Chapter 1 The battlefield is like a hell
Germany in 1945 resembled an aging elder, whose vitality had waned, unable to withstand the tide of the Allied forces despite the valiant efforts of its soldiers. Similarly, as Lynn, who has traversed time and found himself in the body of a lowly SS soldier, seeks to find his place between survival and ambition, how should he navigate this precarious existence
The sound of cannon fire had not yet faded when a burst of flames erupted in the open ground ahead, indicating that the shell had slightly deviated from its target. Before anyone could express their feelings, the thunderous sounds of cannon fire came continuously from the rear flank of the position, and the shells that pierced the air instantly struck the ranks of the attackers. Illuminated by the flare, two large shadows immediately ignited into fireballs, and after moving forward a short distance due to inertia, they lay still like dead pigs.
Under the pressure of the slogan that drives like a flock of ducks, the soldiers in steel helmets hurriedly took their positions on the earthen steps of the trench walls. To protect the soldiers, the trenches here are dug very deep, and both sides are reinforced with wooden planks. Even a person standing upright cannot reach the edge; one must stand on the piled earth steps or empty boxes to be able to peek out.
A familiar hoarse voice came from not far away. In this world where people die every moment, people's tempers are particularly explosive, especially that of the "Butcher." This nickname was conceived by Lynn for his "superior" in this world. That guy has a rugged square face, sparse stubble, broad shoulders, and rounded arms, resembling the tenacious midfielder Gattuso of AC Milan in both appearance and demeanor. When he takes off his military uniform and picks up a butcher's knife, no one would doubt his skill in chopping meat and cutting bones.
Clap! Clap! Caw caw caw ... ...
Lynn did not want to die in a strange place whose name she did not even know
For those in the trenches, there are no choices to be made. One can either pray or resign oneself to fate. It is not uncommon for shells to land directly in the trench shelters, resulting in the loss of entire squads or platoons, while some fortunate veterans can emerge unscathed even after experiencing a hundred bombardments
Boom! Boom! Boom...
The legs belong to others, yet it is oneself who feels the pain. Lynn quickly learned to behave; he did whatever those around him did. Conceal, take position, shoot, and cease fire—he endured over forty hours in this manner. He ate when there was food, drank when there was drink, and aside from his head often feeling dazed and his ears frequently ringing, his body often shaking uncomfortably, everything else was manageable. After all, he was not injured, his limbs were still intact, and compared to those who were even more unfortunate, he was indeed much luckier. He ate when there was food, drank when there was drink, and aside from his head often feeling dazed and his ears frequently ringing, his body often shaking uncomfortably, everything else was manageable. After all, he was not injured, his limbs were still intact, and compared to those who were even more unfortunate, he was indeed much luckier.
In four battles, the position remained steadfast, yet batches of fallen and severely injured soldiers were carried away, and even around Lynn, many unfamiliar faces were brought in. Although no one spoke, an intangible heaviness lingered in the heart, fearing that the next to fall would be oneself
Before the menacing "butcher" approached, Lynn hurriedly stood on the step that had already accumulated a thin layer of ice. On the first noon after waking up, he took a good look at his new form: his physique was fairly solid, his height was similar to those around him, estimated to be about 1.8 meters. As for his appearance... if the broken mirror had not been enchanted, then he had indeed unfortunately transformed into a "species"—becoming a European with a high nose bridge and deep-set eyes, scruffy facial hair, tousled hair, and a somewhat pale and disheveled demeanor. The only thing that brought him some comfort was that his hair, caked with mud, was of a black texture, and with a long oval face, he could be considered a somewhat haggard foreign handsome man reminiscent of 30-year-old Raúl González.
