Codegease: Air and Land Warfare 1946

In the scene, the background looks somewhat like the Berlin subway tunnel they had previously examined. Here, a magnificent crystal gate appears, though it doesn't resemble the one that stood out starkly in the center of the camp, but they are remarkably similar.

Immediately, the portal flashed, and a truck fully loaded with goods suddenly appeared beneath it.

"Great! Doctor! It's a success!" The radio was filled with excited cheers, and the screen showed jubilant workers and researchers.

"Very good! Open all the other portals!" The Doctor put down his work and called to the Lieutenant Colonel, "Let me explain to you, sir."

"Our newly moved equipment can selectively divert the energy brought in by the portals. With it, we can control the opening and closing of each portal. As long as the main portal on Area 11 is operating normally, and all the smaller portals are activated, we can activate whichever portal we want and close whichever we want. And all of this is just a matter of a few valves and buttons."

"So, in other words, if the main gate is activated and everything here is functioning normally, then if Area 11 opens a small gate, we can make the exit of that small gate appear in the place you've set up?"

"That's right! You have a quick comprehension ability, Lieutenant Colonel!"

"Alright then." The lieutenant colonel patted his clothes. "If there's nothing else, I'll take a rest."

"Okay, please go back..."

……

Slowly, the lieutenant colonel walked towards his tent.

He gazed wearily at the dark sky, where he could see neither stars nor the moon.

He stopped, looked straight ahead, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes.

After the moon sets, the sun rises; it's a perfectly ordinary thing.

But what about his own subordinates? Sunrise may be a distant dream.

For me, after the dark days, will the sunrise, as promised, meet me precisely at a certain moment in the morning?

He couldn't find anyone to confide in, nor did he want to.

Caronville wiped his face and walked towards the camp where the night was deep...

With a lazy wave, the crystalline, transparent resentment was cast aside on the ground behind him, leaving a faint mark that seeped into the earth, unnoticed by anyone...

Like Berlin, now shrouded in silence...

Chapter 33, Side Story (Part 1): Red Cumulonimbus Clouds

When you hear the phrase "city night view," what comes to mind?

If it were a small city, it would be filled with cool evening air and leisurely pedestrians strolling along the streets, fanning themselves, wearing slippers, chatting, gazing at the enchanting starry sky, and enjoying a few hours of free time before going to bed.

If it were a metropolis, it would be filled with brightly lit buildings and intersecting traffic. People would carry bags, eat snacks, stroll through the streets, listen to music, and gaze at the colorful skyscrapers, immersed in a human society where material resources are almost inexhaustible.

The experience of a small town and a big city is definitely different, but there are always many similarities and commonalities between them, right?

For example, most people in the city are probably relaxed; most buildings in the city are probably sturdy and reliable; and the traffic in the city is probably orderly, carefully protected by yellow lines, white lines, and guardrails.

And you should also know that not every city can display such a relaxed, complete, and orderly demeanor under the night sky.

Carthage, an ancient city that fell to the Roman legions in 146 BC, was one of them...

Rome, one of the cities that was ravaged by barbarian invasions in the 5th century AD, was among them...

In 1812, Moscow, occupied by the French army and reduced to flames, was one of them...

……

Similarly, Berlin in 1945, shortly after the end of World War II, was one of them.

Soviet soldiers, gripping their rifles, walked the streets of Berlin like Roman infantrymen who nervously entered Carthage that year.

Looking around, all that could be seen was devastation, with one shattered building after another, just like the ancient city on the Apennine Peninsula in those years.

The raging fires still burning in the city still reveal the distorted image of Moscow in the inferno of yesteryear...

Prosperity is also a product of war, and destruction is also a product of war. One city after another has been reduced to wasteland in the repeated clashes of war throughout history.

……

This was not what people wanted, not only for displaced German civilians, but also for the Soviet Red Army. Without that damned Soviet-German war, without that damned "Aryan leader's" empty talk and nonsense, they would not have been willing to put down their lathes and farm tools and take up helmets and rifles—because the duties of soldiers carried dozens or even hundreds of times more "opportunities" of death than those of farmers and workers.

But how can there be lasting peace without a clenched fist?

The Soviet soldiers stationed in this Berlin neighborhood clearly understood this principle. The most important factor was not "this is Berlin," but rather the neighborhood they were currently stationed in.

This is a district located southeast of Berlin called Karlshorst. There stands a building here that was once a mess hall for officers of the German Wehrmacht. Now, in the square in front of it, the Soviet hammer and sickle flag flies. It was crucial to the Soviet forces in Berlin, and arguably to the entire Soviet army stationed in Germany.

This building served as the headquarters of the 1st Belorussian Front, the largest Soviet army force in the Soviet-occupied zone of Germany, and later the military administrative headquarters of the Soviet troops stationed in Germany.

