Before poking his head out of the foxhole to resume shooting, Lynn adjusted the rifle's sight to 300, which was several dozen meters back from the riverbank on the other side. But when he aimed, he was surprised to find that a considerable number of Soviet infantry had already crossed the central line of the river. Considering the limited speed of soldiers carrying heavy loads, Lynn could be sure that the Soviet forces in front of him had launched their attack before the artillery cover had ended.
Despite the earlier loss of thirty tanks, now there were another thirty or forty Soviet tanks charging at the forefront, most of them unmistakable T-34s. What Lynn saw was not just the relentless fighting spirit of the Soviet troops but also the deep reserves of the Soviet army, capable of continuously committing to attacks regardless of losses. Due to the limited visibility caused by the fading light, Lynn could only imagine how many Soviet assault guns and self-propelled artillery were gathered there, indicated by the flickering of distant fires.
In the summer and autumn of 1941, these two armies, like gray torrents from Central Europe, overwhelmed Eastern Europe. Red banners turned to ashes in the blaze, and the severely depleted Soviet forces found themselves in dire straits, only overcoming them through unimaginable willpower and tremendous sacrifice.
In less than four years, the situation had completely reversed for both sides.
Without time to adjust the sight, Lynn slightly lowered the muzzle of the rifle. A shot rang out, and a Soviet soldier crossing the river fell backward dramatically, hands outstretched in exaggeration.
On the southern bank of the river, Soviet soldiers responsible for suppressing fire had already set up machine guns. Bullets flew like fireflies in the dimming light, densely penetrating the German positions, disappearing into the snow, mud, and bodies.
Without the protection of a helmet, Lynn had already planned to shoot, then lower his head, turn halfway, and squat before reloading and returning to position—all done within the foxhole. Although this would extend the time between shots, it ensured a safer approach. Taking this chance, Lynn first adjusted the sight to 200 meters. Hesitating, he then adjusted it between 200 and 100 meters.
Taking a deep breath, he lifted the rifle diagonally, lowering the muzzle as his body rose, until the rifle was almost parallel to the ground when his shoulders were level with the edge of the foxhole.
The fast-moving Soviet infantry were now close to the northern bank of the river, a blind spot for Lynn's direct fire.
Because it was winter, night fell early, but the clear sky wasn't completely dark. Bright stars illuminated the earth, and without the interference of flares or searchlights, moving shadows could be roughly discerned hundreds of meters away. With little wind, when a blurry figure appeared in the rifle's sight, Lynn quickly estimated the difference between the bullet's flight time and the target's movement—a skillful mental calculation that made him a sharpshooting "ace."
After the shot, the unexpected figure fell, but in a battlefield with a large number of soldiers from both sides, it was difficult to determine if the enemy had been killed by oneself. If two or more soldiers from the same side fired at the same target within an extremely close time frame, each would easily believe they hit the target, but in reality, their bullets might miss entirely.
As Lynn crouched to reload, the battle rapidly escalated. With Soviet tanks charging up the riverbank again, German anti-tank infantry ambushed them as before. To ensure hits and conserve ammunition, under the coordination of an officer, each combat group mostly focused on the tanks directly in front of them. Clever deployment ensured they always struck the vulnerable points of Soviet tanks. However, no tactic on the battlefield is unbeatable; masses of infantry followed the first wave of tanks up the riverbank. Although the machine guns and submachine guns in the German trenches inflicted significant casualties on them, Soviet infantry's close-range shooting posed a direct threat to the German anti-tank personnel on the front lines. Those using "Panzerfausts" and "tank killers" either found themselves pinned down by enemy bullets in foxholes or were killed in reckless attacks. Even though the machine guns and submachine guns of the German main positions cleared hundreds of Soviet soldiers who first charged up the riverbank within a few seconds, those crucial seconds still changed the course of the battle. Several T-34s finally reached the riverbank and their turret and frontal machine guns immediately wreaked havoc. Despite the valiant spirit of the defenders, under these circumstances, they only added to the casualties, and the German soldiers using anti-tank rocket launchers immediately launched attacks when given the chance. However, the rhythm on the battlefield had shifted, and by the time the first few Soviet tanks were destroyed, more tanks had climbed up the riverbank...
