Chapter 945: Saint Rudolph

Two German fighter planes flew over Stalingrad. Ever since the German military began mass-producing the Ta-152, German fighter pilots had not faced a worthy opponent. From the start of the war, German air force equipment had been crushing its rivals, a testament to the relentless efforts of German aircraft designers.

In truth, although the German military had only produced three models of fighter planes—the ME-109, which had become a world-class fighter; the FW-190D, which the German air force was now slowly phasing out; and the pinnacle of piston-engine fighters, the Ta-152—these aircraft were constantly being improved upon in service, branching out into numerous internal upgrade models.

For example, the most advanced Ta-152 fighter had, in its recent production batches over the past six months, incorporated a great deal of engine production technology from Britain. A portion of the technical personnel from Rolls-Royce had helped the Germans improve their engines, giving this brand-new engine even greater power and more stable reliability.

As civilization progressed and the technological makeup of the world grew increasingly complex, the kind of superpowers that once completely surpassed other nations would become rarer and rarer. Often, the smartest and fastest way to improve was to courageously absorb the technology of other nations. Thus, the Germans, following Akado, had jumped out of the circle of national hatred and embarked on the broad road of absorbing the excellent genes of other nations.

It wasn’t just the Jews. Akado had also absorbed outstanding scientists from Poland, Czechoslovakia, and other regions. In this era, America was not yet the wellspring of science and technology. The old continent of Europe was teeming with talent, rivaling even the “chosen nation” of America.

Thus, the dominance of German piston-engine fighters continued. Their main performance was not the least bit inferior even to Britain’s Meteor jet fighter. This was why Akado had been so confident in steadily developing jet fighters, not competing with the exiled British government on Iceland for the unimportant crown of the “first operational jet fighter.”

On the battlefield, only the weaker side would excessively pursue so-called doomsday technologies and pin their hopes of victory on these flashy but impractical weapons. In fact, all doomsday technologies ultimately met a tragic end. Their extremely low reliability had already sealed the fate of these weapons.

“It’s finally over. This city, in fact, no longer exists, does it?” the lead fighter pilot said with a sigh, looking down at the city below, which had been completely reduced to ruins.

“Yeah, this city is pretty much in the process of being completely rebuilt. It may never exist again. After all, if I were the Führer, I certainly wouldn’t continue to call this city ‘Stalingrad,’ right?” the wingman pilot said with a laugh. The control stick in his hand was exceptionally sensitive. The fighter he was flying was a masterpiece of industrial civilization of this era. This gave him the courage to be invincible, and also gave him immense confidence.

This sky was ruled by the German Air Force. All planes whose wings were not painted with the Iron Cross would be shot down here. This was the pride of the German Air Force, the source of its confidence. It was precisely because of such a vast and excellent air force that the skies of the entire Third Reich were so beautiful.

The Allied bomber formations that had constantly appeared in another timeline would not appear over the Ruhr industrial area. The nightmare of tens of thousands of aerial bombs falling like rain would not awaken the German people. Germany’s terrifying war potential and industrial capacity could work at full speed, contributing their strength to the invincible army of the German Third Reich as it stormed cities and fortresses on the front lines.

In another timeline, Germany, before its defeat, had produced a total of 200,000 anti-aircraft guns of various models, yet had still not been able to prevent the tragedy of the Allied air strikes. The steel saved from just the anti-aircraft guns alone would allow the German army to arm even more armored units.

More fuel, more planes, more pilots, building a more perfect air superiority. The German Air Force was destined to go further and more steadily than its counterpart in another timeline, and was also destined to create more miracles.

On the ground, Küchler finally had time to take Rokossovsky for a walk, to show him the Stalingrad he had once sworn to defend to the death. Starting from the innermost Soviet defensive circle, the two men, in a car and protected by armored cars and cavalry, left the underground shelter of the Soviet command post.

The entire core defensive circle had long since become a pile of rubble. Under the repeated struggle of the two sides’ forces, this place had long since lost its original appearance as a city. It could be said that this was the most severely destroyed part of Stalingrad, or rather, a part of Stalingrad that had completely disappeared.

