Eight Hundred and Thirty-Three Smolensk Street Fighting

Zhukov is not sure whether he can become a hero of the Soviet Union. Just like the Soviet soldiers defending Smolensk, they didn't know if they could see the sun tomorrow.

The teacher who had just enlisted in the army was holding his rifle at this moment, leaning against a broken and collapsed low wall. Beside him, there was a puddle of vomit that had frozen into a paste, which looked very disgusting. The teacher still had the same dirty things on his skirt and sleeves, and it seemed that he had spit out these things.

Just now, he saw with his own eyes that a Soviet soldier was hit in the head by a stray bullet. The entire helmet was cut by shrapnel, and his head was covered with paste, and the internal structure was basically invisible. The Soviet soldier who died in battle had been talking to him non-stop just now, but in less than a second, a living person turned into a broken corpse under his feet.

Not even a shout, not even a goodbye, a living life ended in such a humble way, no one even asked about the corpse, just let the corpses piled up in the corner, Turned into a piece of frozen meat hardened by the cold wind.

But as a teacher who was still teaching children more than ten days ago, he saw a person whose head was smashed by shrapnel in front of him, and blood and brains sprayed on his face, with a trace of Warm breath. This feeling recurred in his heart repeatedly, making him feel like his stomach was turning upside down.

Ten days ago, he was still a teacher of literature. Ten days later, he became a soldier who fought bravely for the motherland. Looking at the Mosin Nagant rifle in his hand and seeing the mottled blood on it, he felt that what he had just eaten was starting to toss again. He swallowed, then forced his eyes away from his vomit and blood.

Why is it that a soldier is still just a recruit from enlistment, to rigorous training, and finally to the battlefield? Because you have to go through the test of life and death, you have to get used to killing and cruelty, and you can truly transform into a veteran who dares to kill and is no longer afraid. This process cannot be tricky, or at least it cannot be transitioned in a way that is too tricky.

For example, in Japan, in order to make soldiers adapt to killing, they used Chinese civilians as targets to practice their assassination techniques. This method can be said to be able to replace part of the effect of actual combat, but it cannot completely replace the effect of actual combat.

Because on the real battlefield, the continuous shooting of cannons and machine guns creates a more chaotic environment, and the enemies fired by soldiers are more morally reasonable, so it is not easy to cause serious psychological burden. Therefore, although the Japanese method can make up for the shortcomings in actual combat, it will make people become monsters who lose their morality and reason. It is an inhumane method that is cast aside by all human beings.

Let's not mention the shameless behavior in Japan, after all, it tastes too much to write. The Smolensk people's teacher here has been squatting in the trenches for two days, but he still hasn't seen a vicious German SS who heard that he ate Russian civilians raw.

Not to mention the terrifying existence of the SS, he has never even seen a serious German Wehrmacht, and several times he could see the domes of several steel helmets in the trenches far, far away. There is no way to hit such a small target from a distance.

And every time they shoot, they will attract a wide range of shelling, as well as enemy machine gun bullets. The Germans have a weapon called the mg42 machine gun, which is simply a unique existence. It can be used with an optical sight to fire at an extremely long distance, and the rate of fire is also very terrifying.

This weapon can easily hit Soviet soldiers, forcing groups of Soviet soldiers back to where they started. He once saw several comrades knocked down by German machine guns, but because the distance was too far, he didn't enjoy the feeling of blood sprayed all over his face at close range today.

He wiped his mouth, carefully poked his head out of the low wall, and looked at the unreal German positions on the opposite side. Because he has been teaching in this city, he doesn't even know why the originally friendly German army came to fight, nor why the Germans who lost the last war became so powerful. He could only carefully observe the situation on the other side with his eyes, observing the enemy that he hadn't even seen.

He is a teacher in school, and in the class he is the boss who can't follow what he says. The students fear him and respect him. What he says is like an imperial edict in the whole classroom. But now the situation has changed. On this battlefield, the bullet is the real boss. All those who tried to stop the bullet from continuing to fly have turned into cold corpses.

