Chapter Thirty-One: The Bloody Battle Begins

  PS: Everyone, the update time from now on will be around 10 pm. Today I saw my ranking in the new book chart and it's still pretty good, thank you all, extra chapter added!

  In the beautiful Meuse River in France, it has always been a place with lush water grass and green grass. The slow-flowing river has always had delicious fish swimming, and the branches are often filled with birds singing. The infinite power of nature has created such a beautiful place. Every year during the Spring Festival when the earth returns to spring, the rich like to ride horses and tread on the green grass here. The soft and comfortable green grass, the quiet hills surround a valley, where there is a beautiful small town, its name is Verdun, a place that makes people's souls linger.

  Verdun was a small city in northeastern France, its modest size did not prevent it from becoming one of Europe's most famous strongholds and earning the nickname "the key to Paris".

  In the year 843 AD, three grandsons of Charlemagne signed the Treaty of Verdun here, dividing the Carolingian Empire into Eastern, Middle and Western Francia, which would eventually become Germany, Italy and France. From then on, Verdun was like a woman loved by everyone, passing from one person's arms to another, until it finally returned to France in 1648. The French government then began building a series of fortifications around the city, showing an attitude that they absolutely could not lose this "beauty" again. This is how Verdun became known as the most famous fortress in Europe. Later on, there were several more changes of hands, but no one would underestimate its importance, because its location was forever so charming and strategically significant.

  After the outbreak of World War I, the resentment between Germany and France would ultimately have to be resolved through war. Of course, neither side wanted to choose a humiliating surrender, so one side's defeat was inevitable. Therefore, the important battleground between the two countries, Verdun, began its magnificent performance once again. Each performance was brilliant, but this time the lineup of performers and the grandeur of the event created countless world firsts, making it the most spectacular battle in history.

  When the German Empire shifted its strategic offensive focus from the Eastern Front to the Western Front, France's situation began to become precarious. In order to thoroughly defeat France, the German military command chose the French fortress of Verdun as the target of attack, this prominent part of the Allied defensive line, whether Germany advanced deep into France or broke through Belgium, posed a great threat. So, like a fishbone stuck in the throat, the Germans were eager to pull it out, but couldn't get rid of it. Of course, this small fishbone was not easy to pull out, just its surrounding dense defensive lines and fortifications told anyone who wanted to come and pluck this thorny flower that it was not easy to mess with. The German military, of course, knew this point well, so they made extremely good preparations.

  "I heard that Parisian women all have body odor? Karl, is it true?" In the trench, several German soldiers with black faces, their dirty and messy bodies had long lost their gentlemanly demeanor, but they were sitting together without a hint of fatigue, sharing delicious food and cigarettes. Of course, such moments would not be complete without discussing the eternal topic of men's conversations - women.

  "I don't like body odor, if I had that stuff, it would be too uncomfortable to do things! It's like in our canned goods, the taste is already not great, and then suddenly a rat turd pops out, what a joke!"

  "They say that when men talk about their own women, they are absolutely silent. But when discussing other people's women, they are always full of interest. I think if you really can't hold it in, go find the artillery brothers and use their big cannons to help you solve the problem!" Karl's face was pitch black, no longer with the dashing air he had when he enlisted, several shrapnel scars had already begun to scab over, his dry, cracked lips hung from his cheeks like two pieces of dried meat.

  But that terrifying appearance is not particularly unusual here, as everyone present has scars and wounds all over their bodies. The long-term experience of bloody battles has almost made everyone forget that they are still human beings with lives and the ability to think. Hands that have killed too many times are no longer controlled by the soul, and the central nervous system of the brain can no longer control every movement of the body. Killing and resting have become mechanized, so almost everyone's hands holding iron cans are constantly trembling, and their eyelids are motionless because they have long forgotten to blink due to prolonged aiming at targets with guns in order to see the world and their opponents more clearly.

