Chapter 813: Fishing in Troubled Waters

“No problem! Just as long as you don’t let me sit idle,” Markus’s voice echoed in the headset. “I really want to know why it’s always us doing these goddamn missions.”

“I’m not too sure either. Maybe it’s like General Guderian said, because we’re the best,” the crewman from tank No. 114 said with a laugh.

“Because we’ve lived longer than the others, so stop complaining, will you? Mr. Markus,” Rein said into his throat mic, a hint of resignation in his voice.

His words silenced Markus for a moment, but it wasn’t long before a nerve-wracking message came from the lead tank, No. 114: “Commander! I think you should come and see this! We might have a problem…”

“Halt and take a rest! Maintain alert!” After giving the order, Rein took off his headset, grabbed his weapon, jumped out of the tank, and ran towards tank No. 114 a few hundred meters ahead.

When he reached it, he saw what the problem was. A few kilometers ahead on the road, the faint glow of many fires could be seen. There couldn’t be any friendly forces in a place like this. The only people who could be on the road were retreating or counter-attacking Soviets.

“We can’t judge from this distance. I’ll go for a closer look,” Rein said, hopping onto tank 114. He used its radio to give his orders. “All tanks, assemble, get off the road, and set up a defensive position in the low ground. We’ll talk after I get back.”

He slung his assault rifle and cautiously approached his objective along the road. Crossing open country at a time like this was not a wise choice; you never knew where a deadly landmine might be buried. Even though he was walking on the edge of the road, he was still extremely careful, trying his best not to touch any suspicious or dangerous-looking places.

When he reached out and slowly pushed aside the withered branches of a bush, a Soviet army camp was right before his eyes. By the firelight, he saw the Soviets huddled around a bonfire, holding their weapons for warmth. Further in the distance, many tents had already been set up. It seemed this unit had at least 300 men. They had also just arrived here and had made camp.

These soldiers were exhausted. Rein saw many of them yawning frequently. It looked like they had also traveled a long way to get here. Because of their fatigue, they had finally stopped here, planning to rest for a while before continuing towards their objective.

They’re also heading for the railway bridge! This road has only one destination. Rein narrowed his eyes, calculating in his mind. The Soviets must have learned that the Germans have taken the bridge, so they’ve mobilized troops to launch a pincer attack on the German defenders.

Since their destination was the same, and a fight was inevitable, Rein didn’t mind having a premature encounter. He gently released the branches he was holding, then moved his body back, out of the danger zone.

When he returned to his starting position, he found his company in a field by the side of the road. Several of the tank commanders were gathered together, waiting for the news he would bring back.

“About 300 infantry. They lack heavy weapons. Their destination should be the same as ours, but they’ve probably been ordered to retake that bridge,” Rein reported concisely as soon as he returned. He then pointed to a partial map and said to his comrades, “Two options. One is a frontal breakthrough. We finish off these Soviets and then continue our advance. The disadvantage is that time is against us. It’s too dark, and the effect of a night battle will definitely not be good.”

He paused, then continued, “The second option is simpler. We just drive our tanks past them on the road, pretending to be their own tanks, and drive right through.”

“The second option looks feasible to me. Even if they discover us, they won’t send people to chase us. We won’t waste any time. We’ll just pass them and directly support the bridgehead position,” Markus said, nodding in agreement with Rein’s second plan.

Rein glanced at Markus, then nodded in agreement, signaling everyone to start their tanks. He then turned and walked towards his own Tiger, No. 13. Markus suddenly turned his head and asked, looking at Rein, “You didn’t kill a few Soviets?”

Hearing this question, Rein was taken aback for a moment. He then turned around, looked at Markus, and explained, “I held back because I was afraid of alerting the enemy, not for any other reason.”

Markus chuckled, then said nothing and walked towards his own tank, No. 112. Rein didn’t dwell on it either. He climbed onto his tank, and the five remaining tanks of the 1st Company started up again, continuing their mad dash along the road.

Five tanks speeding down a road was clearly not something that could be hidden from anyone, not to mention that the 300-man Soviet camp was set up just a few meters from the road. Some of the Soviet soldiers, shouldering their rifles, saw the vehicles approaching in the distance and watched with curiosity as they drew closer.

