Chapter 760: The Strong Fortress

In the trench, a German soldier was loading a magazine into his MP-44 assault rifle. Beside him, a soldier with a G43 semi-automatic rifle was covering the surroundings for him. At their feet lay the body of a German soldier, as well as the remains of five or six Soviet soldiers. This trench had been fought over repeatedly by both sides, and for now, it belonged to the German soldiers.

A Soviet soldier came around the other end of the trench. He seemed to be being chased by someone, so he didn’t even look to see what the situation was here. Like a reckless youth, he rounded the dangerous corner with his Mosin-Nagant rifle in hand.

Crack! Without the slightest hesitation, the German soldier with the G43 semi-automatic rifle pulled the trigger. A bullet flew out of the barrel, and a beautiful iron casing fell to his feet. For a moment, the casing was still steaming, but because the surrounding air was already very cold, it stopped emitting a light white smoke after only a second.

The bullet crossed the short distance and tore through the chest of the Soviet soldier opposite. The soldier stopped running, his feet tangled together. He cried out once and then fell to the ground, his knees slightly bent. Soon, the poor man’s breathing stopped, and his blood stained the mud at the bottom of the trench red.

The German soldier who had been loading his weapon completed his action. He worked the bolt, readjusted his firing stance, braced the wooden stock against his shoulder, and pressed his cheek against it, aligning one of his eyes with the rifle’s sights.

He held his assault rifle and aimed it in the direction from which the Soviet soldier had just charged. Sure enough, his judgment was correct, because one after another, many Soviet soldiers charged out from there. These Soviets charged forward frantically, with gleaming bayonets fixed.

The slogan “Urrah!” echoed throughout the entire position. The German soldiers, however, just calmly and coolly pulled their triggers. He needed to conserve his ammunition to ensure that his side could always maintain suppressive fire on the enemy.

While the kneeling German soldier was pouring out the ammunition from his magazine, the German soldier with the G43 semi-automatic rifle had already emptied the rounds in his chamber. He quickly leaned against the wall and began to take out a clip from his chest pocket to press into his rifle.

“Why haven’t those idiots come over yet? What are they waiting for?” the kneeling grenadier asked his reloading comrade loudly as he fired. The soldier who was working the bolt of his G43 did not answer but raised his weapon again and took up a firing stance in the direction of the Soviet attack.

Rat-tat! Rat-tat! The MP-44 assault rifle, having undergone two improvements, now had a stable and perfect design. It was easy to mass-produce, and although its accuracy had declined slightly, its reliability had seen a quantum leap. This weapon was now the favorite of all soldiers, including the enemies who did their best to capture it.

Bullets swept over like rain. One after another, the Soviet soldiers fell in the trench. They were hit in the body, then let out one scream after another, and were then trampled by their comrades who followed behind, finally unable to make a single sound. These soldiers seemed to have already despaired for their future, to be charging so desperately in the face of such fierce fire.

“Damn it! I’m almost out of ammo again, cover me!” the grenadier with the assault rifle shouted to his comrade. He then continued to fire, emptying the last round in his magazine before starting the reloading process again. He had a row of magazine pouches on his chest, all filled with loaded magazines. He just needed to pull one out to quickly reload his weapon and continue to kill the enemy.

Just as the two of them were about to be closed in on by the charging Red Army, a German assault gun drove up over their heads. The tracks dropped mud not far from their helmets, and their world suddenly grew much darker. And outside the trench, German soldiers had swarmed up. They stood on one side of the trench, looking down and firing at the Soviet soldiers inside. A hail of bullets poured down, instantly cutting down the remaining dozen or so Soviet soldiers.

“Attack!” a second lieutenant who had jumped down from the trench shouted. More German soldiers followed him into the trench. After entering, they climbed out the other side. Many of the young men jumped directly to the opposite side. At their feet were several layers of Red Army corpses.

The German soldier who had been firing desperately just now walked over to the body of the Red Army soldier he had killed and began to simply search for some valuables. It wasn’t that he was greedy; it was just a common, small thing on the battlefield to find some memorable trophies from the enemy.

