Chapter 646: A Cigarette

It is a proven fact that sometimes new weapons are a magic bullet that can change the mode of warfare, while at other times, an over-reliance on new weapons can create nothing but trouble for the frontline troops. Opportunities on the battlefield are fleeting, and it is impossible for everything to proceed step-by-step according to one side’s predictions.

Historically, the German armored forces missed the best opportunity to attack Kursk because they were waiting for their Tiger and Panther tanks. This was a result of being too superstitious about weapon performance while ignoring other factors that determine victory. In fact, when there is no generational gap between weapons, the outcome of a battle is decided by the people using the weapons, not the weapons themselves.

But all historical facts prove a somewhat frustrating truth: the side that is at a disadvantage on the battlefield or in the overall situation is often more willing to try developing and using new weapons. This is a brave attempt by the weaker side to change its unfavorable situation, and one of the few methods they have to turn defeat into victory.

Unfortunately, sometimes this attempt works, and sometimes it fails. This also explains a sad fact to everyone on a strategic level: not all efforts will be rewarded.

After the First World War, the Germans were forced to be the first to make this attempt of the weak. From a position of disadvantage, they used tanks and mechanized troops in coordination with a superior air force, creating the prototype of combined air-land warfare. They unleashed the assault advantage of armored troops and swept across Europe with an immature blitzkrieg.

But their subsequent attempts were filled with tragedy. In World War II, many technologies failed to achieve a qualitative leap, so their technological efforts could not overcome the vast numerical superiority of their enemies. This led to the tragic final result for the German army: a pile of doomsday technologies were born, but they could not save the fate of the Empire.

Now, the Germans had gained an absolute advantage on most battlefields. The disadvantaged parties had become the exiled British in Iceland and the struggling Soviets on the Eastern Front. The Germans could calmly develop their weapon systems on a mature technological basis, while the British had to rely on so-called “doomsday technology” to save their declining situation.

The current situation was also a source of frustration for Zhukov. Stalin was waiting for the Stalin tank, which Stalin had ordered into production. This wasn’t a tongue twister, but it really made Zhukov want to cry. This Stalin tank was perhaps the highest technological achievement of the Soviet Union at the moment, but in terms of production hours, it had little advantage over the more advanced German Tiger tank.

But now Stalin had stubbornly decided to wait until these advanced weapons were in large-scale service before allowing the Red Army to launch a full-scale counter-offensive. For Zhukov, who could only sit and wait while watching the German army in front of him grow stronger, this was an absolute torment. He didn’t know what use these Stalin tanks, which were not much better than the German ones, would be in the war, but he had to obey the leader’s decision and wait for the equipment and for winter to arrive.

Stalin had learned certain lessons from the previous battles. He was also imitating Akado, deliberately avoiding meddling in the decisions of his frontline generals. However, his long-standing habit of having the final say among his generals often made him involuntarily go against his own decision. He would express his own views on some issues and not allow others to question them—the matter of the Stalin tank was one such case.

Fortunately, Stalin had given Zhukov unprecedented autonomy on the front lines. This was the first time Stalin had delegated such power to a true military general. Previously, he had trusted political and party talents like Khrushchev more than high-ranking generals like Zhukov. After all, during the Great Purge, too many military personnel had emerged who made Stalin grit his teeth. The impact of Tukhachevsky’s execution had still not completely faded, leaving Stalin with a very painful experience. This was the main reason he was more willing to trust political commissars.

However, Khrushchev’s betrayal and the current situation on the Crimean Peninsula, where his orders were ignored, had forced Stalin to reconsider his personnel policies. In his personal view, since the loyalty of political personnel like Khrushchev was no higher than that of military generals like Tukhachevsky, why should he use an amateur who did not understand military affairs to command the army?

Having figured this out, Stalin had given full authority to Zhukov, a treatment that other Soviet generals, including Timoshenko, had never received. So, using the power in his hands, Zhukov, like all frontline generals in all countries, did his best to circumvent the rear-area leader’s interference based on the situation.

Zhukov ordered limited probing attacks, often using a battalion or even a company to attack German positions, wearing them down bit by bit. He used this to temper his own troops so that when the winter offensive began, he would have more elite Red Army soldiers who could fight.

Moreover, he now had a dozen Stalin tanks in his hands, along with the crews that Stalin himself had prepared for them—the puppet demons who had graduated from the Wolf Knight Academy. Zhukov had met them in person. He felt these men could be described as parts of a tank. Having these men was perhaps the Soviet Union’s greatest hope for victory.

