Codegease: Air and Land Warfare 1946

"Very good! You go ahead and guide them! I'll take care of assigning people to you!"

"Ipel, keep up!" Angelie's cyan aircraft met up with her partner's green aircraft, and they hurried to catch up with the lieutenant who had set off earlier. She had been quite worried at first, but she slowly smiled as she watched the dark blue steel knight ahead, together with Lilizia's aircraft, eliminate the enemies hiding behind cover one by one.

Anti-aircraft guns, anti-tank guns, or even heavily armed machine guns, and even infantrymen futilely wielding rifles, were all nothing more than targets of Gloucester's machine guns and recoilless rifles, which, like razor-sharp knives, sent flames and carnage flying through the air around the airfield. It was as if someone were skillfully riding a bicycle and tossing crumpled pieces of paper into a roadside trash can, turning the enemy, along with the buildings, into fiery roses of prisoners of war on the ground.

"Well done, warriors!" The officer's voice was full of satisfaction. He then turned the radio to the friendly forces suppressed outside the airport in other directions, "Knights of Britannia! The enemy inside the airport is no longer invincible! In the name of the Emperor! Charge! Exterminate them all!"

“Yeah!—”

The Soviet artillery and machine guns gradually fell silent amidst the successive explosions. Now, the mechs that had been cowering behind what could hardly be called cover finally emerged from all directions, straightened up, and charged towards the airport with roaring firepower. Anti-aircraft guns were still firing at the swarms of dark figures, turning them into streaks of sparks, but it was all in vain. There were too many enemies, far too many. After the Soviet soldiers on the anti-aircraft guns emptied their last magazines, they were finally loaded with an UL round by a KMF that rushed over from the side. In the raging flames and heat, they fell along with the upright gun mounts.

"Hooray! Come on, brothers and sisters!" Griffin was overjoyed at the sight. "Set all these tents and barracks on fire! Smash all that museum-worthy junk on the runway!"

Four- to five-meter-tall steel giants began to gather more and more on the runway, while the unmanned fighter jets could only silently await their fate of being cut down by gunfire, like tree branches in front of a logging machine. In front of the exploding aviation fuel tanks, beside the burning canvas, and in the eyes of the soldiers who were being swept away and cut down by the endless mechanical giants, they were either cut open by the sharp blades of bullets or lifted into the air by shells, and then fell heavily back to the ground, becoming a pile of burning scrap metal beside the airport runway.

However, just as the last fighter jet was about to become Lieutenant Griffin's hot prey.

"Hey, watch out!"

The lieutenant turned around in surprise and suddenly saw a soldier holding a Molotov cocktail standing next to his aircraft!

"Damn it!" He jumped to the side, but it was too late. The sound of the glass shattering hit Gloucester's ankle, and the fire suddenly enveloped it like a net, scorching the fragile electronic components inside the armor plate!

"Oh no! Quick! Disconnect the legs from the torso!"

Angelie quickly raised her gun and shot the uninvited guest dead. She watched as the lieutenant's plane lost a burning leg in a flash. She jumped a few times on one leg and then fell to the ground.

"Oh my god..." At this moment, Griffin's face was pressed awkwardly against the cold side wall of the cockpit. Slowly, he helped the plane, which was lying on the ground, to sit up.

"Are you alright? I told you we can't underestimate this enemy."

"Huh? It's just a mechanical leg. We can just find an abandoned Sunderland or Gloucester and attach their legs. There are plenty of ways to fix it, so what's there to be afraid of!"

"Hey……"

Angelie shook her head and sat quietly in the cockpit, watching the cheerful atmosphere around her—the knights were either opening the hatches to breathe in the pleasant smell of gunpowder in the air, or high-fiving each other with their mech arms.

Lilizia's plane proudly placed one leg on a nearly burnt-out aircraft, and with the cannon barrel in her hand replaced by a military flag, she was the perfect victor. Ipel, on the other hand, was much more reserved, tucking the recoilless rifle to her chest and quietly looking here and there. Her innocent and lively smile could almost be heard over the radio.

Fortunately, it seems that Lieutenant Griffin's situation is a special exception.

"Lieutenant Griffin, please respond."

"Sir?"