Two days of nerve-wracking fighting in Berlin kicked this place, which could have enjoyed a relatively "peaceful" Cold War after World War II, back to the gates of Berlin in April 1945—except that the thunder of gunfire seemed to have temporarily stopped.

……

Under the cover of night, a military vehicle with its headlights on the front hurriedly stopped in front of the building.

A Soviet general got out of the car, straightened his collar, and stood by the roadside, looking at the house.

The room was brightly lit, with people moving back and forth between the windows. Several Soviet soldiers, carrying rifles, stood guard to protect the "brain of the front," a scene far from that of an ordinary house at midnight.

Several trucks were parked in front of the house, and some officers and soldiers were loading boxes, cabinets, and bags that seemed to contain documents into the truck beds. Their expressions and pace were not flustered, and there were no fires burning paper. They were obviously not in a hurry to retreat, but were carrying out the transfer in a methodical manner.

The general, perhaps because the bumpy ride was tiring, did not immediately enter the gate. Instead, he took off his hat, stood still, waved it, and began to brush off the seemingly speckled dust.

Just as he put his hat back on and was about to take a step, another military vehicle arrived.

The general decided to wait a little longer to see who was following closely behind him.

The car stopped, and a Soviet general got out of the car, stepped down from his seat, and stepped onto the ground beneath the vehicle.

The two generals' eyes met after the newcomer stopped. With the help of the car headlights and the light filtering from inside the house, they recognized each other in a flash.

"Good evening, General Kuznetsov," the first one to arrive said, giving a salute.

"Hello, General Gorbatov." The man who arrived later followed closely behind, saluted, and replied.

Some people who are well-versed in historical records may already know the identities of the two generals.

One was General Vasily Ivanovich Kuznetsov, whose elite force was the Soviet 3rd Shock Army.

The other was General Alexander Vasilyevich Gorbatov, then the supreme commander of the Soviet 5th Shock Army.

The commanders of two elite Soviet units with similar names coincidentally met.

“Let’s go together.” Gorbatov extended a hand and led the way for Kuznetsov.

The two started chatting as they walked.

"You've heard about it, right? What's happening in Berlin," General Kuznetsev asked first.

"Of course, most of the city is under fighting, but we in the command post are still a complete mess..."

"Tch, the intelligence department definitely needs to be investigated this time."

"I would rather they hadn't made a mistake, you understand?"

The two went up the stairs.

"So the US military had already discussed it with us beforehand. They withdrew from Berlin, and we could confidently launch our attack plan in about ten hours, right?"

“That’s right, Comrade Kuznetsov.” General Goethe took a breath. “I’m pretty sure this is a trick by the American army. Even if they escape from the city, it’s just a hoax. In any case, there will be evidence left in the city.”

"So, after two days of strong offensive, I can only hope that the United States can recognize the current situation, ha."

The two generals walked to the door of the largest room on the second floor. As soon as they entered, they stood at attention and saluted the large group of generals inside.

"Marshal!" With that announcement, the two men did not linger on the other generals, but went straight to the center.

My gaze settled on a middle-aged man who looked to be around 50 years old. His hair was thinning, and there wasn't a single stubble on his lips, cheeks, or chin. Beneath his thick eyebrows and tightly furrowed brow, his eyes, like those of a sharp cheetah, were piercing and alert, though slightly narrowed. His wrinkles were unusual; instead of the fading lines of someone past fifty, they were like a hard sculpture—firm, serious, and full of the fortitude of a soldier.

But what's most striking are the medals hanging on his chest. Unlike others, he has more of the red and yellow medals, and in the top row, where the Soviet Gold Star Medal is reserved, most people only have one, but he has three, representing that he has been awarded the title of "Hero of the Soviet Union" three times so far.

This man was none other than Marshal Georgy Konstantinovich Zhukov, the commander-in-chief of the Soviet forces stationed in Germany and the superior of Gorbatov and Kuznetsov.

"Alright, now." The marshal replied to the two generals' report, raising his head from where he had been looking down at the map.

"Generals, you all know the outcome of my call with General Eisenhower a few hours ago. Under the offensive of the frontline troops, the American forces have chosen to abandon the city and retreat along the railway. So, given the current situation, do you have any objections to the previously decided offensive plan?"

“No problem, Comrade Zhukov,” a general said first. “However, there is one thing: we all know that the identities of the troops resisting the Red Army in Berlin have not yet been determined, and what we have collected are that the identification tags on the enemy soldiers are all written in English. Therefore, I think it is necessary to increase the surveillance of the American troops while maintaining the offensive on Berlin.”

“I agree,” another general chimed in. “This military conflict is no small matter; it could not possibly be the work of some scattered fascist bandits. We do not know what the Americans are thinking, but that is not a reason for us not to be vigilant.”

“No, I have a question.” The two generals looked over and saw that it was General Chuikov who had spoken.

