Chapter 957: Waiting for an Outcome

The assault rifle he’d scavenged from a German grenadier was left behind in Stalingrad, so this time he had to make do with a Soviet-made PPSh submachine gun.

Its accuracy was abysmal, but the monstrous 71-round drum magazine provided a torrent of fire, and its dense spray was brutally effective at close range. The one thing Wolf hated was that aiming the damn thing was practically pointless.

The better a marksman you were, the more you loathed that kind of uncontrolled, random chance. All those years of brutal training were, to put it bluntly, just to snatch your life back from the hands of fate. To then have to trust your life to the whims of a weapon was a cruel joke.

Still, having a weapon was a damn sight better than dueling with a dagger. Wolf gripped the PPSh in both hands, his body low as he weaved through the tall wild grass. He was closing the distance to the King Tiger wreck. The closer he got, the more advantageous it would be for the weapon in his hands.

Rein, hiding behind the tank’s turret, was anything but calm. He never would have thought someone else had survived. A quick glance was all it took—he knew it was Wolf. He hadn’t seen him clearly, but he just knew.

Was this Wolf immortal? He hadn’t died back then, and now even a direct artillery barrage couldn’t kill him? What kind of joke was this? Rein’s brow furrowed. He suddenly launched himself up from the King Tiger’s turret and sprayed an entire magazine in Wolf’s direction.

Then he decisively leaped off the tank, ejecting the empty magazine as he did and pulling a fresh one from the old tactical vest on his chest, slamming it home.

Of course, he had no way of knowing that the main reason Wolf had survived was that the high-explosive shell had detonated against the Stalin tank, and Wolf had happened to be on the other side. The hail of shrapnel hadn’t touched the lone wolf, though he’d been knocked unconscious by the blast. He had only just woken up while Rein was busy moving his wounded crewmen.

The King Tiger wreck can’t be the battlefield! That was the only thought in Rein’s mind. Alice was lying beside the tank, and Bruce and Andre were still trapped inside. If he couldn’t take out Wolf, all of them would be doomed. So Rein began to creep forward into the grass, trying to draw the fight further away.

The two were not that far apart to begin with, a straight line of perhaps only 900 meters across the open field. Now that they were both moving towards each other, it would only be a short while before these two mortal enemies would meet. Afraid of missing him, Rein, holding his assault rifle, risked exposing himself and began firing at the area where he suspected Wolf was.

The gunshots made Wolf stop. A bullet from Rein kicked up a tuft of wild grass not far from him. A smile played on Wolf’s lips; he knew Rein’s approximate location. So he didn’t fire blindly, but instead, followed Rein’s direction of advance and moved to meet him.

After all, Wolf had left his tank in a hurry. He only had his weapon and no extra drum magazines. In other words, he only had the one drum, with a little over 60 rounds left. Rein had far more ammunition; he had at least three magazines, over 90 rounds.

But Rein needed to keep firing to draw Wolf away from the target he didn’t want him near, and he quickly emptied his second magazine. He pulled a new one from another pocket, reloaded, and then stopped by the side of a small path between the fields.

This straight dirt path was relatively close to his position, a landmark he had spotted while reversing earlier. By holding this path, he could keep Wolf away from the area of the King Tiger wreck. For Rein, this was the most suitable place for a showdown.

A few seconds later, Wolf, moving at full speed, also reached the other side of this dirt path. He knew Rein must be waiting for him nearby; he could smell the dangerous aura. At a time like this, to expose oneself first and give the other a chance to fire was extremely unwise, so Wolf also cautiously slowed his steps.

Wolf regulated his breathing, then began to inch closer along the dirt path towards the King Tiger. He knew that the closer he got, the closer he would be to Rein, and the inaccuracy of his PPSh submachine gun compared to the MP-44 assault rifle would be compensated for.

He walked forward slowly, watching his feet. His dust-covered boots left a trail of footprints in the dirt. His steps were small, as if he were afraid of stepping on an ant.

Unfortunately for them, both men had an instinctive reaction to danger. Just as they had closed to a sufficient distance, they both realized the other was not far away. And so both of them dived to the ground and began to spray frantically at the unseen grass.