He opened the pocket of a Soviet soldier and found it empty. What surprised him even more was that the rifle this Soviet soldier was carrying had no bullets, and he was not wearing the usual ammunition belt on his chest.

This German soldier was a little confused. He walked over to the body of another Soviet soldier, pulled open his pocket, and found that apart from a dirty handkerchief, there was also nothing.

“My God! They’re out of ammunition! These Soviets are out of ammunition!” he finally shouted. And the German soldiers who were crossing the trench horizontally had clearly already confirmed with their own bodies what this German grenadier had just shouted. They had approached the Soviet trenches with their weapons, but had not met with the fierce return fire that should have been there.

The Soviets, who had been fiercely counter-attacking just a few hours ago, now crawled out of their foxholes or trenches, their faces covered in grime. Some of them, holding their Mosin-Nagant rifles with fixed bayonets, launched a final charge at the German soldiers. Of course, more of them raised their hands high, accepting their fate of being captured.

The core of the fortress of Sevastopol was now only 9 kilometers away from the Germans. Their cannons could already reach that high ground, but the Soviets had a strong gun battery there, with a thick armored turret and reinforced concrete protection. The weather had been bad these few days, and the air force could not be sortied, so the Germans had no good way to deal with that damn gun battery on the mountaintop.

“The recent artillery barrage has cut off the ammunition supply to some of the Soviet Red Army in the salient. Their defense line has collapsed, and we have advanced about 700 meters. But the big guns on the mountaintop are still firing at us, which is very uncomfortable for our attacking troops,” an officer reported to a general who was concentrating on watching the battle with his binoculars. “Our attacking troops were blocked while trying to outflank them. They lost 40 soldiers and were forced to retreat to their starting point.”

The general lowered his binoculars, then looked at his chief of staff and gave the order to continue the attack. “Since the enemy’s heavy artillery is defending the flank, then we will continue to attack here, until they move their big guns back to our side!”

“Yes, General!” The chief of staff walked to the walkie-talkie, picked up the handset, and said, “Get me the 2nd Regiment headquarters… The general’s orders are to continue the attack until the enemy’s artillery support is withdrawn!”

At this command, the four French railway guns on the German position once again let out their roar. These two cannons were both 320mm heavy guns, one of the few heavy support artillery pieces with a caliber over 300mm in the hands of the German army. In fact, these cannons had all been captured from the French army. They themselves were also the kind of one-time consumables that, once broken, could not be replaced.

But these behemoths had indeed become the most reliable companions of the German soldiers on the Crimean Peninsula. These super cannons, which the French soldiers had not had a chance to fire in the Western Front, were now having their second youth. Watching these terrifying ultimate weapons spew out sky-blotting smoke and flames, everyone was glad that these toys had not actually been fired at the German army on the Western Front.

It took a simple crane to unload the ammunition for these railway guns from the ammunition supply cars, and then it took the effort of many soldiers to load the huge shells into the breech. Most of the work was done by French volunteers. They had come to the front to serve for five years in exchange for a new identity card. They and their families would become citizens of the Empire and would no longer have to worry about being discriminated against. Of course, if they were killed in action, their families would also receive preferential treatment. This was the only reason they had come here.

After strenuously loading the shell, they left the ready cannon under the command of a German officer. With a command, the huge cannon once again spewed dazzling flames. A huge projectile of nearly 400 kilograms rushed towards the distant target. After precise calculations and arrangements, it flew for 20 kilometers and landed at the position the observation post needed it to.

With a deafening explosion, the entire target area was shaken. The dust flew up with the vibration, and a choking smell filled the air for a kilometer around. A deep crater, the size of two basketball courts, was left on the ground, emitting a faint heat in the cold air.

But unfortunately, this shelling still failed to shake the huge, heavily armored, and sturdily topped gun turret on the mountaintop. The Germans, after all, had not wasted their energy on the world-famous Gustav gun again, so they had encountered a bit more trouble on the outskirts of Sevastopol and Kerch than before.

Who would have thought that the Soviets would build two terrifying turtle shells here? After all, there were not many countries that would build a fortress that could not be conquered with such determination.

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