Chapter 856: Taking Prisoners

What kind of feeling is it when one person shouts “Surrender or die!” to a group of people? Eduard had, in fact, experienced it many times before. This was not the first time he had done something so crazy, and apparently, he had been very lucky and successful before.

This time, he was still very lucky. The goddess of fortune seemed to be looking after him. As he poked his head out and shouted “Surrender or die!” in the direction his armored car’s turret was pointing, a bullet happened to be heading straight for his head. It probably missed his cap by only a few millimeters, striking the hatch behind him with a gust of wind.

With a clang, the bullet ricocheted off the hatch. Eduard seemed completely unfazed by the bullet that had almost taken his life, just coldly staring at the Soviet soldiers who were also staring at him.

Everyone just stared at each other, as if they had forgotten that this was a battlefield where they were supposed to be killing each other. Time passed, bit by bit, but no one tried to break the stalemate. If they could, these desperate Soviet soldiers would have preferred for time to just stand still. Unfortunately, this was a battlefield, a place dominated by blood.

Suddenly, four German Stuka II dive bombers, their wings laden with bombs, flew over his armored car with the huge roar of their engines. At this moment, Eduard was like a giant, looking down on the enemies who had submitted to him.

There were still Soviet soldiers on the bridge trying to cross the river, and these Stuka II attack planes seemed to have no intention of letting a single target go. One plane aimed its nose at the pontoon bridge and began its “ground-clearing” journey along its length. The two 20mm cannons on its wings fired frantically at a fixed distance. Tracer rounds plunged into the river by the side of the pontoon bridge, kicking up a dense row of water spouts.

Clearly, the German planes had no intention of wasting their limited ammunition in the water. As the plane flew past, it adjusted its trajectory, and soon the cannon shells swept from the river onto the pontoon bridge. And so, a truly bloody scene began to unfold.

The 20mm cannon shells struck the pontoon bridge, sending countless broken wood chips flying from the wooden deck. The wood chips flew everywhere, taking out the surrounding Soviet soldiers. Some shells struck the steel fixtures holding the pontoon bridge together, making a crisp clanging sound and kicking up a dazzling shower of sparks. And this scene began to move rapidly forward from one end of the pontoon bridge to the other.

Bullets flew everywhere, and death was terrible everywhere. The pontoon bridge was piled high with the bodies of Soviet soldiers. Some Soviet soldiers who did not want to die on the bridge jumped into the still-freezing river, and were instantly dragged under by the weight of their clothes and ammunition.

Most of the Soviet soldiers could not swim. Their only thought when they jumped into the river was to avoid being turned into sieves by the bullets strafing from the German planes. But they then sank to the dark bottom of the river, carried downstream by the current. Before the screams and cries for help had even passed, the second Stuka II attack plane followed, diving down and continuing the scene on the pontoon bridge.

This was a massacre, a bloody slaughter carried out with the most effective weapons against a group of people who were almost unarmed. As the third German attack plane began to strafe the bridge deck, the wails and pleas for mercy of the people had become very faint. Apart from the corpses, all that was left on the entire bridge was the trickling flow of blood.

As the fourth plane dropped the huge bomb under its fuselage, it landed squarely on the bridge deck and then exploded with a roar, sending countless bodies and a full dozen sections of the pontoon bridge flying, tearing the river water and the bridge to shreds dozens of meters in the air. The Soviets’ retreat route had been completely cut off.

The broken pontoon bridge was immediately pulled askew by the just-thawed river water. The few wounded Soviet soldiers on it screamed in panic at the sight before them. The fallen wooden planks were scattered in the river, like small boats, bobbing up and down on the undulating surface.

The German attack planes that had attacked the pontoon bridge did not leave immediately. It didn’t take so many attack planes to destroy one pontoon bridge. These German planes, having finished strafing the bridge, made a nimble circle in the sky and then turned their noses towards the Soviet troops on the riverbank.

Without a shred of pity, without a single moment of hesitation. These planes could be said to be the most efficient killing machines, especially when dealing with a crowded group of people. Their attack efficiency could be described as astonishing. As the bombs slung under their wings were dropped one after another, they immediately sent the gathered Soviet soldiers flying high into the sky.