"Now we are to head west and join up with more troops to launch a pincer attack on the enemy's defenses east of Berlin. However, your mission is slightly different. Another enemy airfield in the northeast has been destroyed, and the bridge over the river is within reach. So go find Major Taluvin in the east and work with them to achieve the most important objective of this operation! Oh, and of course, I'll have everyone fix your plane before that."

"Oh? Thanks!"

……

Anti-aircraft fire continued to rain down on German soil, and the march of the human iron torrent grew ever stronger...

Meanwhile, far to the south, on a wrecked highway, several burning KMFs had just collapsed, and dozens of soldiers wearing green helmets were gathered around an overturned car.

"Phew, a bunch of guys who aren't even as sturdy as the fascists are surprisingly agile and troublesome..."

Two Soviet soldiers, one carrying a heavy anti-tank rifle and the other wiping the mess on his face, looked around at their fallen comrades and then rushed to the car—from the overturned shadows came a long series of labored breaths.

"How is it, Lieutenant!"

Gradually, Anton's figure came into view, and on his back was the regimental commander, whose head was bleeding—yes, he and the guards who had abandoned their heavy equipment had almost died in the attack by these puppets.

"Give the regimental commander a bandage!" the lieutenant paused. "Comrades! There's no time to waste! We must pick up the pace and continue our retreat south to rendezvous with the other infantry regiments! Quickly!"

"Go, go, go! Go!"

……

Behind the hurried footsteps, beneath the sky stained crimson by flames, the stone forest of steel golems slowly advanced...

Section 150, Chapter 95: A Dilemma

As the flames burned all night on the land east of Berlin, Marshal Zhukov's convoy stopped in a small town called Beske to the south—Frankfurt am Oder was only about 20 kilometers away, and the closest the enemy troops who had been airdropped were probably much closer.

Now the marshal can rest assured. The enemy troops seem to have failed to locate him, and it is also very likely that they have not established a decapitation operation targeting him. Therefore, he can now safely handle some urgent matters while remaining on guard in the surrounding area.

After finding a suitable room, he had the accompanying officers bring in a German map showing the entire deployment of Soviet troops stationed in Germany, which they had brought in the car. Then the radio operator followed him into the room. Other things, such as documents concerning Soviet military and political affairs, did not need to be brought out at this time.

He casually brought over two oil lamps from the room, took off his hat, and by the dim light, took a pencil and lightly drew a few small circles on the lamp. Listening to the thunderous artillery fire rolling ten or twenty kilometers away, he fell into deep thought. The three gold star medals on his chest swayed with the warm reflection of the candlelight.

"Marshal, the radio connection is established."

The marshal did not get up immediately. He marked a few points on the map with a pencil before walking over.

"Is it the Eighth Guards Army?"

"Yes, Marshal."

Zhukov picked up the microphone.

"Calling General Chuikov! This is Marshal Zhukov! Respond if you hear me! Please respond if you hear me!"

……

On the other end of the radio waves, in a small town southeast of Berlin.

"I heard you! Comrade Zhukov!"

General Chuikov, holding a microphone in one hand and the binoculars that had just been in front of his eyes in the other, answered the marshal's call from a trench.

"How's the situation on the eastern Berlin defense line, comrade!"

"Marshal! Our situation is dire! You'd better listen to this!"

Chuikov, holding the microphone cord, walked to the edge of the trench and held it high outside, like a giant magnet, capturing everything the general saw outside the trench and sending it into Marshal Zhukov's ears...

Outside Berlin, on the land where Soviet soldiers were stationed, howitzers used the drumbeats of gunpowder to suppress the unseen torrent of puppets inside the city, while anti-aircraft guns, like restless metal pianos, spewed ammunition into the sky above. The entire city of Berlin had been transformed into a giant machine tool, its out-of-control roars like pythons coiling around the general's hands.

Above the dark night sky, enemy aircraft formations, massive in size, still swaggered overhead, while bizarre, winged figures capable of taking flight continued their attacks from above, striking Soviet positions on the ground. Anti-aircraft guns, their muzzles already dulled, could only relentlessly whistle down these endless numbers of planes, reducing them to a hail of sparks and metal fragments that fell onto the cold earth and beside the abandoned war machines.

Now, the general put the microphone back in front of his mouth.

"The enemy in the city has used all sorts of bizarre and large-scale weapons to break through our blockade! According to my information, the enemy is now only a few streets away from the outskirts of Berlin! Major General Perkhorovich of the 47th Army just told me that their deep positions in the eastern suburbs of Berlin have been basically destroyed, and they are now gathering their remaining forces to join my troops!"