At such a close range, Rein’s weapon was at a disadvantage. In both rate of fire and recoil, the assault rifle could not compare to the submachine gun. Having lost the advantage of accuracy and range, the magazine capacity also became a fatal flaw. By the time Wolf had fired 40 rounds, Rein had to change his magazine.

In such a close-quarters engagement, the Soviet submachine gun, with its larger ammunition capacity and better sustained fire, was indeed a cut above the German assault rifle. Rein rolled twice, then suddenly felt as if his shoulder had been hit by a sledgehammer. He didn’t even need to look to know he had been shot. The hand that was pulling out a magazine trembled, and a brand-new magazine fell to the ground.

He ignored the magazine, or rather, he no longer had the energy to pick it up. Helplessly, he pulled out the last magazine from his pocket. After reloading, he engaged Wolf in a firefight.

Bullets flew between the two men. It was clear that Rein’s fundamentals were a little less solid than Wolf’s. If Rein had been willing to hold his ground near the tank, the effect might have been much better. But the change in Rein’s character had made him abandon that plan in the end.

The wound in his shoulder was excruciatingly painful and was already beginning to affect Rein’s technical movements. The bullets were dwindling, bit by bit. It seemed a hand-to-hand fight was inevitable. Rein, with his shoulder wound, was clearly at a significant disadvantage. In both strength and speed, he seemed to be slightly inferior to Wolf.

He had always been alone, facing all his problems by himself. Until one day, he found that he had some different companions by his side. These people were sometimes extremely fragile and needed his help and protection. But as these people became more and more reliable, Rein discovered a feeling he had never had when he was alone.

That feeling was called warmth. In the midst of the care of many people, he had found the sense of security that had long since disappeared. At the Wolf Knight Academy, he had to sleep with a dagger in his hand, but on the cruel battlefield of the Eastern Front, he could sleep soundly in his tank. He liked this feeling, and to fight to this very moment was mostly to protect this precious feeling.

Even if it meant mutual destruction, Rein felt he should protect the people behind him. So, after firing the last bullet from his assault rifle, he drew the Belgian-made Browning pistol from his waist. And at that moment, he saw Wolf, in the grass opposite him, also throw away his submachine gun and draw the revolver at his waist.

This was the first time the two of them had faced each other in so long, so both of them were stunned for a fraction of a second. Then neither of them held back and pulled the trigger at their target.

At such a close range, if either of them had missed their target, they could truly be classified as having an undeserved reputation. Rein’s first shot hit Wolf in the outer side of his left upper arm. Wolf’s bullet also passed through the arm below Rein’s already wounded shoulder.

Because they had been hit, both of their figures swayed slightly, and then their bullets went wide. Rein’s shot kicked up the wild grass beside Wolf, and Wolf’s shot struck the dirt at Rein’s feet. Both of them took two steps back, then pointed their guns at each other again.

“Rein! After so many years, I’ve finally found you again!” Wolf shouted at Rein through clenched teeth. “Today, one of us is going to die here.”

“Wolf, after so many years, your mouth is still so full of nonsense,” Rein said with a laugh. “Do you really think I’m just going to let you walk away?”

Crack! After speaking, Rein immediately pulled the trigger. Wolf, on the other side, seemed not to have let down his guard while talking, and he had also fired his bullet at almost the same time.

And so, this time, the two of them traded injuries again. Rein’s bullet hit Wolf in the stomach, and blood instantly stained Wolf’s uniform red. And Wolf’s bullet was not wasted either, leaving a hole in Rein’s left leg. In an instant, the blood was flowing freely.

Wolf, clutching his stomach with his wounded hand, took three steps back and then barely managed to steady himself. Rein, on the other hand, stumbled and fell to the ground, looking much more wretched than Wolf. But both of them seemed to have lost the strength to shoot at each other. Even a pistol bullet, hitting the body, did not feel as insignificant as one might imagine.

Rather than a contest, it was more like the two of them were now waiting, waiting for one to die first.

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