artillery arc

Chapter 726 Blood Type

The commander of the 25th Independent Tank Brigade personally commanded a tank and drove onto the road made of rolling logs.

The driver complained on the in-car radio: "The tank is shaking like it has dysentery. We are definitely going to sink!"

The brigade commander stretched his head and looked under the car: "Don't be afraid, at least in my sight we haven't sunk yet."

The infantryman sitting behind the tank said worriedly: "Why don't we get off and walk? The ten of us are carrying weapons and ammunition, which weighs almost a ton in total."

Brigade Commander: "A 36-ton tank didn't sink, so an extra ton of weight from you won't matter! Just stay still. Look at the infantrymen next to you wearing those shoes and they keep slipping and sinking."

The infantrymen marching in swamp shoes would slip from time to time. If they slipped in a place where the mud was not deep, they could still get up by themselves. But if they were unlucky, they would use their hands to support the ground, but end up having their entire hands swallowed by the mud.

Others who wanted to rescue would be dragged into the mud one after another.

Swamp No. 4 does not hide his "appetite" and devours young lives unscrupulously.

Brigade Commander: "Look at the shoes on your feet. You'd better sit on the tank! When the tank sinks to the bottom, you will have a chance to struggle in the mud."

A kid among the infantry muttered, "What genius came up with the idea to attack here?"

"It's Marshal Rokossov," said the brigade commander. "If we attack here, we only have to fight the swamps and at most we can lose one-tenth of our troops. If we attack from other places, we will have to fight the Prosens and suffer 30 to 40 percent casualties!"

The child who had just spoken immediately changed his expression: "That's the Marshal's idea, then we will definitely succeed! His ideas always succeed!"

At this time, other tanks of the 25th Brigade also drove into the swamp, and the entire swamp was filled with the sound of engines.

----

Sergeant Wolfgang plays guitar in front of a fire at the 500th Division position in Plossen.

His squad sat around the fire, all staring eagerly at the broth in the campfire pot.

The private closest to the pot stretched out his hand, but the sergeant slapped it away: "Don't be impatient, these are horses that have been working on the front line all the time, the meat is very firm, if you don't stew it long enough, your teeth will be knocked out."

The private sighed and said, "If a horse is killed by the enemy every day, we can eat meat every day."

"Don't even think about it. In our area, the Ants won't even look at us, let alone bomb us. The horse must have been killed by the guerrillas."

Private: "Can the guerrillas kill a horse every day?"

Sergeant Wolfgang laughed. "That's too bad. You have horse soup, but what about after that? These horses are responsible for delivering supplies to us. It's impossible to use cars to deliver supplies to this remote place. All the horses are dead. We have no food, no coffee, and no ammunition. Well, it doesn't matter if the ammunition is not delivered. Anyway, the ammunition delivered last year has not been consumed."

The intensity of the conflict was not high in the area where the 500th Division was stationed, and casualties mainly occurred in patrol missions deep in the swamps and in battles to encircle and suppress guerrillas.

Whether it is patrolling or encircling and suppressing guerrillas, once a month is good enough.

Just as Sergeant Wolfgang said, the ammunition distributed last year has not been used up, so in the eyes of the officers of the replenishment battalion, replenishing the 500th Division and the 501st Division next door is a good job.

Many of the people present were recruited under the envious gazes of the officers of the replenishment battalion.

The sergeant continued to play the piano, and someone immediately teased him, "Sergeant, you haven't practiced your guitar well. When I just started playing, you played it so clumsily, and you're still playing it so clumsily now!"

Sergeant Wolfgang: "I just don't feel it!"

After saying that, he continued to pluck the strings, and this time he played several consecutive chords very smoothly.

The sergeant smiled at the soldier who had just laughed at him and began to play and sing "Erica", a popular song before the war.

After singing a few lines, someone said: "I was just a little kid when I first heard this song, and now..."

"You're still a little brat, aren't you?" another person laughed. "You'll blush when you talk to the local Ante girl!"

"I don't!"

Everyone laughed.

At this time, someone suddenly said: "When I first heard this song, my brother was still alive, and he sang it to me."

The crowd that was noisy just now suddenly became quiet.

For a moment the only sounds were the guitar and the broth boiling in the pot.

Everyone stared at the broth silently, their expressions as if they were recalling some time that had long gone.

Some gripped their rifles tightly, hugging them to their arms as if they were hugging a long-dead relative.