Severed limbs and torsos were scattered everywhere. Some soldiers were even wounded by the fingers of their own comrades. The Soviet soldiers, who had just been fantasizing about escaping to safety, were now in despair. They were not battle-hardened veterans; they were just new recruits who had just been drafted together to fight for their country.

They had been gathered together by the conscription officers, had shouted a few slogans, and had then been assigned to the new recruit assembly point. After only a week of training, they had been sent to the front line. It was only at the front that they had seen the weapons they were to use, which were the Mosin-Nagant rifles that everyone was now carrying on their backs.

Then these soldiers had been ordered to hold their ground and to stop the German advance. But the Soviet veterans in front of them had all been annihilated by the Germans one by one. How long could these new recruits stop the German army? Before the nervous men had even seen their enemies, a new order had arrived—all were to retreat to the east bank of the Don and participate in the defense of a new line.

And so they had begun a muddled retreat, not knowing why they were fighting, not knowing why they were retreating, not knowing where they were, not knowing when the enemy would arrive, and even less, not knowing how cruel the enemy was.

Now they knew. Even a veteran who had been through countless battles would feel the same despair in their heart when faced with such a terrifying German enemy. What kind of faith did one need to face this kind of battle with composure?

So, in that instant, someone remembered that there was still a chance to live in front of them. This chance was right before their eyes, in the German sergeant on the turret of the armored car, who was watching them coldly. The words he had shouted just now were still ringing in their ears, like a sweet and celestial sound: “Surrender, or die.”

Yes! Surrender or die! Surrender, and there would be no need for that hypothetical word, right? A Soviet soldier facing the German armored car dropped the weapon in his hand. He just dropped that Mosin-Nagant rifle into the mud at his feet. With a clatter, it startled the surrounding Soviet soldiers who were still in a daze.

“We surrender! We surrender!” As if the rifles in their hands were burning, scorching their palms, they dropped their weapons. The sound of surrender rose and fell, as fluent and practiced as the “Urrah!” they had shouted when charging. The heroes who were willing to fight for their country to the last moment, and the people who were willing to defect to the enemy and harm their own nation, were both a minority. Most people just lived in a muddle, even if it was a humble and humiliating life, they still lived on helplessly.

On the road, a German motorcycle drove into the battlefield. The two men who had been waiting for Sergeant Eduard’s armored car, and had gotten nothing for their trouble, had finally decided to come and see for themselves. From a distance, they saw more clearly. Hundreds of Soviet soldiers were dropping their weapons and, by the constantly exploding riverbank, were raising their hands to a German armored car.

“The flag! Unfurl the flag! Let the air force see!” Eduard ordered his men at his feet. “Quickly! I still want to capture more prisoners!” He jumped out of his armored car and smiled, watching as more and more Soviet soldiers raised their arms, as dense as the branches of a forest.

A huge German national flag unfurled in the wind. The Soviets scrambled to help the German enemy spread out the swastika flag. Countless Soviet prisoners wanted to get under the German flag. More people couldn’t squeeze in and had to gather around it. The sad thing was that on Soviet soil, the Soviet flag could no longer protect its own people. On the contrary, those who wanted to live were trying their best to get close to the enemy’s flag.

The German planes did indeed stop their attack. Four German attack planes, like grim reapers, circled over the heads of the crowd. The pontoon bridge had been destroyed, and the river surface had returned to its tranquility. The Soviet resistance had stopped. The sound of gunfire gradually faded away. The whole scene was much quieter than when the Soviets had been crossing the river.

Soon, the figures of German tanks appeared on the road, followed by a squad of grenadiers who had come to consolidate the position. They looked at the thousands of prisoners and walked over to shake hands and congratulate the smoking Sergeant Eduard. Compared to the battles they had experienced before, this operation to advance on the Don had seemed much simpler.

The German army began to set up a temporary defensive position along the Don. The Soviet army on the other side seemed to have no intention of shelling and causing trouble. After all, not everyone had the courage to open fire under the cover of dozens of German Stuka II attack planes.

In the headquarters of G Army Group, a staff officer took a report from a radio operator by the radio and then walked to Guderian’s side. He handed the report to his superior and reported, “General! News just came from the front. The forward reconnaissance units of the 1st Panzer Division of the 1st Panzer Corps have already reached the west bank of the Don!”

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