"I am very pessimistic about the current situation, Marshal! If we do not take action soon, we will face being attacked from both sides! The entire Eighth Guards Army may suffer irreparable damage!"

Zhukov remained silent for a moment.

"Very well, Comrade Chuikov, now tell me, what else can you tell me about the information you have?"

"The 2nd Guards Tank Army has basically completed its reorganization and is advancing towards Eberswald! The ground personnel of the 47th Army and the 16th Air Army, except for some who voluntarily withdrew to the south or were surrounded and lost contact, have basically established contact with us! So now, I request to abandon the siege positions east of Berlin and lead my troops and the two other units mentioned above to move south!"

"Alright, listen to me clearly! Comrade Chuikov!" The Marshal raised his voice, "Bring all the troops you can contact who are fighting in the airdrop zone out of the eastern suburbs of Berlin and withdraw them south to join the Fifth Shock Army! Understand?"

"Yes, Marshal!"

Zhukov put down the microphone, sat at the radio station table, and kept rubbing his right cheek with his left hand to clear his mind.

He returned to the map, looked at the circles and dots he had just drawn, calculated the possible evacuation time of Chuikov and his men, and where the enemy might ambush them from their path.

Suddenly, he changed the subject, pointing his fingernail at the Oder River, where Germany borders Poland.

"Ah... right, contact the Polish 65th Army. Have they crossed the river to launch a counterattack?"

Following the marshal's orders, the communications officer sent his questions over the radio.

"Comrade Marshal! There's bad news! The enemy has approached all the road and rail bridges on the Kostchen and Frankfurt am Oder! The bridgehead on the west bank is about to fall. The 65th Army, which is preparing to cross the river, is preparing its firepower to stop the enemy from crossing and to recapture the communication lines!"

……

"Fire! Fire!"

Before the Kostya Bridge, the railway tracks extending into Germany, scattered like twisted tree branches from the explosions, lay strewn among rocks and craters under the menacing battlefield sky. A few Soviet soldiers remained steadfast in their positions at the bridgehead, clustered around heavy machine guns and the few remaining anti-tank and anti-aircraft guns, seemingly trying to fire off the last of their ammunition as the steel puppets swarmed in from all directions.

The only thing that witnessed all this was a burning T-34 tank parked on the side of the road in front of the bridge, sitting quietly in a pile of hay, its turret drooping. In the distance to the west, one could vaguely see those machine men holding recoilless rifles, standing or kneeling on the open ground, firing indirect fire at the enemy on the bridgehead with the guns on their shoulders.

"Huh? Are we going to switch to indirect fire again?" Beside Lieutenant Griffin, Ipel, in his green machine gun, seemed puzzled as he raised the recoilless rifle again. "He just specifically asked me to use armor-piercing rounds to destroy the enemy tanks with direct fire."

"Hey, whatever the major says goes. You'll never improve if you keep this up!"

"Oh, oh... but speaking of which, this tank just took a hit from a grenade and it's still okay..."

As they talked, the mechs were mowed down one after another by the shells, but this was not the sound of turning the tide. Shells slammed into the Soviet positions like hammers, and figures could be seen shrinking away in the mist of fire and dust, but many people were still thrown out in the explosions along with some metal objects—and even when they landed on the ground, their bodies were not intact.

"Ready, soldiers!" the major commanded. "Take the bridgehead! Prepare to lower the entire railway bridge into the river! Advance!"

"Yes!--"

No sooner had the words left his mouth than a dying soldier on the bridgehead slowly raised something in his hand, and then a bright flare shot into the sky!

"Oh no!" Angelie felt a bad feeling as she watched her landline phone being illuminated by red light again.

An ominous clap of thunder came from the other side of the river!

"Enemy attack!——"

The belated attack from the Soviet reinforcements on the other side of the bridge finally arrived. Before the Britannian pilots could react, several enormous shells drew graceful arcs through the air before slamming into the surrounding land. One shell, accompanied by a deafening roar, was swallowed whole by a flaming crocodile's jaws, kicking the unfortunate pilot's aircraft away and shattering it into a broken vase. Amidst the dazzling display of fire, the KMF pilots either trembled with fear or were thrown to the ground by the blast waves and shrapnel, scattering fragments like lightning.