The 500th Division was very poorly equipped. After all, they were the 25th wave of infantry divisions. The bolt-action rifles in the hands of many people were not newly produced, but old ones that had been stored in warehouses somewhere for a long time.

As for machine guns, generally each squad of Plossen’s army has a machine gun, and Plossen’s infantry squad is built around machine guns - such common sense has been written into the enemy’s combat experience summary.

But in a unit like the 500th Division, two squads would share one machine gun. The squad commanded by Sergeant Wolfgang was a pure rifle squad, and they usually operated together with the first squad in the platoon and cooperated with the first squad's machine gun in combat.

Recently, Sergeant Wolfgang and his men have participated in several operations to encircle and suppress guerrillas, and found that the guerrillas' firepower is stronger than theirs.

The guerrillas had drum-loaded PPSh ammunition transported through the swamp, and one guerrilla was enough to suppress Sergeant Wolfgang's entire squad.

Fortunately, most of the time the guerrillas did not cause much trouble in this area. At most, they would secretly plant mines on the transportation routes and kill a few horses.

Without exception, these horses became a snack for Wolfgang and his friends.

The supply level of troops like the 500th Division was very low, and the amount of canned meat distributed each time was pitifully small.

So Wolfgang and his men would occasionally take their unused bullets to the guerrillas to exchange for some meat, or let the guerrillas blow up a few horses.

Of course, these things cannot be known to the quartermaster and the chain dog.

Sergeant Wolfgang's piano playing gradually became more and more harmonious, and his voice also became looser and higher.

A large number of birds took off from the woods and rushed into the air.

"Sergeant, you scared the birds!" someone laughed.

Sergeant Wolfgang, however, stared at the flying bird and stopped plucking the strings of his guitar.

The others were laughing, but they stopped when they saw the sergeant's expression.

Suddenly the whole camp was so quiet that the only sound was the boiling horse meat soup.

There was a dull roar in the air, the clattering sound of gears meshing, and from time to time the sound of a heavy object being dragged on the ground.

A new soldier asked in confusion: "What's that sound?"

Sergeant Wolfgang: "The tank's engine and gearbox noises, and the sound that sounded like it was dragging a heavy object was the sound of the tank's track locking on one side while turning."

"Huh?" The recruit looked at the sergeant with his mouth wide open. "What?"

The sergeant placed his guitar on his lap and gestured with his hands: "When a tank turns, it mainly relies on the speed difference between the two tracks. If you want to turn quickly, just lock one track and you can make a nearly right-angle turn."

At this time, the battalion commander of their battalion ran over, his face covered with shaving foam that had not yet been washed off.

"Wolfgang!" the battalion commander cried, "what's that noise?"

Sergeant: "It's a tank, sir."

"How could it be? There are no armored units near us!" The battalion commander's eyes widened. Suddenly, he stopped and stared at Sergeant Wolfgang in a daze. "Oh my God, this is impossible! In that swamp, not to mention tanks, even bicycles can't get through! Wolfgang, you are talking nonsense!" Wolfgang: "Then what did we hear?"

The battalion commander shook his head repeatedly: "No, that's not right, I'm going to call the division headquarters, there must be some misunderstanding!"

After saying this, the battalion commander ran towards the battalion headquarters.

Sergeant Wolfgang: "Captain, where are the orders?"

The battalion commander looked back and was stunned for a moment: "Uh, enter the position!"

Yes, the 500th Division had a position, but it was quite crude. The trench was barely waist-deep, and only sandbags were needed to block the chest.

The roof of the anti-gun cave is made entirely of wood cut down nearby, and it would be destroyed even if hit by a mortar shell.

The worst thing is that there is water in the trenches. If no one is arranged to scoop water every day, the water in the trenches will remain above the ankles all year round, and socks and other things will all be soaked in water.

Because of this, no one likes to stay in the trenches, and even when standing guard, they try to stay outside as much as possible.

For a while, the guerrillas liked to shoot these unfortunate guys on guard duty, but later the soldiers of the 500th Division began to use grenades to exchange for safety while on guard duty.

The guerrillas used grenades to blow up the puppet troops and gendarmes, while the officers and soldiers of the 500th Division were safe.

Afterwards, you can report the consumption of grenades and bullets together as evidence of your hard work.

Sergeant Wolfgang: "Get into position!"

Although the soldiers looked confused, they still rushed to the position as per their usual training.

