Chapter 758: Fighting Violence with Violence

The biting sea wind whipped at Akado’s greatcoat. He stood on the pier, watching as the soldiers before him solemnly folded their fallen comrades’ clothes and handed them to the women in black dresses. The ceremony had not yet officially begun, but he could already feel the heavy atmosphere of sorrow.

Prien stood beside Akado. As a special guest for this occasion, he and Akado had been seated in the guest section, silently waiting for everything to proceed. This was a sacred ceremony. For Akado, it meant that more people loyal to him and to this country had been sacrificed. For Prien, the scene before him was like watching his own funeral, a rather bleak and desolate feeling.

In the past month, Britain and the United States had sunk 11 German submarines. With the updating of German submarine technology and the commissioning of new types of submarines, the Americans, in order to make up for their losses in the Atlantic, had increased the density and intensity of their sea patrols. Although this method had not threatened the new type of submarines, it had brought misfortune to many of the older ones.

If nothing unexpected happened, this dark month would be the month with the heaviest losses for the German Navy’s submarine force since the beginning of the war. More than 400 naval officers and men, including an ace submarine that had sunk 60,000 tons of enemy shipping, were now sleeping forever in the Atlantic, having given their lives for the rise of their motherland.

The war still had to go on. Every day when the sun rose, it accompanied people’s lives. People seemed to have gotten used to the rhythm of life in wartime, accustomed to seeing their children off, shouldering rifles and wearing handsome military uniforms, leaving home for distant lands. They were accustomed to helping to comfort their neighbors after they received a death notice, accustomed to squatting in a corner and weeping silently after receiving a death notice for a family member.

Akado stood in silence. He just stood there, not saying a word. He watched the holy women in front of him sing for the fallen soldiers. He listened to the graceful, flowing song that echoed through the sky, yet he only stood there in silence, his face devoid of expression.

He thought of that cemetery in Berlin. The tombstones there were already engraved with countless famous names. The place was already dense with the crosses of martyrs. But it was still not enough to hold all those who had died for Germany, not enough to hold so many bodies that had shed their hot blood. So many could only be buried in distant foreign lands, their names left only on a simple tombstone, with a short, almost identical text.

On their epitaphs, these soldiers were all pretty much the same. They had fought bravely and fearlessly, giving their precious lives for their country. They were proud to be loyal to the Führer. They were all good sons of the motherland, role models for the people.

But in fact, everyone knew very well what the reality was. The Germans also had soldiers who had knelt on the ground and raised their hands in surrender. They had desperately thrown away their weapons and begged for mercy from the enemy opposite. In the end, they might have become prisoners, or they might have been shot through the head and become a pitiful corpse.

Some had turned and fled when the enemy attacked. They had wept, running away like cowards. The lucky ones might have returned to their own units. The unlucky ones might have been shot and killed by enemy bullets on the road of retreat.

What was somewhat frustrating was that the tombstones of these people were still inscribed with as many good words as possible, because it was difficult to distinguish whether everyone had really fought bravely until the last moment. In the last moment before death, most were probably not so brave and noble.

In a recorded document, when the heavy snow came, a soldier participating in the offensive in the southern region, in order to keep warm, had entered a local’s residence and had snatched the owner’s hand warmer. Subsequently, this soldier was shot and killed at the door by the owner in a pathetic manner. How could the military’s statistics department possibly send such a letter back to this soldier’s home?

“Your child was shot and killed by the victim while looting at the front. We hereby express our deepest condolences to you…” If they saw this death notice, it’s hard to imagine what the soldier’s mother would feel.

Also, in the long battle on the Eastern Front, there was once a German sniper who had killed 22 enemy soldiers. Because he was in a hurry to get back to the camp for dinner, his head was shattered by a stray bullet from who knows where. It could be said that his entire life’s combat record was very glorious, but when he died, he was no different from an ordinary soldier.

The facts proved that not every hero, when he died, was shouting some slogan, waving a big knife or a pistol, standing at the highest point of the battlefield, being riddled with countless bullets, and dying a heroic death. Apart from being riddled with bullets, standing at the highest point of the battlefield, there would be no opportunity to do so many things. Please believe this.