Further out was a large area of German garrisons. This place had been occupied by the Germans, and the civilians had been systematically concentrated and guarded. The order here was good, and the degree of destruction to the buildings was not so severe. About seventy percent of the houses had been destroyed, but with the ruins and the half-collapsed buildings, one could still find some traces of human civilization.

But Stalingrad had indeed been completely destroyed. Ninety percent of the city’s water supply system was paralyzed, the power supply had basically completely collapsed, the power plants had been blown up by the Germans, and the entire city was no different from a dead domain. But compared to the situation in the core area, where all the houses had completely collapsed, this place could already be considered a paradise.

Rokossovsky looked silently at the once-beautiful city. He walked through familiar streets, only to find that the scenery here was no longer familiar. There were no citizens lining the streets to welcome him. By his side were no longer those young but vibrant officers. And the countless soldiers who had followed him were now mostly gone. They were all lying quietly in some corner of this city, becoming a part of it.

“I destroyed this city, or rather, the two of us destroyed this city,” Küchler said to Rokossovsky, who was sitting beside him. “I imagine this was once a fine square, with sculptures and fountains. A pity that none of that is left now. There are only corpses here, the corpses of our Soviets and Germans.”

“Perhaps, but I think you can understand our thinking,” Rokossovsky said, looking at the bodies being carried by civilians in the distance, at the trucks and mule carts that were transporting the bodies. He answered slowly, “It is your right to invade us, but you cannot take away our right to fight back.”

He withdrew his gaze and then looked at Küchler. “If this were Berlin, I think you would also fight to the last moment. You would also rather die in battle here than to not do everything possible to prolong the fate of your motherland. Even for just one second, you fight, so the motherland still exists…”

“I understand,” Küchler nodded and then said in agreement, “That is why I admire you. If the Soviet Union had more people like you, then perhaps the war between us would not have broken out. We could still be good friends, like in 1927.”

The car continued towards the outskirts of Stalingrad. There, one could see the tent city where the civilians had been settled, and also the buildings that were being repaired. After all, this was just the beginning of the battle. Neither side had committed too much strength to fight for and destroy it, so many of the buildings here were left, and some were even very well preserved. Most of the buildings had become the residences of German officers, and some had become warehouses for storing goods.

The meticulous Germans had arranged everything here in a clear and orderly manner. Some of the doors had a hospital sign, and some of the buildings had a German national flag hanging on them, with the name of a certain corps’ command post written on it. The streets were lined with all sorts of cars, some from France, some were old-model Kübelwagens. Large groups of German soldiers leaned together, smoking or chatting. There were even local boys selling newspapers on the street corners.

“Heil Führer!” Seeing Küchler’s car, many of the approaching officers and soldiers stopped, stood at attention, and saluted. They raised their arms, their expressions pious and solemn. The Führer had led them to this point, the Führer had brought them victory, so the Führer should live forever, so Akado Rudolph should live forever!

“You… you’ve already repaired the train station?” By the time they reached the Stalingrad West Station, Rokossovsky was completely stunned by the scene before him. The train station, which he remembered as having been bombed into ruins, was now presented before him, completely intact.

The layout had been changed somewhat, and the rails were brand new. The stone slabs on the platform had clearly been re-laid, but this train station had indeed been restored to a usable state, and from its scale, it seemed to be even larger than before it was destroyed.

“We did not occupy Stalingrad to destroy it, but to make it our city,” Küchler said, pointing to the train parked in front of him, and the platform that was constantly being piled with goods. “Stalingrad was destroyed by war, and it will also be reborn because of war. We destroy here, and we also build here, because we have never considered ourselves occupiers. We have always considered ourselves the masters here.”

He spread his hands with a smile, gesturing at everything before them. “You see, we are bringing this city back to life. We are making this city a brand-new city.”

Rokossovsky said no more. He just stared at Küchler, waiting for him to continue his emotional speech. Küchler did not disappoint him and threw out a topic that was enough to make Rokossovsky despair. “Stalingrad will become history. This place will have a new name—Saint Rudolph!”

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