Codegease: Air and Land Warfare 1946

Shouldn't we keep moving forward?

"With birds in the sky around, what do we have to fear!"

Just then, a wobbly helicopter, its navigation lights dim, slowly hovered overhead.

"Hey!" its loudspeaker chimed in, "We're heading back to base for repairs now. We can't help you with the rest of the journey for the time being. Good luck!"

As soon as he finished speaking, the helicopter tilted to the side and faded out of the sky above the street, heading towards the base.

"Do as they say!" The company commander shrugged with a wry smile. "Nobody wants to be stuffed into a body bag, right?"

"Check every inch of land, see if there are any survivors!" His expression turned serious again. "Whether they are ours or the enemy's, bring them out intact!"

"Hey! Is anyone there!" Suddenly, a painful scream came from under the car lying on the side of the road, startling the soldiers.

"There's a live one!" The company commander immediately called to several soldiers to push the car aside, and an officer, also dressed in a black uniform, was dragged out of the shadows below.

"You guys keep looking!" The company commander called to the other soldiers and walked over to the officer.

"Are you ok?"

“I am… Lieutenant Lockter, the company commander of Lockter Squadron…” the officer said, panting, as he identified himself. “You… are you here for the memorial service…?”

“Captain Lancer.” The company commander knelt down, introducing himself while checking the lieutenant’s wounds.

"I'm so sorry, your subordinates..."

"Sigh... take good care of them, whether they're dead or alive, cough cough cough!"

"Alright, stop talking." He held the lieutenant's arm. "Just lie down. You'll be fine soon, you hear me?"

Two soldiers rushed over with a stretcher and carried the lieutenant up. The captain did not choose to stay with him any longer, lit a cigarette, and turned to walk into the house next door.

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"Hey! Captain! We've caught one alive!" A joyful voice rang out from the quiet street.

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The night was eerily quiet, with only helicopters adorned with colorful lights in the pitch-black sky, their roaring engines gently caressing the earth below.

"Hommel, you said... if we hadn't had such bad luck this time, perhaps we could have been commended?" The driver seemed to still have something to say.

"I don't know... Ha, a commendation... Is it really the refund counter for the train to heaven...?"

Section 14, Chapter 8: The War of the Rats (Part 2)

What is darkness? What is it like? How can it be described?

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Profound? Dark? These are more appropriate words to describe color.

If we were in a world that were within our reach, perhaps another word would be more appropriate—the unknown.

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Yes, when everything around you is dark, even if it's just a small area covered by a black curtain, even if you know what's there, when the last ray of light slips through your eyes, all that's left is the unknown...

The unknown is the greatest enemy. Because of the unknown, there is doubt; because of the unknown, there is fear; because of the unknown, it is unattainable.

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When facing darkness, have you found what you should hold in your hand?

Press it gently, and before your eyes will be the light you create, the path you take forward.

Look around you—drooping wires and ropes, scattered dust and stones, twisted and deformed iron frames, and shattered wooden strips and glass.

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You probably understand very well that this is hell, a place where no human being can live.

Unfortunately, you're wrong, very naively wrong.

This is the Berlin subway after World War II; it was once a true hell on earth.

I don't know what it was like for the German soldiers and civilians back then to hide in such places and escape the Soviet Red Army's barrage of artillery fire during their siege, but when you step into such a place again, no one is sure to feel relaxed or happy—because no one with an optimistic mindset would come here looking for any fun.

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"Keep up, don't fall behind."

Jonathan, flashlight in hand, led the way, with Tommy limping close behind, carbine tucked under his arm. Then Bill and Carl carried Pat's stretcher, walking in the middle, slightly ahead. Behind them were a group of unfamiliar men, their faces weary, clutching their guns, waving flashlights and cautiously scanning their surroundings.

"Sergeant?..." A soft call came from the stretcher.

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"Where am I... It's so dark..."

"We're playing a train going through a tunnel..." the sergeant smiled. "Don't fall asleep, watch your carriage, and you'll get chocolate if you win."

He reached out and touched Pat's forehead; the sweat on it dampened his fingers.

"Hey boss!" Tommy's strange shout came from the front again. "Aren't we supposed to be playing the Germans' train?"