Laden! Laden! (German: to load)
Boom
As the shouting began, a sharp, piercing whistle sliced through the air. At times, it resembled the sound of a small vessel's horn on the river, yet it added not a single hue to life; at other times, it was akin to the whistle of mischievous children on a quiet night, but it was not merely a prank that would end there; at times, even with fingers tightly plugged in the ears, it could still penetrate everything, violently shaking the brain, striking the heart, and disturbing the spleen, lungs, and kidneys
After a long time, the sounds of landslides and tsunamis finally diminished from dense to sparse. A few minutes later, the last muffled roar marked the end of this powerful symphony. The night sky fell silent, and the instantaneous changes allowed people to experience a jarring sensation from their eardrums to their hearts, which even had a beneficial emetic effect on those with underdeveloped cerebellums. The living endured the torment, yet there was not a single cheer; the injured groaned in pain, receiving only empty compassion. As for those who had died, there was no longer any distinction between honor and shame, persistence and wavering, optimism and despair; everything had come to an end
Lynn prayed repeatedly in his heart, not because he had changed his faith. The fierce assault of the Soviet army during the previous offensive left a profound impression on him. If their artillery could not eliminate those Soviet tanks in time, once they approached, they would inflict heavy casualties on the defending soldiers with tank cannons and machine guns. The soldiers stationed in the front trenches had no choice but to use rocket launchers, grenades, explosives, and Molotov cocktails to fend off the enemy. Lynn witnessed firsthand that the self-damage rate of such anti-tank measures reached a life-and-death level, and the grandeur of the scene brought an unprecedented shock to his soul. Once they approached, they would inflict heavy casualties on the defending soldiers with tank cannons and machine guns. The soldiers stationed in the front trenches had no choice but to use rocket launchers, grenades, explosives, and Molotov cocktails to fend off the enemy. Lynn witnessed firsthand that the self-damage rate of such anti-tank measures reached a life-and-death level, and the grandeur of the scene brought an unprecedented shock to his soul.
Nortel ... ... Nortel ... ... Bohai Ke - Zum - Kamp! (German: Attention, attention, prepare for battle)
In this winding trench, there are many individuals like Lynn, wearing large-eared steel helmets, dressed in "pea camouflage" combat uniforms, and donning heavy leather boots, with weapons either cradled in their arms or set aside. Some are calmly resting with their eyes closed, others are murmuring to themselves, while some appear ashen-faced, with vacant stares, sitting, lying on their sides, or huddled in corners, bewildered and at a loss. The storm of artillery fire is fierce and dense, with sharp whistling sounds intermingling with loud explosions, rising and falling in a corresponding rhythm. If this were a performance of a war symphony, even if tickets were given away for free, it is unlikely anyone would willingly enter to listen: the timing is unpredictable, it comes and goes without warning, the area is unrestricted, there are no announcements, and it imposes tremendous psychological and physiological side effects on the audience
The haunting cries of death typically resounded after the enemy's bombardment concluded, swiftly spreading through the trenches. The previously statue-like steel helmets with large ear flaps began to move; some rushed along the communication trenches to the front lines, while others rose to take their combat positions. The clashing and scraping of various hard objects such as firearms, helmets, and canteens converged in the trenches, creating a unique sound, as the tense atmosphere rapidly enveloped the surroundings
This sounds foolish and silly, yet it is the harsh reality facing Lynn. Just forty-one hours ago, he was a promising young man who had never even killed a chicken. Having just graduated from university, he was busy every day, dreaming of the day he could walk into a flower petal-strewn church with his bride, receiving the blessings of family and friends, and living a happy and fulfilling ordinary life. Such life aspirations are not extravagant, but after an accidental electric shock and subsequent coma, he awoke to find himself plunged into a nightmare, or rather, a nightmarish reality.
The successive explosions began to violently pound the ground, with powerful shockwaves creating a frenzied air current. The scythe of death sent its soul into the rapidly spinning shrapnel, sweeping everything away with an elusive trajectory. The earth shook violently, as if the entire world was being distorted. The unfortunate Lynn curled up at the bottom of the cold, muddy trench, hands clasped over his head and knees pressed against his chest, lying half on his side. His eyelids and lips were tightly shut, pretending to be a stone, a chunk of frozen earth, or a corpse—anything to escape the damned shelling.
