down with a pleasant clatter. A soldier stumbled a few steps due to the uneven ground but struggled to keep charging forward. They all knew that beyond this pile of rubble, on the next pile, was the German position. But they were fearless. Even if I only kill one German, everyone was thinking.

Crack! A gunshot rang out. It was clearly not fired by these British soldiers, who were out of ammunition. So the soldiers who had just reached the top of the rubble did not hesitate for a moment. Shouting for victory, they accelerated their charge towards their intended target.

Crack! Another shot came from the other side. A British soldier clutched his chest and rolled down the slope. The remaining British soldiers paid him no mind and continued to run towards the German who was firing at them, their rifles leveled.

Running, running. It was as if running was the only instinct these British soldiers had left, the only thing they wanted to do and the only thing they could do at this moment. These soldiers mechanically pushed forward, completely ignoring the comrades who fell beside them with each gunshot.

“Kill!” The British officer at the very front held his bayoneted rifle level and, as he charged down the slope of the rubble, let out a furious roar. He seemed to be venting, venting the suppression and grievances of the past few days, venting the resentment that had long been building up in his heart.

Another bullet flew towards them, tearing through the helmet of a British soldier who was following beside the officer. Blood sprayed in all directions like rain. Yet these British soldiers, who had cast aside all thought of life and death, still ran forward with their rifles, not one of them stopping to look back at the comrade who was destined never to stand up again.

“Kill!” everyone else shouted, following his lead. They no longer had any chance of a surprise attack, so they no longer bothered to keep their voices down. Their throats were incredibly hoarse from lack of water, but the sound from the remaining thirty-odd men was still like an earthquake. They poured all their love for this country into this roar, as if only this cry could pierce the heavens and prove their loyalty.

Crack! Crack! The German gunfire from the opposite side grew more intense. Several more British soldiers were shot and fell on their path of charge. These soldiers were silent as they fell; they did not make a sound, as if afraid that their cries of pain would distract their comrades.

Soon, they had charged down the slope and began to charge up towards the top of the rubble where the Germans were. Because it was an uphill charge, their speed quickly slowed, but these British soldiers still held their rifles and, step by step, closed in on the German position.

Rat-tat! Rat-tat! The German MG42 machine gun began to roar, making its unique sound of ripping linen. “Akado’s Saw” lived up to its name; in an instant, it had riddled a British soldier with holes.

As the machine gun traversed, the tracer rounds, even in the daytime, drew straight beams of light that passed through the bodies of the British soldiers. One after another, they were hit. They crumpled to the ground, twisted, and then, due to their weight, rolled down the rubble heap, leaving a long trail of blood, a shockingly conspicuous sight.

“Long live the British Empire… His Majesty the Ki—” The British officer in the lead probably saw the bullets sweeping towards him, so he began to shout the slogan at the top of his lungs. But he was a little too slow. He had only gotten halfway through the sentence when his chest was torn open by the bullets. He swayed for a moment, then propped himself up with his rifle.

He knew that if he were to fall now, he would roll down like a stone. Then he would not be able to see his soldiers charge the German position, would not be able to watch his soldiers kill the Germans. So he held on, hoping to see the moment his soldiers leaped into the German trench.

The machine gun, like reaping wheat, cut down a row of British soldiers. Soon, such a sweep began again from the other side. At first, the German machine gunner had fired from left to right. Now, he adjusted and began to swing the muzzle from right to left.

Ever since the machine gun had appeared on the battlefield, the massed infantry charge had become a useless waste of manpower. In the face of the web of fire formed by machine-gun bullets, human courage became worthless… Well, that’s a bit of an exaggeration. It was at least worth the price of a bullet.

After two sweeps of the gun, there were only a few British soldiers left in front of the Germans. The remaining few were clearly not worth wasting machine-gun fire on; they could be left for the other soldiers. So the German machine gun stopped firing, leaving the remaining glory for its comrades.

Crack! Another shot. A German soldier with a G43 semi-automatic rifle, being a little nervous as it was his first time on the battlefield, missed his shot. He re-aimed, hesitated for a moment, and then pulled his trigger again.

Crack! This time he hit his target. The bullet struck the British soldier, and he could even see the hole it made, and the flower of blood that blossomed. He swallowed hard and stood there with his rifle for a long time, not moving.

Of the more than forty British soldiers who had started the charge, only one was now left, still trying to climb the rubble with his rifle. He was stumbling, panting from the constant running. But he had not betrayed the oath he had made when he set out. He was still stubbornly advancing towards his goal.

I have to kill one enemy, no matter what. There were more than forty of us when we started. All those men can’t have died for nothing. I have to kill one German to avenge my fallen comrades! he kept telling himself, then resolutely advanced with his rifle.

Drive out the invaders! Defend my home! he shouted in his mind. He didn’t know why the Germans had come from so far away to invade Britain, nor did he know why the government was still unwilling to surrender even after London had been reduced to a ruin. But he knew he had once sworn an oath to defend this land to the end of his life.

No matter what, an oath is an oath, right? So he felt he should not retreat. He should use his actions to tell those Germans opposite him that the British were not cowards! He stumbled, a loose piece of rubble rolling under his foot, and he felt his ankle twist.

Limping, he struggled to his feet and saw that directly in front of him, a German officer was raising a rifle at him. It was an MP-44 assault rifle. His own brother had died to such a gun. Many of his comrades had wanted to get their hands on one of these rifles, because in urban street fighting, this weapon was really very useful.

The muzzle was dark and looked a bit scary. The British soldier still stumbled forward. He was only a dozen meters from the enemy. If he just pushed a little harder, he could plunge his bayonet into this German officer’s chest… He was an officer, wasn’t he? If he could succeed, then the deaths of his comrades would have been worth it, right?

Rat-tat! With two consecutive shots, the British soldier felt as if he had been punched hard in the chest twice. The immense force stopped his advance, and the world began to spin, making him involuntarily take two steps back.

No, I can’t. When we set out, I promised the skipper I wouldn’t retreat a single step, not even in death! I’m not dead yet, and I’ve already broken my promise… The skipper won’t blame me, will he? I can still go to heaven, right?

He struggled and took two more steps forward, then forced himself to raise his head and look at the expressionless German officer opposite him.

He smiled. He ignored the blood in his mouth and smiled. This way, he hadn’t retreated, right? He reached out his hand, as if to grab the German officer who was so close. But he found that his efforts were in vain. Even if the other man let him grab his collar, he no longer had the strength to thrust his bayonet into his body.

“Victory!” In the second before the darkness came, he shouted this word with complete calm. He longed for victory, longed for his blood to bring his motherland the victory it deserved. Soon, he lost all consciousness, and his gradually cooling body collapsed on the rubble.

The German officer slung his weapon over his back, stepped over the body that was closest to the top of the slope, and walked over to the body of the British officer, who was still propped up on his rifle, unwilling to fall. He reached out his hand and, without a trace of pity, pushed the soulless husk over, watching the body tumble down to the foot of the rubble heap.

Published: 2025-08-29T02:35:29.000+00:00
Last Edited: 2025-11-26T11:32:30.000+00:00
URL: https://www.patreon.com/caleredhair/posts/mtr-c484-no-what-137600785

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