Chapter 911: Time to Leave

A loud boom echoed as a building, with only one wall remaining, finally collapsed in a tremor. Dust flew everywhere as the falling wall hit the ground, eventually settling with the blast wave, dissipating into the surrounding air.

A cannon was set up behind the ruins not far away. This Soviet 122mm howitzer had just fired two shells. A huge camouflage net was stretched over its head, intended to deceive German aircraft. The camouflage net was covered with kicked-up dust. From the sky, this place was just a ruin.

“Ammunition? Are we out?” a Soviet artilleryman asked, turning his head to look at a loader who was rummaging through a pile of empty ammunition boxes in the distance. They had been engaged in a fierce artillery duel with the German army for days. It was just that the once-powerful Soviet artillery was now gradually losing the upper hand.

“We’re out of shells. The truck that went to the divisional headquarters to get more hasn’t come back yet. I don’t know what happened,” the loader replied helplessly, tossing aside an empty ammunition box.

At the mention of the two soldiers who had left in the truck, an unnatural expression appeared on everyone’s faces. A few hours ago, the ammunition here had been running low, so the commander of this cannon had arranged for two soldiers to fetch more. They had not yet returned.

The entire city of Stalingrad had been turned into a pile of rubble, and in this ruin, there was no longer any so-called safe place—if there was, it was on the German-occupied side. So, to have disappeared for several hours in such a chaotic place meant that these two men were now likely in a bad situation.

The latest news was that German soldiers had begun to appear on a street a few hundred meters from here. So, for the past few days, they had not dared to venture in the direction of the Germans. As artillerymen, their losses were not great, of course, not counting the two soldiers who had not returned.

Compared to the Soviet infantry on the front line, the Soviet artillery here were already very lucky. At least they still had a chance to live, while those infantry could only struggle in a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood.

Just two blocks away, on a small square, the piled-up bodies of Soviet soldiers had almost completely obscured the original ground. This had originally been a place where the Soviets had concentrated the dead and wounded. After the German army had fought its way here, this place had become a battlefield where the soldiers of both sides fought for every inch.

And so, the mountain of corpses was left unattended. The soldiers in the original field hospital were all dead. Many of the rifles used by the Soviet troops were scattered on the ground, and some of the corpses were even still clutching the rifles they had used to commit suicide.

If there was a real apocalypse in the world, then this was it. If there was a real hell in the world, then this was it. Although the weather was cold, a strange stench could still be smelled here, so this small square had acquired another name: Stench Street.

“Urrah!” With a shout, several hundred more Soviet soldiers, braving the German hail of bullets, launched a charge at the other side. They held their rifles, shouted slogans, and stumbled over the corpses. The German troops on the other side calmly fired their bullets into the chests of these new recruits.

One after another, the Soviet soldiers fell on top of the corpses and were then trampled over by the soldiers who followed behind. In the end, this attack had also ended with a whimper, and more than half of the several hundred Soviet soldiers responsible for the attack were tragically left on this famous Stench Street. Their bodies would slowly rot with the temperature and eventually turn into a stench, polluting the noses of all the living here.

This was Stalingrad, a place the Soviet Union had to defend to the death. So countless Soviet soldiers had rushed here, one after another, to face the machine guns and cannons of the German army, to defend their motherland with their flesh and blood. A group of people would come, then die here, and more would fill their places, continuing to fight here, until they too died. Yes, this was Stalingrad.

Although the weather had already warmed up, Stalingrad was still exceptionally cold. The water and electricity supplies had basically all collapsed. All that was left here was fighting, endless fighting and killing, fighting to be able to continue to live humbly in the ruins.

The Soviet army had already poured a full 270,000 soldiers into Stalingrad. These soldiers had been sent in, one division at a time, and then thrown into the complex battlefield. In most cases, they would be completely consumed by the next day. Most of these forces did not need any logistical replenishment, not even food or ammunition. They just died on the battlefield, using their own deaths to force the German army to stop and wait for replacements.

If, before the start of the German-Soviet war, this city on the Volga was a city of hope, representing a new birth, then it was now a domain of death, symbolizing destruction. The souls of the hundreds of thousands of fallen soldiers from both sides wandered in this city, making it incomparably gloomy and cold, even on a night in April.

