"The airdropped materials were thrown onto the Russians' positions, and the support of fighter jets also depends on the situation. To preserve our strength, this battle has been pushed to the brink of failure. Even if we are fighting against the Russians now, who can guarantee that this will happen?
Can air-ground coordination win the battle?" After hesitating for a few seconds, the chief of staff finally walked to Colonel Ensk's side, carefully considered his words and then spoke quietly.
"Perhaps we should consider the issue of tactical retreat, division commander. The Russian attack is definitely not something we can withstand. All the soldiers and officers are hungry. Our division has reduced its personnel by more than 30% and its ammunition base is only normal.
Less than half the quantity!”
"Although it sounds like this is shaking the morale of the military, I must fulfill my duty to remind you that we need to prepare a practical tactical retreat plan. This is also one of our responsibilities."
Colonel Enske, whose mouth was filled with an indescribable bitter taste, couldn't help but shudder when he heard "hungry".
In the past week, what he, the division commander, has eaten in his stomach is simply less than the weekly ration of a pet dog. He has been suffering from gastric problems caused by irregular diet during the march. These days, he has entered a state of vicious attack, basically every night
He suffered from stomachache and could only rely on painkillers and sleeping pills to fall asleep. Even now, he still felt that his stomach was cramping and painful.
"I admit that you are right, partner."
Colonel Ensk, who put down the telescope in his hand, slowly turned his head, his pair of already dim Germanic sapphire pupils full of helplessness and faint despair.
"But where can we retreat now? To the Paulus headquarters a few streets away? We have no position to retreat to now, and this is our final destination."
Colonel Ensk's words were very desolate, and the Chief of Staff, who was standing aside, could not hide the sadness in his heart and could not help but close his eyes and let out a long sigh.
At this point, anyone with a clear eye can see that the destruction of our Sixth Army is a certainty. Now we are not counting on the invincible Marshal Manstein to command the army to rush into the city and drive away the Russians.
, it is not the time to expect the stubborn soldiers to hold back those Russians.
Both Colonel Ensk and the Chief of Staff had already written their suicide notes, and were only waiting for the last moment when the Russians broke through the defense line to send the suicide notes in the form of a telegram.
After World War I, Colonel Enske was discharged and returned to work as a farmer. He was a veteran who was drafted into the army again during World War II. This stubborn man who was approaching fifty years old was unwilling to suffer the humiliation of surrender again.
In Colonel Ensk's own words, he had already had his dignity ripped off his face and been stepped on by the French once, and now he was asked to take his dignity off his face a second time and throw it into the snow to be stepped on by the Russians.
There was nothing he could do with the sole of his foot once, and there was absolutely no way he could accept such humiliation.
Rather than doing this, he would rather end his life and restart his military career in a tragic way.
Colonel Enske's two sons are both married and have families. One is running a farm handed down from his ancestors and the other is running a department store in Berlin. The only daughter also unexpectedly married a poor but loving little girl.
He was a teacher in town, and his wife died of serious illness during the French campaign more than two years ago.
Colonel Ensk, who thought he had nothing to worry about, made all the mental preparations, and with a deep resentment towards those airmen who abandoned their comrades in arms, he was ready to fight to the death with the Russians who were about to fight.
The chief of staff, perhaps influenced by Colonel Ensk, also made a similar decision.
Since you can't reach the top goal guided by the Führer's Sword, let your body become a step so that those behind can charge to a higher top.
The chief of staff, who was burning with fanatical beliefs, firmly believed that his decision and everything he was about to do were meaningful, but as to whether the truth was really what he thought, this was not something he could witness with his own eyes as a dead soul by then.
A dissatisfied German soldier under Colonel Enske was ordered to guard a vital street intersection. Although such a defensive force did not sound like much, it was already the limit that their dilapidated infantry division could allocate and deploy.
Already.
The 500-kilogram aerial bombs dropped by Russian bombers collapsed two small buildings at the corner of the street, and only two floors of a relatively intact six-story masonry building were left. There were about 120 people.
German soldiers died in the violent air raid just now.
The remaining German soldiers quickly guarded various firepower points at the street entrance and stood ready with all kinds of light and heavy weapons in their hands.
These hungry German soldiers were able to get some better than nothing anti-tank guns and armored support, but this did not give these German soldiers, who were so hungry that their legs were weak when walking, even a shred of security to rely on.
The brutal battles over the past few days have taught them personally that the fiercer Russians will become tougher and bloodthirsty the more they encounter stubborn resistance, just like in Greek mythology, the more wounds a body has, the more powerful it is.
Like the soaring demigod Hercules, he cannot be killed completely and cannot retreat due to failure.
Only by trampling the corpses of our own German soldiers under their feet can these terrible Russian demons completely stop their killing spree.
"Here it comes! It's a Russian tank, anti-tank guns ready!"
Accompanied by a roar that signaled that the battle was about to begin, the German soldiers, whose whole bodies were trembling with hunger and whose heads were filled with the ferocious appearance of the Russians, finally saw it.
A Russian heavy tank whose front is covered with unpenetrated craters and scratches of various calibers, and whose front armor is painted with the eye-catching number 177 in white paint, is leading a large group of infantry and other tanks towards our side.
Rushing roaring.
In the turret, Malashenko, who was holding the commander's periscope, could clearly see the group of German troops entrenched in the street ahead. He raised his hand and patted Iushkin's shoulder in front of him, then spoke firmly and gave an order.
.
"Load armor-piercing rounds! Destroy the German tank first, then fire freely, Iushkin!"