Seeing more and more white figures following the beetle-like T-34s surging up this side of the river, Lynn had no choice but to abandon his "safety plan." Before emptying a row of bullets, his head, neck with gathered arteries and veins, and shoulders were exposed without even wearing a steel helmet, slightly pressing the muzzle, shooting, shooting, and shooting as quickly as possible. Even so, the enemies in front of him grew in numbers.
The last shot brought down an enemy less than sixty meters away. When Lynn recoiled into the foxhole, he suddenly felt his breath quickening and his heart racing. Trying to reload with a row of bullets in his hand, when he opened the bolt, the large chamber made the first bullet go astray.
Calm down! Calm down!
Lynn told himself in his mind, trying to slow down the pressure and nervousness with deep breaths. However, this trick seemed ineffective. After finally reloading the bullets, when he raised his head again, he remembered he had intended to adjust the sight. Regret turned into frustration, which led to impatience, and the first shot that followed only hit the leg of a Soviet soldier—less than fifty meters away!
As he pulled the bolt, Lynn glanced up inadvertently and saw the Soviet soldier across from him suddenly spraying a tongue of fire from his submachine gun. Bullets seemed to be coming straight at him, causing him great fear and even despair. He instinctively made a completely untimely move: firing his rifle.
The hurried shots didn't hit, but fortunately, comrades in the trench immediately killed the dangerous man, while others continuously threw grenades toward the frontline. Although this might threaten their own anti-tank soldiers, faced with the Soviet soldiers rushing in like a tide, they had no better option.
"Fix bayonets!"
Having heard this three times with overwhelming emotion before, Lynn firmly remembered this slogan and its meaning. Bayonet fighting was his weak point, and Lynn knew it well. Thus, he continued to aim, shoot, and cycle the bolt repeatedly. By the time he emptied the remaining three bullets, the fierce Soviet infantry had stormed into the main defensive position, engaging in close combat with the German soldiers who stood their ground. In this situation, rifle shooting at close range was indistinguishable between friend and foe. Lynn held his rifle upright with his left hand, intending to pull out the bayonet from his belt, but some Soviet soldiers directly bypassed the German trench and rushed forward—unfortunately, Lynn didn't even have time to play dead!
Like an electric shock, Lynn's mind remained rational amidst the panic. His right hand immediately changed course, reaching for his waist where he drew his shotgun, surprising even himself with his calmness as he flicked off the safety. As he squeezed the trigger, two Soviet infantrymen had already charged to within less than ten meters. In the moonlight, Lynn could even see the glint of menace in their eyes.
Bang... bang... bang...
The crisp sound of the shotgun didn't disappoint Lynn's expectations. Though there was a sense of uncontrollable jitteriness while firing with one hand, the bullets still hit their targets one after another. The first two shots drilled two blood holes in the same chest, spraying blood like fireworks in the sky; the third shot directly hit the face, turning the once somewhat handsome face into a prop from a horror movie.
Attracted by the gunshot—or perhaps sensing the immediate threat—several other Soviet soldiers who hadn't been charging toward him initially now ran over, brandishing their bayonets. Surprisingly, there was no deceleration as they changed direction. Lynn didn't have time to think, raising his shotgun with his right hand. With each pull of the trigger, he quickly adjusted the aim slightly, as if he were a hero from a movie, capable of taking down a dozen bad guys single-handedly. However, even if such mastery existed, it would undoubtedly be built on long, tedious practice. Relying solely on imagination, nine out of ten would encounter the same situation as Lynn: three shots hitting three targets at close range, yet only incapacitating one enemy, while the other two Soviet infantrymen, though wounded in the hand and shoulder, were not incapacitated but instead enraged. Despite not having particularly robust physiques, they seemed poised to easily overpower Lynn in the trench...