Sergeant Wolfgang picked up the fallen helmet and chased after the panicking private: "You need this, kid!"

"Oh!" The private was stunned for a moment, then added, "Thank you, Sergeant."

"Don't thank me, just go!"

As he spoke, Sergeant Wolfgang grabbed the private by the collar and ran forward. After running a few steps, he realized that he was not holding a rifle but a guitar.

He quickly dropped his guitar and looked around for his rifle.

At this moment, the panicked sentry rushed into the camp and shouted: "Tank! Ant's tank! Round, round!"

Wolfgang found his rifle at this time, pulled up the private again, and rushed towards the position.

The sentry was still shouting, "Ant's tank! Round!"

The next moment, the sentry tower in the camp was hit by a stray bullet, and all the wooden boards were blown away, leaving only the steel frame.

The air-burst grenade produced a large amount of fragments, which swept the ground like raindrops - the wooden floor of the sentry tower obviously could not block these fragments.

The Plosson soldier who was shot fell to the ground, screaming miserably.

Wolfgang turned his head away and dragged the private forward with him: "Hurry up! At least we won't be hit by shells if we enter the trench!"

After taking two steps, he felt something was wrong. He lowered his head and found that only half of the soldier was left. He didn't know where such a large piece of debris came from.

"Damn it!" Wolfgang abandoned the private and ran towards the trench.

As a result, just before he reached the entrance of the trench, the tank tracks smashed the wooden wall of the camp.

Anyone with a discerning eye could tell that this was Ant's tank because it was filled with infantrymen wearing cloaks - Prosen soldiers did not have cloaks, not even one branch of the military.

"Damn it!" Wolfgang raised his gun and fired a shot that blew off the tank commander's hat. As he pulled the bolt, flames spurted out of the Ant's submachine gun.

Wolfgang covered his chest and fell backwards, just in time to see the battalion commander rushing out from the battalion headquarters: "It's the Ante tank, our tank unit is not taking action - God!"

The Ante tank fired, and the battalion commander was directly penetrated by the shell, and the next moment the battalion headquarters exploded.

Wolfgang exhausted his last bit of strength and fell to the ground, his guitar just in sight.

He saw Ant's tank passing by Guitar, its large road wheels covered in mud, as if they had just waded through the mud of a swamp.

Then, a pair of Ant combat boots stopped next to the guitar, and rough hands picked it up.

The hand looked like it belonged to a workman, for it was covered with calluses.

In his last moments, Wolfgang wondered, could a worker play the guitar?

----

"As a boilerman, do you know how to play the guitar?" asked Ivan, the infantry platoon leader sitting on the tank.

Tredoc smiled and said, "I'll give it a try. I really liked "I Still Have One Last Grenade" and practiced it for a while."

"That song isn't called this, is it? I remember it was called..." Platoon Leader Ivan thought for a moment and shook his head, "Forget it, let's just call it I Have the Last Grenade."

Tredoc climbed onto the tank, sat on the engine and plucked the strings of the guitar, accompanied by the sound of the tracks moving forward, but the song he sang was not the popular "The Last Courage" composed by Marshal Rokossov.

Tredoc plucked the strings with his hands, which were covered with calluses from boilermen's work, and sang:

"What a warm place,
"But the streets await our footsteps,

"Like dust from the stars on boots,

“A soft armchair with a plaid pattern.

"There is no trigger pulled on time,

"Sunny days exist only in dazzling dreams,
"My blood type is written on my cuff.
“I have my bugle on my cuff!
"Wish me good luck in my battle, and wish me:
"Don't stay on this grass

"Don't stay on this grass

"Wish me luck, wish me luck
“Some things have to be paid for.

“Victory at all costs.

"I don't want to trample on anyone's chest,
"I want to stay with you,
“Just being with you.

"But the stars in the sky are calling me on my way,

"My blood type is written on my cuff.
"I have my bugle on my cuff,
"Wish me good luck in my battle, and wish me:
“Don’t stay on this grass.

“Don’t stay on this grass!
"Wish me luck, wish me luck."

At first the platoon leader looked as if he wanted to ask “Why isn’t this the last courage?”, but after listening to a few chords, he fell silent with a serious expression.

Victory is near, who doesn’t want to live to welcome it?

It was just one song. The platoon leader asked, "What's the name of this song?"

"I didn't expect it might be called Blood Type," Tredoc said.

(End of this chapter)