"What do you mean?" Karl asked first.

"Most of the people chasing us outside are Russians. Could we end up like those bastards who were stationed here a few months ago?"

"Tommy, if you hadn't been injured, what I just said would have been enough to get your ass kicked to pieces by the sergeant."

"Go to hell!" Tommy turned around. "Did I say something wrong, huh? Boss, tell me, besides the Russians, who else could we fight, huh?"

“I don’t think so either…” Bill muttered as he carried the stretcher from behind.

"Hey! Why are you siding with them too? Are you all ganging up on me?"

“Who’s teaming up with this…” Bill said with a look of disgust. “Didn’t you guys hear that? When that plane was parked on the street earlier, it sounded like it was speaking English over its loudspeaker.”

"What the hell?" Tommy stared at him, wide-eyed. "Are you sure?"

"If you're not afraid of death, you can go and say hello to those people and see if they say 'hello motherfucker' or something else, and then cripple your other leg too."

"Damn it, why don't you give it a try!" Tommy yelled angrily, his voice echoing throughout the subway tunnel.

"I'm not messing around with you guys anymore! I want to go home! I want to soak in a barrel of liquor... Ah!"

With a snap, Tommy, who was acting crazy due to his drunkenness, fell towards the wall like a telephone pole blown down by the wind.

"Ouch! It hurts..."

Looking closer, it seemed he had inadvertently pushed open a door and fallen into a small room whose purpose was unknown.

"Hey! Boss!" Looking up, Jonathan was slowly walking towards him, squatting down and extending his hand.

"Ah, thank you, boss!" Tommy grinned and extended his hand as well.

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Snapped! ——

A crisp slap landed directly on Tommy's face.

"Ouch!" Immediately afterwards, he felt a strong hand grab his collar and lift his upper body off the ground.

"Do you really enjoy shouting at a machine gun? Huh?" The sergeant's wolfish growl echoed in his ears.

"I...I..." Tommy stammered, his voice trembling with fear.

"If you still can't learn to be quiet, I'll show you even more how I disciplined those little brats back in my hometown!"

The cripple was still lying on the ground, stretching and yawning. Jonathan picked up the flashlight that had fallen to the side and looked ahead anxiously. Several wooden crates were quietly piled up not far away.

Fortunately, there was no strange noise. Turning my head, I noticed a kerosene lamp hanging on the wall and took it down.

"You, hand over all the matches you're carrying!"

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Slowly, warm light spread from the sergeant's hands, shining on the cold floor and walls, and everything in the room began to become clear.

“My God…” Jonathan was stunned by what he saw.

Just now, he saw several stacked wooden crates, each with a black cross printed on it, and a black eagle printed on the top lid.

"How... how can there be these things..." He couldn't help but gasp.

After hesitating for a moment, he walked back to the door and quietly invited everyone in.

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"Put the wounded over there!" Jonathan stood in front of the crate and pointed to the open space beside him.

Soldiers entered the cramped space one after another, and the quiet room was instantly filled with rustling footsteps and murmurs. Soon, the wounded were either lying on the open ground or sitting against the wall, while those who remained standing gathered around the crates.

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The sergeant lifted the top lid of the box, and inside lay a Mauser Kar98K rifle, still with a few bullets in it.

"My God, isn't this a German gun...?" a soldier could hardly believe his eyes. "Is it still usable?"

“We’ll find out when we get a chance to try,” the sergeant said, putting the lid back down. “Let’s move them all aside and see what’s inside.”

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"There are quite a lot of guns..." The crowd looked at the boxes lying on the ground, their lids already opened and piled up to the side, revealing the weapons inside.

"Six rifles, two submachine guns, a dozen or so grenades, and enough ammunition..." Jonathan scanned the guns on the ground. "Ha, I didn't expect there to be two STG44s..."

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He glanced at the soldiers gathered together, who all seemed to covet the two German-made "Storm Rifles," which made him smile slightly.

"Hehe... Hoo... Hehe..."

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"Hey boss!" The mischievous Tommy was fiddling around in the shadows again. "Look! Look at me! Whew...look what I found!"