A truck suddenly stopped beside the Soviet artillery position. An officer and a soldier got out of the truck. They looked around and then broke the bad news. “We are the nearby infantry. We found a destroyed truck on the side of the road during our patrol just now.”

As the officer spoke, he handed some documents and military dog tags to the artillery officer. “You can take a look and see if they belong to the soldiers of your unit.”

As everyone had expected, the belongings of the deceased did indeed belong to the two men they had sent to get the shells. And so the commander of this cannon nodded, put away the belongings, and said, “They are my subordinates. It seems they have died in battle over there.”

“I don’t know if this is in line with the orders you have received, but if I were you, I would move this cannon back another 200 meters now. The nearest German forward position is only about 120 meters from here. Maybe with just one charge, they can get here,” the infantry officer said, lighting a cigarette and then squinting his eyes.

120 meters? This distance was indeed very unsafe. But as the commander of this cannon, he had indeed not received an order from his superiors to retreat. So for a moment, this Soviet artillery commander did not know what to do and could only remain silent.

At a time like this, not to receive an order to retreat was very common. The chaotic communication system had long since collapsed, and it was not the first or second time that a division headquarters or some other command post had been taken out by German special forces. If they waited for their superiors to give every order, then the Soviet army would have lost Stalingrad long ago.

“Understood. I will retreat now…” As he spoke, he looked at the truck the infantry officer had driven over.

“Forget it. Don’t even think about my truck… just push it yourselves,” the infantry officer said, throwing the cigarette butt in his hand to the ground. He and his guard got into the truck, and in a flash, the vehicle disappeared on the rubble-strewn road.

The remaining men began to pack up the 122mm cannon that had been set up. After all, this was their weapon of war, and also a talisman that kept them from having to go to the front lines. Everyone was extremely careful, afraid that something would happen to this cannon, because according to the custom of the Stalingrad street fighting, if the artillery was damaged, then the artillerymen would have to go to the front and serve as infantry.

Several kilometers away was the core of the Soviet Stalingrad defenders. Here were hidden field hospitals everywhere, as well as artillery positions camouflaged as ruins. Many of the soldiers who had just arrived in Stalingrad were receiving their rifles and ammunition here, and then they would head to the terrifying front line.

“I’m sorry, I have to leave here,” a military officer with a huge scar on his face said in a gruff voice to Rokossovsky in the dim basement. “Since G Army Group is no longer here, then I am no longer needed here either.”

“Of course you are needed here, Captain Wolf,” Rokossovsky said, staring unceremoniously at this tank ace who had once been personally received by Stalin. “You know that from the beginning of the war until now, not a single living person has left Stalingrad. I don’t want you to be the exception.”

“I have only one mission, and that is to eliminate that fellow named Rein. He is no longer here, I can feel it,” Wolf said with a sneer, ignoring Rokossovsky’s threatening tone and answering directly. “So I have come to you for the travel documents to leave this place. I will be leaving tonight.”

Rokossovsky slammed his fist on the table and roared in anger, “This is desertion! I urged your unit to go to the battlefield, but you always used that damn name Rein to搪塞 (stall/prevaricate) me. This is a betrayal of the revolution! This is disloyalty to the motherland! If you dare to leave, I will dare to have you shot!”

“Heh heh,” Wolf laughed twice, then looked at Rokossovsky. “You wouldn’t dare. Because if I were to be killed by you, then that would prove that you are disloyal to the great Comrade Stalin… because I am a graduate of the Wolf Knight Academy. Stalin knows that we will never betray him in our lives. Since I have not betrayed him, then it can only be you who has.”

“You…!” Rokossovsky wanted to drag this man, who spoke so coldly but did not help much, out and have him shot. But in the end, he gritted his teeth and gave up the idea. He stared at Wolf and asked, “Where are you going? I will give you a pass.”

“Kursk,” Wolf replied. “I will not take any weapons or equipment. I will just leave by boat tonight. Thank you for your understanding… After all, we are all serving the great Comrade Stalin.”

Rokossovsky picked up his pen and viciously wrote out a document approving Wolf’s departure from Stalingrad.

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