Chapter 3: The Scorching Flames of War

This is a jest from Lynn's early days playing World of Tanks. He never anticipated that one day he would face such formidable steel war machines on a real battlefield. To make matters worse, he was neither seated in a "Tiger" nor did he have a "Leopard" to command; even a Panzer IV had become a luxury. On this dreadful battlefield, he was merely an infantryman, armed with a Mauser rifle, carrying dozens of 7.92 mm pointed bullets, and a bayonet sheathed in his belt, nothing more.

Lynn, who was less than 5 meters away, experienced the entire process as if he were sitting in a cinema watching a 3D blockbuster, clear and vivid. A few seconds later, a fireball erupted from the rear of the Soviet tank that was about to leave his line of sight. Compared to the explosions that occur upon the impact of shells, this fireball was much more subdued. Lynn, who was keen on studying historical battles and enjoyed watching World War II films, knew that attacking the rear engine cooling vent of a tank with a Molotov cocktail was a relatively effective infantry anti-tank tactic, which could potentially cause the tank to stall if executed successfully. However, the likelihood of a Soviet tank powered by a diesel engine experiencing a fire explosion was generally low.

As he shifted his gaze forward, the scene left Lynn astonished: the first trench was completely covered with corpses. It is worth noting that before the Soviet tanks charged into the position, there were only craters of various sizes and mud in that area. In the firelight, he could vaguely discern that most of these bodies were wearing Soviet steel helmets and dressed in brown military uniforms or white cloaks, likely having fallen victim to machine-gun fire and artillery. As for the brutal close-quarters combat, most of the warriors had already perished in that now silent first trench. In the firelight, he could vaguely discern that most of these bodies were wearing Soviet steel helmets and dressed in brown military uniforms or white cloaks, likely having fallen victim to machine-gun fire and artillery. As for the brutal close-quarters combat, most of the warriors had already perished in that now silent first trench

Two hundred meters or three hundred meters, Lynn could not discern, and the rifle's sight remained set at the 500-meter mark. He rummaged through his pocket for the bullets saved from several battles, loaded them into the magazine, pulled the trigger, cycled the bolt, reset, pulled the trigger again, and continued this repetitive action... channeling all his fears, regrets, and confusion into each bullet, aiming forward...

After attacking a T-34, the "Butcher" had no intention of stopping. He quickly ran a short distance north along the trench, picking up a bundled object with one hand from beside a corpse wearing a large ear-flapped steel helmet, then lay down at the edge of the trench to look outside. Moments later, like a black cat poised to catch a mouse, he crawled out with extremely swift and agile movements

Lynn quickly turned to the side, but could no longer see the figure of the "Butcher". Although he had received five or six kicks from this guy, he was ultimately a comrade in the same trench; when the lips are gone, the teeth feel cold. At this moment, he felt a sense of unease in his heart.

An explosion at an extremely close distance sounds entirely different from that at a slightly farther range. The heat wave arrives in an instant, and the tiny debris causes a sharp sting on exposed skin. In the blink of an eye, a T-34 tank approximately 20 meters to the right front of Lynn has turned into a fireball, the blazing flames illuminating a large area and allowing him to clearly see the true details of a Soviet tank: the proudly extended cannon, the turret seamlessly integrated with the *illustration*, the broad and tall chassis, as well as the fenders, tracks, and steel wheels

Pound Lang ... ...

The sounds of gunfire and explosions outside the trench remained intensely fierce, with flickering lights that could not be discerned whether they were from grenades, shells, or incendiary bombs. After a full two minutes, a thunderous roar suddenly erupted from the front of the trench, momentarily causing Lin En's eardrums to ache. In an instant, someone rolled into the trench using both hands and feet; upon seeing who it was, Lin En realized it could only be the "Butcher".

A murder weapon, the roughness of its craftsmanship is not important; what matters is that it is sufficiently solid. The quality of its maneuverability is irrelevant, as long as it runs smoothly, turns quickly, and travels far, that’s enough

Amidst the deafening roar, the first Soviet tank rolled over the trench from less than 10 meters away. Lynn leaned weakly against the side of the trench, turning his head to look at those who were similarly huddled at the bottom. Not far away, a guy was clutching his head tightly with both hands, looking even more cowardly than himself. There were also some who remained motionless, uncertain whether they had fallen or, like him, had chosen to give up.

Just as Lynn was filled with confusion, the "Butcher" sprang up with swift movements, brushed off the dirt, turned around, and then glared fiercely at the subordinates who were either squatting or sitting at the bottom of the trench. He angrily waved his right hand and shouted:

When the enemy in front was eliminated, Lynn felt not a trace of joy in his heart. He only saw another T-34 charging forward, propelled by its rapidly rotating tracks. The overwhelming momentum instilled fear in those standing on the opposite side of the battlefield. As the machine gun on the front of the vehicle spat out orange flames, the unfortunate soul who did not wish to perish in that moment instinctively ducked back into the trench, having already chosen to give up: being captured is better than this; the battlefield is truly not a place where ordinary people can endure.