“You haven’t seen those soldiers. To call them soldiers, I feel, is not appropriate. They are parts, parts of a weapon,” Zhukov said to his aide, holding a pair of binoculars and looking at the smoke rising in the distance. “They have no emotions and can kill anyone without hesitation. The person who trained such monsters must be a monster himself. If possible, I would not want to use such an inhuman ‘weapon’. I firmly believe that the Soviet Union will win, but I also firmly believe that the war should not be won by such means.”

“Are those soldiers with the wolf’s head embroidered on their collars really that terrifying?” The aide didn’t quite understand why the commander of the Soviet front, in charge of millions of troops, would be so wary of a mere hundred or so soldiers. In his mind, he had never seen a soldier worthy of such attention. The rumors he had heard all said that some elusive German special forces soldiers were very skilled, but even they had not made Zhukov so secretive.

As the two of them were talking, a battle had just ended a few kilometers away from their observation post. The smoke of gunpowder filled the air, and the entire village seemed to be burning. This place had changed hands three times in just twenty days and was an important defensive area that the German and Soviet armies were repeatedly fighting over.

And here, two German soldiers, who were clearly only in their early twenties, were kneeling on the ground. They held their hands on their heads, their helmets tossed to one side. Both were trembling all over, so scared by the scene before them that they didn’t know what to say.

Both of them were replacements who had been assigned to the front line only yesterday. Today was their first battle. The veteran who was responsible for leading them through the battle was lying on the ground not far away, his eyes staring unwillingly at the sky, long devoid of life. His chest was riddled with bullet holes; he had died the instant he was hit.

Opposite the two surrendered German soldiers was a new-model Stalin tank, a black five-pointed star painted on its turret, which was a little different from what was written in the German combat manual. This tank was, of course, the main culprit for wiping out the German defenders in the vicinity. Now, this tank was just sitting there quietly, and its commander was staring at the two German prisoners in front of him with a terrifying face.

The battle just now had been suffocatingly brutal. It was this terrifying man with a scar on his face who had insanely jumped out of his tank and killed several battle-hardened German veterans with a submachine gun, completely destroying the German defensive system in this village. These two young German soldiers had been so terrified by his cruel killing methods that they had lost their nerve, given up resistance, and raised their hands in surrender.

“I don’t need to know much. You can tell me the important things, and then I’ll decide who to kill and who to let go… Understand?” Scarface’s unique, somewhat hoarse voice sounded, like a demon from hell tempting people.

“There’s a fuel depot 4 kilometers behind here!” one of the young men cried out, revealing a little secret he had accidentally discovered. He missed the hot meat soup his mother used to make for him at home, and the flat lawn in front of his house. In order to live, he was willing to betray any intelligence he knew.

Perhaps at this moment he had forgotten that he had once placed his hand on the bright red swastika flag and sworn an oath. He had forgotten that he had once raised his right hand and shouted “Heil Führer” along with countless others. He had forgotten that he had once walked through the fields of Poland with his rifle on his back, cheering for the expansion of his motherland to several times its original size.

The other German soldier was clearly not as nosy. Tears streamed down his face in panic, but he shook his head and told the truth, “I don’t know! I really don’t know anything useful. God is my witness, I really don’t know anything.”

The soldier who had revealed the location of the fuel depot let out a sigh of relief. He was glad he would finally be able to live, because his comrade clearly didn’t know as much gossip as he did. He even wanted to smile and pat the unlucky fellow on the shoulder, to comfort him and tell him to pay more attention to his surroundings next time. But his brain could only think that far.

Bang! With a gunshot, the ferocious Scarface pulled out his pistol and, without pause, blew a head apart. Unfortunately, this head happened to belong to the young German soldier who had revealed the intelligence about the fuel depot.

“Sorry, your mouth isn’t tight enough. I hate interrogating prisoners like you. No challenge at all,” Scarface muttered, turning his cold gaze to the young German soldier who had said he knew nothing. “You’re not bad. If it weren’t for the lack of supplies, I’d really like to give you a cigarette.”

Published: 2025-09-14T06:57:50.000+00:00
Last Edited: 2026-02-06T20:39:06.000+00:00
URL: https://www.patreon.com/caleredhair/posts/mtr-c646-138854576

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