Though the unfortunate Lin En was very reluctant, he, fearing the excruciating pain from the kick of a heavy boot, struggled to lift himself up. He picked up the rifle, which was covered in mud, from the ground and waited with a blank expression. When the irritable officer waved his fist and shouted "Fur-yer," he, along with those beside him, crouched at the edge of the trench and fired forward with the weapons in their hands
Under the night sky, flares illuminate with a bright white or pale yellow light, dyeing the earth with strange hues. Scattered or clustered bullets, dark red with an orange tint, fly at high speed from the front trenches into the distance. In front of this hill lies a relatively open plain, beyond which flows a stream more than two meters wide. Originally, there were small woods and bushes on the opposite bank, but after continuous bombardment, only a few stumps remain, and the pockmarked muddy ground resembles a rural pigsty from years past, trampled into a state of utter ruin by pig hooves. As the enemy's attack resurges, countless shadows sway across the muddy, pitted snow, and one can also see some larger shapes, with far greater lethality and deterrent power—tanks!
Note: The early Mauser 98b is 15 centimeters longer and 0.11 kilograms heavier than the Mauser 98k, and there are also some differences in details. This rifle was also widely used by the German army during World War II
The brutal combat left Lynn little time for "self-appreciation." The trench he occupied was situated on a hill running east to west, approximately five to six kilometers to the northeast stood an ancient fortress, likely a crucial support point along the entire defensive line, which had endured nearly perverse artillery fire from the enemy over the past two days. To the west lay vast expanses of forest, where there were also guarding troops, similarly deployed with defensive depth, and the charred tree stumps remained a natural barrier against enemy tanks and armored vehicles. Thus, this seemingly elevated hill became a focal area for the enemy's ground forces to launch their assaults. Since Lynn became consciously aware, there had already been four battles, the ferocity of which far exceeded the scenes of war depicted in the films of the renowned director Spielberg decades later.
However, the torment of enduring shelling makes every minute feel so long that people cannot help but question: Has time frozen at this moment?
Get rid of them all
Gunshots rang out intermittently. After artillery fire, an attack is inevitable; this simple truth was grasped even by Lynn, who was unable to communicate with those around him. It is better not to mention the issue of language, as thinking about it only fills Lynn with grievances. From elementary school to university, like the vast majority of school-age children, he buried himself in hard study, exerting tremendous effort to pass the CET-4 and CET-6 exams. However, when he finally had the opportunity to travel abroad for free through a time-space journey, he discovered that English was not universally spoken in this world. The "big-eared steel helmet" comrades standing in the same trench as him always spoke with a rolled tongue. Although he knew they were Germans speaking German, he could not understand a word, and he could not utter a single sentence. At the beginning, Lynn often faced the consequences of this.
The artillery behind the defensive position opened fire. Even during the day, Lynn had only seen the camouflage covering the gun position from a distance. Due to the language barrier, he did not dare to approach and could only speculate whether it was a standard 75mm anti-tank gun or the renowned "88mm gun." As a young man who had been passionate about military affairs, especially World War II, since high school, Lynn had always believed that his military knowledge was quite extensive. However, in the past forty hours, this notion was completely overturned. He was surprised and disheartened to discover that he was not familiar with these weapons, and he even felt that the Mauser rifle in his hands resembled the 98b rather than the 98k—there is ultimately a qualitative difference between images and reality. The theoretical tutorials and instructions on paper were utterly insufficient for the smooth operation of a traditional manual rifle: loading was far from simply inserting bullets into the magazine, the action of resetting the bolt was more skillful than he had imagined, and while the three-point alignment for aiming seemed manageable even for a child, a slight tremor when pulling the trigger could send the bullet off course. As for the real sensation of the stock pushing against the shoulder during shooting, Lynn had experienced it when using a semi-automatic rifle during military training, and the recoil of the 7.92mm caliber rifle was significantly greater, making it even harder to control.
Bocchus, Vochi - Tecte... (German: Bombardment, Concealment)