After all, this was the Soviet army’s rear area. To dare to light a fire for warmth here, or to dare to drive openly on the road, it certainly couldn’t be an enemy force. This thought made the Soviet soldiers on guard not think twice. They just waited for these “friendly” tanks to get closer, and then they would go up and say hello.

As for the German special forces who had been running rampant all day, those abominable shadows who had been swindling and disrupting the Soviet army, the Soviets hadn’t yet figured out if their own people were in chaos or if someone was deliberately spreading confusion.

The seconds ticked by. Rein, leaning against the tank’s hatch, his hand in the turret resting on his assault rifle, watched the approaching Soviet camp. The turret was already pointed to the side of the tank, a machine gun round chambered. Everyone was waiting with bated breath, waiting for the violent explosion that would follow the silence.

“That doesn’t look like our tank!” a Soviet soldier said with a frown, looking at the approaching German tanks in the firelight. He reminded his comrade softly, then squinted his eyes to carefully identify the suspicious vehicles that were rapidly approaching.

The distance between the two sides was getting closer and closer. Many Soviet soldiers ran out of their tents to see the excitement. Some stood by the fire, looking into the distance with a blank expression. Many wanted to see the Soviet tanks. After all, to see their own armored forces on the road was a very morale-boosting thing. They walked to the side of the road, forming a dense line, and watched the tanks approach, chattering amongst themselves.

“A bunch of rookies! They’ve been fighting for a year and still don’t know how to live longer!” Markus muttered in the headset. Rein then saw the lead Soviet sentry shouting as he slung the Mosin-Nagant rifle from his back.

“Germans! It’s the German tanks!” the soldier shouted as he unslung his rifle, reminding his comrades. His shout immediately sent the Soviet soldiers who had been preparing to watch the excitement into a panic. Many wanted to get away from the side of the road, but at this moment, the lead German tank, No. 114, had already rushed past the Soviet sentry. The second tank, with the number “112” painted on its turret, also sped past.

Rat-tat! Rat-tat! Without making the Soviets wait long, the German coaxial machine guns roared to life. The tracer rounds, in the darkness of the night, were bright and dazzling. A Soviet soldier turned to run but was hit from behind by a bullet. He let out a miserable scream and fell to the ground.

Rein drew his assault rifle from its hatch and, using the firelight, aimed at the teeming masses of Soviet soldiers. He gently squeezed the trigger, and the bullets flew accurately to their targets, leaving fist-sized holes in them. The five tanks had no intention of stopping. They just drove along the road, and in doing so, they had turned a complex Soviet camp into a pile of rubble. The tank following behind, No. 111, even fired two high-explosive shells, making things even worse for the Soviet camp.

It was like shooting at moving targets. With two bullets per burst, Rein was accurately eliminating the Soviet soldiers, who had even forgotten to fight back. In Rein’s eyes, these temporarily assembled Soviet peasants, with no combat experience, were no different from cannon fodder. Apart from wasting the enemy’s bullets, they were of no use on the battlefield.

Efficient and rhythmic slaughter. This was what Rein was doing now. He emptied the magazine in his rifle, then deftly removed it, pulled out another one that was fully loaded, and, with a fluid motion, installed it, worked the action, and then pulled the trigger to continue firing.

The sound of his gun was like a bright and lively piece of music, beautiful and pleasant to the ear. It was as if it were the melody of death, reaping the lives of the enemy in the midst of beauty. With that one after another of short “rat-tats,” the Soviet soldiers opposite fell to the ground, one after another.

Crack! After about a dozen seconds of one-sided slaughter, the Soviet Red Army finally fired their first return shot. This bullet struck the front of the tank’s turret. Apart from leaving a mark on the already tattered paint, it did nothing.

Rein didn’t even dodge. He just tried to keep his body straight in the swaying tank, holding his weapon and killing as many soldiers as possible. The Soviets had collapsed. Many were fleeing headlong away from the road, while some began to pick up their weapons and return fire—but these were few and far between and really had no concrete effect.

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