And the most tragic were not these people, but the German Navy’s submarine force, the very same pitiful sailors for whom a funeral was now being held. The process of their deaths had nothing to do with tragic grandeur or heroism. From beginning to end, they had stood in darkness, and until death, they had been in that suffocating darkness.

After a submarine dived, it would turn off most of its lighting systems to save electricity. And so, these sailors could only wait in their combat posts, accompanied by darkness, for the outcome of a contest. If they won, they could safely return to their own harbor and live a few more months of a romantic life. If they lost, then only death awaited them.

Yes, death, and an extremely wretched death. The submarine would be hit by a depth charge, the hull would rupture, and most of the time, the officers and men inside would not die immediately. It was possible that the seawater would pour into the cabin little by little, and the soldiers inside could only wait for the final moment to arrive.

Either they would suffocate underwater due to lack of oxygen, or they would drown at the bottom of the sea as the water flooded in. No matter how they died, it would be a process, a very long process for those who were about to die. This process was enough to make a person break down, to make them despair.

It is hard to imagine how these sailors endured their last moments. In any case, it must have been a wait of the utmost despair, accompanied by madness and hysteria… Just thinking about it is terrifying, thinking about dying in such a way that even one’s soul cannot find peace.

Crack! A uniform gunshot pulled Akado back to reality from his wild thoughts. The women who were singing had already finished their sad anthem. He saw the soldiers placing the clothes of the fallen soldiers into new coffins.

The Chinese believe in letting the dead rest in peace. From the one after another of cemeteries abroad, one can know that in every corner of civilization, there are ways for the descendants of the dead to express their grief. Unfortunately, war makes many die without a proper place, and without even an ordinary funeral.

Crack! Another uniform gunshot. Another funeral with the unique characteristics of the German Navy’s submarine force was about to end. Akado waited until the third gunshot, and then when someone came and asked him to go up and give a short speech, he finally moved his body. He walked somewhat stiffly to the podium, facing the family members of the fallen, whose faces were still stained with tears.

He stood before the microphone in front of him and spoke softly. With the sea breeze, like cold snowflakes, “I know that nothing I say now can soothe your wounds. Your children, husbands, fathers… went to the battlefield to avenge their motherland.”

“Now they are dead, died in battle in the depths of the sea,” he said, word by word, as if to make everyone present remember his words. “So, more of the people they swore to protect to the death will stand up and avenge them! This is a war of revenge! Until the enemy’s blood has been shed, the war will not end! There is a saying in Buddhism, ‘When will the cycle of vengeance ever end?’ It advises people to let go of hatred and to sacrifice themselves to quell their anger. But I say, the wrath of Germany will never be quelled! The German people will never give up their soul of revenge! What we believe in is an eye for an eye, fighting violence with violence!”

“I cannot return the dead to you. All I can do is send more people to the battlefield to seek justice for those who died today!” Akado roared. “I can only guarantee that for every one of our outstanding Germanic soldiers the enemy kills, the soldiers of the German Empire will kill a thousand of them!”

“To hell with compromise and forgiveness! Only by holding our guns tightly can we win the respect of the world! At that time, when our descendants become the backbone of this world, when we look down on all our opponents, that is when we will have the right to be tolerant, the right to forgive!”

Führer Akado’s speech was very short. After he finished this passage, he raised his right hand high. “May my fallen soldiers rest in peace, and may all who have died for the Empire live forever! Long live the Holy Greater German Third Reich! Long live the German people! Long live the German spirit!”

In front of him, the family members of the dead who were standing there all raised their arms in response. A moment ago, they were the grieving relatives of the dead. At this moment, their faces were filled with fanaticism. The power of an idol is infinite, especially when this idol is the head of a state, a Führer who has brought a country infinite prosperity and strength.

The pain was still there, but the fanaticism remained. The families of these fallen soldiers now understood the Führer’s pain, and they also understood the Führer’s conviction. Their family members would be remembered by the entire country, and their Führer would lead an invincible army to avenge the fallen. What was there for them to complain about? What reason was there not to cheer for such a strong leader?

“Führer, Akado Rudolph… long live!” the people present shouted. Thinking of the fanatics who had died for Hitler, it is not difficult to imagine that faith, this thing, is sometimes the most terrifying weapon.

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