He had never killed anyone, and he didn't even dare to see his comrades who died beside him. He had never imagined in his life that he would go to the front line one day, and he had just learned how to use his rifle yesterday.

Withdrawing his head, he moved his body a little away from the already cold corpse, and leaned against the low wall again, letting the cold wind blow over his cheeks. The military overcoat wrapped around his body was the only thing he could keep out of the cold. Although there were vomit residues on it, it was better than being frozen to death.

Suddenly, he remembered his hobbies in school, so he leaned against the wall and softly used rhyming words, and began to sing a rhyming poem. This is his way of unwinding his emotions, and it is also a pastime he likes very much:

"The trenches in the snow,

is life's reliance;

wide and beautiful avenue,

Set up the cold artillery.

no crying of children,

Prayer without angels;

There are only corpses,

and the whistling of bombs. "

Just as he was singing to his heart's content, another round of German shelling began, this time not just a heart-piercing shelling, but also accompanied by intensive gunfire. A few Soviet soldiers ran across the low wall with their weapons in hand. They held on to their helmets and avoided the scattered debris on the ground with their fragmented steps.

"The Germans are attacking! The Germans are attacking!" A Soviet soldier shouted loudly while running. This sentence made everyone hesitate for a while. They couldn't believe that after a long preparation, the German attack started without warning.

The Germans attacked? Leaning against the corner, the Soviet teacher, who seemed to have been forgotten by others, raised his head, wanting to pop his head out to take a look at the ferocious German soldiers who were described by others. But before he could raise his head to satisfy his curiosity, a bullet hit the soldier standing beside him.

The huge inertia caused the soldier to fall directly on his back to the ground, blood oozed from his chest, staining the nearby ground red. He wailed, screamed, and kept struggling on the ground, trying to move his already heavy body.

Teacher Soviet wanted to reach out to help and drag the wounded back behind the low wall where he was hiding, but he hesitated and struggled a lot, and finally he didn't have the courage to take the risk of being hit and drag his comrades back to safety. The place. After all, it takes a lot of courage to even stretch out a hand in the hail of bullets.

Soon, he didn't have to struggle, because the wounded man who was close to him stopped moving, closed his mouth due to excessive bleeding, and stopped screaming hysterically. This made the suffering teacher a lot more comfortable, and began to study his own rifle.

He had just learned how to shoot and hadn't fired a single bullet yet. He heard the screams of the Soviets on the front line, and also heard the saw-like sound of the enemy's machine guns. Not knowing whether it was due to the excessive secretion of adrenaline or some other reason, he picked up his rifle, pulled the bolt, and slowly pushed a bullet into the chamber.

While loading his rifle bullets, he murmured his own poems softly, and then poked his head out from the corner bit by bit to observe the bloody scene on the entire battlefield:

"Curl yourself up,

escape from the scorching fire;

Hold the gun in your hand,

The pride of defending honor. "

He saw several Soviet soldiers being driven out of the trench by a German tank. They ran backwards crazily, but were swept to the ground by the machine guns spraying flames from the tank's hull. He saw some German soldiers in white smocks jumping into the Russian trenches, taking one Soviet position after another.

"Damn bastards! Get out of our city! Get out of our territory! Didn't your teacher educate you? There is no good end for invaders!" the teacher muttered, aiming his rifle at a A soldier in uniform he had never seen before.

He pulled the trigger with his finger, and a huge impact caused his rifle to rise high. Because he had never used the weapon in his hand, this was the first time he really felt the huge recoil hitting the ground. What a feeling on the shoulder.

The pain in his shoulder reminded him a little of the environment he was in, and the feeling of fear finally returned to his body. He felt his legs tremble, and because the rifle hadn't been held up just now, the bullets it fired didn't hit any target at all.

He had to pick up his own Mosin Nagant, unbolt his breech again, and load it again. A Soviet soldier ran past the low wall beside him, seemingly the only friendly soldier on the field lucky enough to escape back here. After escaping the low wall, the Soviet soldier jumped into the crater not far away with a slide shovel, then climbed up the edge with his helmet on, and fled towards another street.