"What do we do, Major! What do we do now!" The voice on the radio was just as chaotic as the bewildered footsteps of the Iron Knights. Clearly, the arrival of the enemy had left Major Taluvin somewhat at a loss.

"Ah! Damn it!" Lieutenant Griffin turned around again, and Lilizia's black aircraft, though still standing, flashed like an exploding circuit board. Its arm suddenly stiffened, which meant that some flying fragments had embedded themselves in the KMF's body, damaging its moving parts.

"Retreat! Warriors! Retreat! Get out of the artillery fire zone!"

Section 151, Chapter 96: No Entry Allowed!

With more and more shells appearing, the major gave the order, and the KMFs who were still able-bodied immediately reversed. But the knights who were paralyzed in place were in big trouble. No one came to their rescue, no one helped them. They could only watch helplessly as one after another burst of blazing sparks with a tiger's roar bloomed not far from them. Who knew that they only had a few seconds left to live.

To make matters worse, Soviet direct fire has now begun clearing the battlefield. This is not only a malicious euthanasia for those lying on the ground, but also disrupts the retreat of others. Some pilots panicked, screaming as individual shells or ammunition belts flew past them before accidentally slipping into ditches and shell craters. For Nenqing, the next thing to do is prepare to fall flat on his face.

Meanwhile, on Lieutenant Griffin's phone screen, enemy tanks on the opposite bank of the river had already driven onto the railway bridge, with infantry following behind them, heading towards the bridgehead they had just cleared on the west bank.

"Damn it! I really want to rush onto the bridge and kick all those tanks into the river!"

“Do I have to remind you a few more times, Mr. Griffin, calm down.” Angelie was huddled together with the lieutenant in his plane. “The major is much clearer-headed than you; he understands better what decisions we need to make.”

"Oh, okay, okay, but if I remember correctly, there's only a little over an hour left until sunrise. We were supposed to take advantage of the enemy's poor night fighting and cripple them with one blow, weren't we?"

"Ah...yes, well, you've finally shown some sense of the bigger picture, Lieutenant." Angelie pouted, her expression a mix of amusement and exasperation.

"Hold on, warriors! The shells aren't smart enough to follow us forever!" the major said. "While I'm calling for reinforcements, get the explosives ready to blow up the bridge!"

"Explosives?" Griffin looked up and thought for a moment, as if he remembered an order before the operation: the airborne troops were to collect the explosives that were airdropped along with the supplies and hand them over to the KMF group that was going to destroy the target bridge.

Then he looked left and right and found that several KMFs were crowding around pieces of explosives, slowly piecing them together.

"Hey, I have something to say," he said, parking the landline next to them, "why haven't I seen these things before?"

“Nonsense, sir,” one of the pilots said. “These explosives are only used in rare cases to blow up enemy fortifications. They are usually used for mining, demolishing buildings and bridges. We don’t usually fight with explosives in our hands.”

"Ah...I mean..."

"Do you really think that the construction of mine shafts and the demolition of buildings are done by the KMFs using their fingers and rakes to pick at things bit by bit?"

"No, no, no, no, no, no... I mean, how much longer until you finish?"

"That's about right, it's almost a ton."

As the pilot spoke, he pushed up the large slab of assembled explosives—it was quite large, square like a slightly smaller castle gate, but at least twice as thick as the former.

"So...how do we blow it up?"

Just as the pilots were still discussing amongst themselves, the flares were still waving in the sky, and the Soviet artillery was still exploding where they had been, they felt a lot of turbulence coming from behind them overhead.

"Major Taluvin, we are the KMF air support group approaching from your rear, preparing to strike the enemy's direct fire network on the other side of the river to provide cover for your bridge-bombing operation."

"Ah! Great! That's wonderful!" the major exclaimed with delight. "We'll be right there..."

But their joy was short-lived. Searchlights appeared on the opposite bank, plucking the KMFs from the darkness. Then came anti-aircraft fire and night-flying fighters arriving from the other side. A barrage of golden, thunderous attacks scattered the air knights' formation—air support was hampered, and advancing remained incredibly difficult. Where did all that Soviet firepower come from?!

"Major! Major, please respond!" Just then, another group of reinforcements arrived from the land. "Are you encountering any difficulties?"