  "I found that I shouldn't be using a spoon anymore, this hand won't stop shaking, and the soup is all spilled. It's better to just lift it up and drink directly, although it's not very elegant." A soldier who had lost his right thumb looked at his comrades' hands, which were also slightly trembling as they held their spoons. Others could still manage to bring some food into their mouths, but his own hand seemed to be disobedient. "Damn those Slavs, if he hadn't cut off my little finger, would we be in such a miserable state now?" The little finger was lost on the Eastern Front, and even after arriving at the front line, he still couldn't help but complain. Everyone stared at him, wishing that it was his mouth that had been injured instead of his hand, where did all these useless words come from?

  "What's there to complain about? If we take Verdun tomorrow and push into Paris, we'll have a big feast and women too. For now, we've got canned food to eat and cigarettes to smoke, be content!" Karl said after finishing his last bit of food, putting the metal can aside and starting to search for cigarettes on himself, then handing one out to each person. "From the Eastern Front to the Western Front, and back again to the Western Front. We've already slaughtered a lot of rabbits, but when can we go home and take a look? Ah, right, Karlson, lend me a match!"

  A match can light at least three cigarettes, and the ignited cigarette can also help others to light their own, soon the tunnel is filled with smoke. "Go home? Forget it, I haven't received a letter from home for several months. The last one was in September of last year, I don't even know if I can still see her when I go back? If she can run away with a slightly better man, I won't blame her."

  "Who cares, you've arrived in Paris, are you still worried about not having a woman? Better go to sleep early, the officers don't care if you're already a bachelor, and bullets won't care if you haven't tasted a woman's flavor for several months. I heard that French bullets are plentiful, they'd be happy to give you one, or even more."

  Smoke rose and dissipated, the tunnel slowly fell silent of the rustling conversations, the even breathing sounds slowly spread out. For the old soldiers who had been fighting in the south and north for more than a year, they were already accustomed to such a battlefield, accustomed to falling asleep like this. Frantically killing, quietly waiting for their own death, this was their mission and also their fate.

  Occasional conversations between them were also scarce, and they hadn't been used to smiling for a long time. The eye contact between them had become the best way of communication. Sleeping back-to-back truly reflected their brotherly friendship. Having gone through battles together, squatting in the same trench, and going crazy for orders was enough. Their tired hearts couldn't hold too many distractions, so it was better to sleep a dreamless good sleep, and then head to the battlefield again with renewed energy.

  A beautiful morning should be the chirping of small birds waking up sleeping people, the wet dew sliding coldly over their cheeks taking away a lot of body heat, slowly letting a person regain energy. A new day has arrived, a bitterly cold one, and if anyone can remember the date, today is February 21st, 1916, another good night's sleep from the Eastern Front to the Western Front has come to an end, of course hoping for another good night's sleep tonight, but today will inevitably become an unforgettable day for Karl and others.

  The humming noise that flew by in the sky was a German bomber, and such a sound had long been enough to wake up Karl and others who had been licking their wounds for a long time. In fact, they were already up. The old soldiers no longer needed to be scolded by their superiors to know when to get up. On the battlefield, no one cared whether you ate breakfast on time or slept on time.

  Under the premise of not showing their heads, everyone was doing their own thing very casually. Karl was slowly shaving his beard with his bayonet, and shaving without lubrication had always been a technical job. Carson was still looking at his reflection in the mirror, looking at his dignified appearance as if he had seen his own death, and his face was not optimistic. Some people were scolding that there was so little meat in the damned can, and when did the water in the canteen become like urine that was hard to swallow.

  "Damn it, the bombers are out in full force, this is going to be a real blast!" Several soldiers gazed up at the bombers flying overhead, their deep eyes seeming to pierce through the entire aircraft, the bombs suspended beneath emitting a faint black glow. "Yesterday's gunpowder still lingers around us, we've lost our smiles and joy, our hardened hearts must continue the slaughter." As they watched the bombers fly over their own positions, several soldiers almost simultaneously recited this self-composed poem, of course not forgetting to screw on the lid of their canteen - water was a precious resource on the battlefield, once the battle began even urine couldn't be wasted.