In front of the tank, an ordinary rifle is no different from a fire stick. Lynn stood at his combat position, at a loss, neither retreating nor continuing to fire. At that moment, his mind was blank. In games and novels, he had imagined countless ways to eliminate the enemy's tank, but when he found himself in that situation one day, all those hypotheticals turned into mere illusions

Looking at the "Butcher" gasping on the ground, Lynn could imagine the heroic actions this fellow had just taken. Besides admiration and gratitude, he was also very curious about what was going on in this guy's head: treating subordinates brutally, ruthlessly killing opponents, and stepping up at critical moments. Is this truly a reflection of the fighting spirit of the German army

A race car driver may not necessarily be able to handle a T-34, but a good T-34 driver can certainly become an excellent race car driver

At that moment, someone darted past Lynn, moving as swiftly as the wind. Lynn focused and realized it was none other than the "Butcher"

Despite both sides having suffered heavy casualties, the Soviet offensive continues. On the slope in front of the first trench, twenty to thirty Soviet tanks are rumbling forward. Their massive and cumbersome bodies are exposed under the illumination flares, with large recoil compensators mounted on the front of their long gun barrels. Shells and bullets striking them from the front do little to impede their advance, and each furious shot from the artillery produces a deafening roar. Under the cover of these tanks, thousands of soldiers, wearing the iconic 1940 Soviet steel helmets and draped in light-colored cloaks, charge forward with rifles and submachine guns, shouting "Ura! Ura!"

The brutal battle before us continues, with grenades raining down on the T-34 and both light and heavy weapons firing desperately. However, aside from two "Iron Fists" and a few bundles of cluster grenades that proved effective, the rest were merely scratching the surface against the Soviet tanks. Those large machines, painted white, mercilessly rolled over the first trench of the German forces, while the second trench, less than 30 meters away, was where Lynn was positioned

It was unclear how much time had passed, but Lin En seemed to awaken from a dream. He was astonished to find that he had exhausted all the ammunition he could find nearby, yet he could not recall how many enemies he had actually hit. Looking ahead, he observed that the majority of the Soviet tanks that had charged into the position had turned into scrap metal. Some were visibly deformed, appearing to have been directly blown apart by anti-tank guns or rocket launchers; others had their hatches wide open, with several corpses scattered around the vehicle and its vicinity in various strange postures; still others had become roaring bonfires, illuminating the remnants of snow on the muddy ground.

Fusze - Kovacs

Accompanying the tank assault, the Soviet infantry had already charged into the first trench. As soldiers wearing the Soviet-made 1940 model steel helmets continued to pour in, Lynn seemed to be suddenly enchanted, completely undisturbed by the bullets and shrapnel flying around him. His shoulder pressed tightly against the stock of the rifle like a rock, he swiftly pulled the bolt, fired, pulled the bolt again, and fired. Figures dozens of meters away suddenly fell backward. After five rounds were expended, he crouched slightly and quickly reloaded. This cycle continued, firing five rounds, then another five... completely undisturbed by the bullets and shrapnel flying around him, his shoulder pressed tightly against the stock of the rifle like a rock, he swiftly pulled the bolt, fired, pulled the bolt again, and fired. Figures dozens of meters away suddenly fell backward. After five rounds were expended, he crouched slightly and quickly reloaded. This cycle continued, firing five rounds, then another five...

This is what is called advancing in succession and facing death with indifference

Upon hearing the call to battle, Lynn instinctively grabbed his gun and, without further thought, stood on the platform with his weapon raised. In his line of sight, there were more than twenty Soviet tanks forcefully rolling over the first trench, yet the massacre of infantry by the tanks had not yet commenced. Molotov cocktails were flying out from the trenches and other corners in quick succession, and several tanks were already engulfed in flames, darting about like mad bulls with their tails on fire; some fires were still relatively small, while the machine guns mounted on the tanks roared incessantly, and soldiers wearing large, ear-flapped steel helmets were desperately flanking from the sides and rear.

The butcher, unable to reprimand his cowardly subordinates, lowered his head and bent his waist, holding a submachine gun in his left hand and tightly gripping a Molotov cocktail in his right. As another Soviet tank rolled over the trench, he suddenly slowed his pace and straightened up, pausing for a moment as if weighing the best timing. In an instant, he forcefully hurled the bottle towards the rear of the Soviet tank. After completing this action, he slightly bent down, his eyes fixed intently on the tank. As another Soviet tank rolled over the trench, he suddenly slowed his pace and straightened up, pausing for a moment as if weighing the best timing. In an instant, he forcefully hurled the bottle towards the rear of the Soviet tank. After completing this action, he slightly bent down, his eyes fixed intently on the tank.