81_81266 "It was the longest night of my life, and when I saw the light of day, I felt like I had been reborn. —Wilhelm Downer, veteran of the German 1st Airborne Division.

The bullet struck the branch, shattering the shriveled branch. The German paratroopers lay calmly under the dead trees, waiting for the British soldiers from the opposite side to come closer. They set up machine-gun emplacements on the left and right flanks, and if the British got into this pocket, they would be slaughtered.

They are battle-hardened veterans, not new recruits who shoot casually. They are eager to live, because one of their lives is enough for ten or even twenty enemy lives.

Borol lay on his stomach in the makeshift dug foxhole, squinted at the densely packed British attacking on the opposite side, and pouted his lips and felt that these Brits were really damned. They don't seem to have learned how to attack, and they don't seem to have been able to master real combat skills. Such an attack would only keep their casualties high, and they would be crushed by the slaughter of German machine guns.

German paratroopers had already fought countless of these battles, they were good at fighting in isolation behind enemy lines, they were good at capturing important military targets as soon as they landed, and then holding their positions until the last moment. For the rest of the Germans it was their first night in England, but not for the German paratroopers, who were accustomed to having their faces pressed to dirt in the cold and cold wind, and who were used to killing and dying on such nights.

Aren't there so many people who yearn for special forces? Aren't there so many people who worship the king of soldiers? Braving the dense anti-aircraft artillery fire, jumping down at an altitude of 5,000 meters, and then letting the wind shake in the rain of bullets until they land on the ground, picking up the gun and starting to attack their target, you may only have one person, or you may have two or three, but you have to attack, and then hold your ground near the target that you have taken from under the enemy's guns, maybe a day, maybe two days, maybe no reinforcements will come in your life.

If there really is a king of soldiers in this world, there are really fearless warriors, then these German paratroopers are the closest people to this title, most of them are murderous, and most of them regard death as indifference or even cold-bloodedness.

"Squeak ......" The tearing of linen from the German G42 machine gun roared again. This machine gun is famous all over the world as the "Akcardo's saw", and most new recruits are repeatedly stressed by instructors during training about the horror of this machine gun. As a light machine gun, it can have the fire continuity of a heavy machine gun, and as a heavy machine gun, it can have the sudden mobility of a light machine gun - countless people complain about this weapon and why it is not a weapon in their own hands.

This machine-gun fire meant that someone had fallen, and the sudden and blazing fire cost the attacking British soldiers dearly. The tracer bullets looked so dazzling at night, while indicating the direction of the shooting for the shooter, it also exposed the position of the machine gun position to the opposing shooter.

It is a pity that the transfer of German machine-gun positions was probably the fastest in the world, because their machine guns were probably the best in the hands of the armies of the whole world, and their own experience was the most experienced among the machine gunners in the world.

After a short burst of heavy fire, before the British could react, the German machine-gun positions had shifted, and the British bullets had just begun to sweep towards the places in the distance that had just opened heavy fire and were now silent.

"How did these boy scouts who had never fought fight so badly on the beach for our landing force?" Borol looked at the British soldiers in the distance who kept firing at their position and density, his face full of disdain.

"Maybe it's because our army isn't doing well?" Balu said with a smile as he held an unlit cigarette in his mouth, "After all, we can't be airborne troops and marines at the same time. ”

Borol chuckled softly: "You are getting more and more humorous now...... Ready to shoot, they came. ”

"Suddenly, suddenly!" "Suddenly!" MP-44 assault rifles and G43 rifles began to fire fiercely, and the entire front of the German defense line was suddenly in flames. The density of the Germans' vaunted firepower turned the attacked area in front of them into hell in an instant. The British soldiers, who were unfamiliar with night fighting, were so dazed by the beating that they broke up before they could even return fire.

Hundreds of British corpses were left in front of the German positions, and they did not survive to capture the small town of Bit, or even to see the place that once belonged to the British. They were one of the countless people who died in this long night, and they were not wronged or great. They shed their blood for their country, but few can remember their names.