  As the echo of his original poem had not yet dissipated, the whistling sounds made it impossible for people nearby to hear what those few people were saying. "I... damn it! Ambush!" Karl shouted with his mouth wide open, tearing his heart and lungs apart. But his shouting declaration was far from being louder than the sound of tens of thousands of shells flying across the sky, of course knowing that they were fired by their own side, yet he still yelled at his brothers to take cover, because on the battlefield of World War I, there had never been a lone artilleryman, even if it was the German artillery that fired first, no matter what, the opponent would retaliate.

  At 7:00 on the morning of February 21, 1916, German artillery opened fire with over a thousand guns along a front of about 40 kilometers, unleashing the most violent roar since the start of the war. The massive cannonade was almost deafening, and the dust raised by the initial blast filled the air as the shockwaves bent tree trunks and made leaves and branches rustle.

  Capitalist countries have always been wealthy, and the most direct manifestation of their wealth and strength on the battlefield is artillery. The German artillerymen perfectly demonstrated with their actual actions how powerful a capitalist country's capabilities are, so the crazy firing speed of 100,000 shells per hour, that is to say, dozens of shells leave the barrel every second, streaking across the sky with a sharp whistling sound, making the infantrymen on their own side feel trembling with fear.

  "Tremble, mortals!" The god of war seemed to be silently mocking the powerlessness of humans, and the whizzing cannonballs were like the god's saliva.

  About ten minutes later, a more intense bombardment began. The German army's 420mm caliber large-caliber howitzers thundered, and thirteen large-caliber howitzers almost fired one ton of shells every minute, crossing the sky and heavily falling on the French position nine miles away. The exploding shells splashed mud and flesh into the sky dozens of meters high, then fell back down, and each fortification was violently exploded into fragments like tofu, destroying everything with strong kinetic energy.

  Shells rained down on the French lines like hail, pounding their three defensive lines. The smoke and flames from the explosions enveloped the Verdun front, while the fourth line, the strongest, received special attention from the German heavy siege howitzers. One-ton shells slammed into this line one after another, a single hit flattening an entire trench and killing all French soldiers within a hundred meters, even those hiding in dugouts two hundred meters away were knocked unconscious, and those inside field fortifications fared no better, the violent shaking leaving most of the front-line troops stunned.

  Before the French soldiers, who were suddenly bombarded, could come to their senses, a large number of bombs fell from the sky again. The German bombers finally began their performance. Unlike shells that occasionally lose effectiveness due to trajectory, these aerial bombs basically couldn't harm soldiers in trenches or bunkers on reverse slopes. However, the intense firepower of the densely packed shells was enough to instill great fear, causing people to lose control and flee in all directions. As a result, the vertically falling bombs almost accurately landed among the panicked French soldiers, with a single 50-kilogram bomb capable of killing dozens of men.

  After nearly half an hour of artillery bombardment, even more lethal weapons were brought into play. Thousands of trench mortars began to lob 100-pound shells containing large quantities of high explosive and metal shrapnel into the French positions, crashing down in a series of violent explosions that reduced stretches of trenches to flatness, while defenders who thought they had survived the worst were again shattered or obliterated, or simply vaporized.

  The intense bombardment lasted for several hours, during which the German infantry felt most at ease. Under the fierce bombardment of the German artillery, the French artillery's counterattack was almost weak in comparison. Although they also had hundreds of guns, from around 7 am, the German artillery group poured shells into the French positions at a density of over 100,000 rounds per hour. Millions of shells and incendiary bombs combed the fourteen-mile triangular area around Verdun countless times, leaving the French artillery almost unable to resist. Many German soldiers watched one of the greatest and most spectacular massed artillery performances in human history, with some even eating while enjoying the sight of the French being blown up.

  Good times will eventually come to an end, the artillerymen used their exquisite skills to thrill the infantry for several hours, but after all, they are human beings, not machines. The shells, ranging from a few kilograms to over a ton, require some physical exertion to launch, and even just shouting out the order to fire can be numbing.

  At 4 pm, Karl and others finally received the order to attack, and the two legs advancing towards Verdun finally set off.