The main Soviet force besieging East Berlin is the Eighth Guards Army, and Vasily Ivanovich Chuikov is the commander-in-chief of this mighty army—meaning that none of the generals present here knows better than him who has been fighting his soldiers over the past two days.

"Forgive my bluntness, but everyone keeps pointing the finger at the Americans by using the 'English identification card,' but they may have selectively forgotten one thing. Our intelligence network has confirmed that since the war in Europe ended, the Americans have been organizing large fleets to send Western European troops back to their homeland. Even last month, when we suspected the US military's actions because of an incident in Berlin, not only did the US withdrawal status remain almost unchanged, but in October, they even began their operations in the Pacific region in an orderly manner."

"Then I can't help but have a question." Chuikov paused, "If the US military really wanted to use Berlin as a breakthrough point to attack the Soviet Union, then why would they transfer these troops back to the mainland instead of keeping them in Western Europe? And our intelligence personnel can confirm with 100% certainty that those American troop transport ships did indeed dock back at ports on the east coast of North America, so where did the US military that wants to attack us come from?"

"So this is the reason to completely rule out the possibility of an American offensive, Comrade Chuikov?" General Gorbatov also stepped forward. "This incident may not necessarily be a prelude to a large-scale offensive, but don't forget any other moves the Americans make! And you must know that it's not just one or two countries standing with the Americans, and quite a few of them speak English. Berlin certainly cannot rule out the involvement of other countries this time, we..."

"You mean Britain and France were also involved in this battle?!" Chuikov asked anxiously.

Just then, an officer ran in and saluted Zhukov.

"Reporting to the Marshal! A telegram from Moscow!"

"Read it."

“Instructions from Comrade Stalin.” The officer began reading from the paper, “In view of the fact that Soviet troops were attacked by a large number of armed personnel in Berlin on October 28-29, the Supreme Soviet Command attaches great importance to this matter. All Soviet troops stationed in Germany are hereby ordered to enter a state of full combat readiness. After the stipulated time of the complete withdrawal of American troops from Berlin on the 30th, Berlin must be returned to Soviet control. Regardless of the methods used, and regardless of whether any American soldiers were killed in the fighting, all remaining fascist forces in Berlin must be completely eradicated. The cause and course of the conflict must be thoroughly investigated, and the culprits must be severely punished and made public.”

"At the same time, intelligence agencies have received definitive information that Britain and France are currently focusing their considerable efforts on suppressing their colonies in Africa and Southeast Asia, making their involvement in the Berlin Incident extremely unlikely. Overall, the possibility of US involvement in this incident is very high. It is imperative to increase surveillance along the US-Soviet border and raise the combat readiness level of troops to prevent any military action by Western forces. Furthermore, without orders from the Supreme Command, no Soviet unit may initiate an attack on the forces of the United States, Britain, and France."

The officer handed the telegram to Zhukov and then left.

"Alright." The marshal looked at the telegram again, his expression relaxing. "Since this is an order from the Supreme Command, there's no point in arguing about the battle plan. I'll be leaving here soon with the German garrison, so let's get straight to the point."

"According to the previously deployed plan, the 8th Guards Army, along with the 3rd and 5th Shock Armies, will be responsible for the main offensive from the east, north, and south of Berlin, respectively. Then, the defensive deployment east of Berlin will be handed over to the 47th Army, and finally..."

……

A sleepless night in Berlin...

The red military flag has once again transformed into a ring of steel, completely encircling this long-gone fascist heart...

Section 35, Chapter Twenty-One: The Radio Waves That Lifted the Barrier

Before we knew it, dawn was breaking and the sun was about to rise over the hills over Berlin.

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But the battlefield is like a collapsing mountain; you never know what will happen next. Will it be a wisp of sand, or a few branches? Will it be a pebble bouncing down, or a giant rock falling from the sky?

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On a somewhat chaotic road, a large group of fully armed U.S. soldiers walked briskly along both sides. A U.S. M8 armored vehicle was left in the middle of the road. Although it was moving very fast, it naturally slowed down to accommodate the infantry.

But it wasn't the only wheeled mule here; right behind it was a strange contraption with wheels in the front and tracks underneath the carriage—the M3 half-track armored personnel carrier.

Ahead was a highway bridge spanning the river; they had come from the other side a few hours earlier to catch their train.

The street over there now sounds like a deluge of water crashing onto the rooftops of the tin houses.

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……

15 minutes ago.

"Boss! I want to sleep..."

A bustling train station that had been busy all night, its tracks leading southwest out of Berlin.

It was quieter here than it had been a few hours earlier. Trucks and soldiers were still bustling around the train carriages, with workers either boarding the carriages, tossing large wooden crates and small backpacks onto the steel containers, or covering the cars that had already been driven onto the flatbeds with dark tarpaulins.