"Boom, boom!" The British artillery, suppressed by the German bombers during the day, played to its due level at night. Shells rained down on the heads of the German paratroopers, and the whole position trembled.

"It's shelling again, can't they fools change some other tricks?" Borol, who was leaning against the foxhole, shook off the rubble and rubble from his steel helmet and lit a cigarette to his mouth disapprovingly.

There really wasn't anything else to do, and in the headquarters of the 4th Division of the British 4th Army not far away, the British commanders were anxiously urging their men to take the defensive positions on the opposite side so that they could advance to the vicinity of Bit Town—after all, it was almost 12 o'clock, and they hadn't even seen the shadow of Bit Town.

"Buckton must be recaptured before 5 o'clock, or the second German landing force will enter Britain there! None of us can afford this responsibility!" Powell's voice roared so loudly on the phone that the commander of the 4th Division had to stay away from the telephone receiver.

All the British* teams in the vicinity of Bit Town wanted to eat the town in front of them in one bite, but the German paratroopers had built a defensive position that was crisscrossed like fish scales in a kilometer around the town, and they began to storm at 8:10 in the night, and they have not been able to really get close to Bit until now.

The tenacity and tenacity of the German paratroopers were far from being appreciated by the British recruits, and more than half of the British and German troops fought were in Montgomery's army. It is no exaggeration to say that the Dutch and Belgian troops, who had actually seen or dealt with German paratroopers, were either squatting in concentration camps or lying in graves at this time.

At this time, General Student, who had already set up his own forward command in Buckton, said the German paratroopers in unceremonious language before going to bed: "Hit my paratroopers with infantry? They haven't woken up yet! When will they move the tank, when will they wake me up again!"

Although he said this passage with some conceit, it also reflected the combat effectiveness of the German paratroopers - from Poland to Norwich in England, the German paratroopers were never defeated by enemy infantry.

Just because they have never been defeated doesn't mean they won't be defeated this time, and just because they're strong doesn't mean they're really invincible. This qiē can only illustrate one problem, that is, these German paratroopers who were covered in dust and endured round after round of enemy attacks, they gave more and sacrificed more than others.

They only accumulate and learn from one battle after another: from their own wounds, from the corpses of their comrades, from the enemy's guns and artillery fire, how to be indifferent, how to endure, how to win.

But there are some things that you can't learn, such as luck. Holding his steel helmet, Borol sat next to a corpse, smoking quietly. Baru, who had been following him since he was parachuted from Belgium, was killed in the shelling just now.

Quietly, shrapnel hit him in the head, piercing the steel helmet and skull, and died a tragic death that was not at all tragic, not at all tortuous. He died like the British recruits who were killed.

Borol remembered the bloody battle in the Dutch town, the dead bearded man, the embarrassment he had called Balu over and over again, and the proud looks on the two men standing in front of Accardo...... Sometimes he really wanted to complain about the unfairness of fate, and he wanted to ask aloud why a seasoned veteran would die in such obscurity like a new soldier.

He knew it was only the first night, and it was only the most inconspicuous of the many injustices of the night. He looked at the corpse beside him, at the dried bloodstains and at the Dutch Airborne Warrior medal on his chest, at the withered edelweiss.

When the curtain of war is slowly raised, who can guarantee a long life? Those who die first must be unlucky? I have to live, because when I die, no one will remember the beard, the Baru, the soldiers who used to live with a smile. Borol suddenly felt that he understood Wren and understood the true meaning of the sentence that he wanted to live desperately.

He stood up slowly, and suddenly muttered, "Damn, you still owe me a bet...... The scenery in front of him was blurry, was the night getting darker?Or the fog wet his eyelashes, God knows.

"Kill! kill a few more Brits, see you off!" Borol laughed, and walked to the position not far away with the young recruit named William Donner, who had replaced Baloo, carrying the MP-44 assault rifle.

The long night was still long, and no one was destined to sleep on this night. The smell of sea water and blood fills the air, refreshing the mind