81_81266 "Is there smoke?" In the corner of the second floor of a collapsed house, a fuel box was erected, and the alcohol block inside burned with blue flames, bringing a touch of warmth to this cold open-air room.

Wet shoes were placed next to flames, and a German soldier holding a Mauser 98K rifle in his arms was fingering at the white soft leather on his foot. After a day of soaking in rain-soaked shoes yesterday, his feet were covered with white dead skin.

Beside him, barefoot German snipers were lying on the floor, looking through the scope into the distant street. They put on spare clothes, which were relatively dry, and the clothes were not washed, so they found a deformed iron frame at the head of the bed, hung it on the flame, and dried it with the little heat.

They were relatively lucky, they were ordered to be stationed in the city of Norwich, which was more or less able to shelter from some wind and rain, and the grenadier troops who were forced to defend the field were really pitiful, and I heard that many of them directly contracted pneumonia and had a high fever...... There are also some unlucky ones who lost their lives directly.

"Hey, the British are attacking!Pack up!Prepare to shift positions!" the sniper shouted in a low voice.

The sniper cover soldier who had been picking at his feet immediately dropped his stinky feet, hurriedly put on his half-dried socks, and then panicked to put on his feet the boots that had been washed clean by the rain.

"Bah!" There was no unnecessary urging, and the sound of the sniper's weapons firing already proved that the British on the opposite side had approached a rather dangerous position. The sniper did not pause and fired his own second shot.

If anyone could look out of his scope, they could see that he had knocked down two British soldiers and was aiming for a third unlucky man. The British soldiers apparently did not find the location of the German snipers and fired indiscriminately in all directions, seemingly out of order.

"The third!" the German sniper triumphantly counted his hits before pulling the trigger and firing his third shot. Among the British soldiers on the opposite side, a poor creature fell to the ground, spurting out a stream of blood on his back and falling to the ground with a heart-rending scream.

This young German sniper has great self-confidence, because he is from the hunter class of the German sniper school, and he can be regarded as the elite of the sniper academy. German snipers are divided into two major schools, one is the aristocratic hunting talent school, these people are mainly from the perennial hunting hunters or nobles, with superb marksmanship and noble status;

As he continued to shoot, the soldier with the Mauser 98K rifle who was covering him beside him had expertly stuffed his clothes into his backpack, extinguished the flames on the alcohol block, cleaned up the mess, and prepared to retreat.

"Hey, I'm packed, do you want to retreat barefoot?" the assistant whispered. While shouting, he leaned against the broken window and raised his Mauser rifle at the British soldier in the distance: "I'll cover you, hurry up and put on your shoes!"

The sniper ran out of bullets from the second magazine, retreated to the half-room remaining, and slid his shoes onto his feet with the same swift movements. And by the time he put on his shoes, the assistant had already fired his first shot.

He expertly struck a British soldier who happened to see him not far away, then crouched down and pulled the bolt, exited the hot cartridge case, and reloaded the bullet. The British apparently spotted his location, and a white fog was sent by bullets from the window.

"I'm all right! Retreat!" shouted the sniper, fastening his shoelaces, then picking up his backpack and jumping off the other side of the outer wall that had collapsed into a heap, while his assistant also bent down and retreated from the same place.

Just as the British found the position of the German sniper and opened heavy fire on the small building that was no longer empty, a secondary shooter was helping to press the long chain of bullets against the G42 machine gun in a hidden German machine gun position not far away. He was skilful enough to reload in two strokes, then leaned on the edge of the crater and picked up his Mauser 98K rifle.

"Ahead, 70 meters! British infantry. He lowered his voice and said, "I'm aiming for the first one on the left!"

"I'll take care of the rest!" the machine gunner raised the corners of his mouth, pressed his shoulder against the butt of the machine gun, and pulled the trigger. The G42 roared, emitting a distinctive, continuous sound, as the chain was quickly pulled into the chamber of the machine gun, and the cartridge casings rained down to the ground not far away, making a crisp clanging sound.

The British did not expect a German machine-gun group to be ambushed on the flank, and they were still firing at the sniper's ambush position, when they suddenly felt the other side's bullets raining down, and it was too late to hide.

A British soldier was knocked to the ground in an instant, and the soldier not far from him was shot before he could recover from his senses. The British soldier in the back saw the scene of the bullet hitting the ground and bouncing into the distance, and before he could dodge, he felt that his knee and stomach were hit by the bullet almost at the same time, as if he had been crushed to the bone by a hammer.

He screamed and fell to the ground, watching bright red blood gush out of his stomach and thighs, watching the British soldier behind him fall to the ground with a bullet piercing the neck, clutching his mouth to stop the blood from spurting from his mouth.

The poor British soldier tried to reach out and cover his stomach, only to find that his hands were covered in blood. He pressed his hand against his stomach and found that there seemed to be more than one hole, and the rate of fire of the G42 machine gun was so high that even strafing could make every poor target hit by several bullets at the same time.

He didn't know if something was wrong with him, and he didn't seem to feel much pain after being so badly injured. Half-raised his head, he struggled to sit up from the ground, only to find more blood gushing from between his waist and abdomen.

"Medic, Medic, I've been hit!" he cried out loudly for the unknown strength, and he tried to see the surroundings clearly, only to find that there were corpses of British soldiers everywhere in front of him.

Not far from him, around the corner of a hallway, several British soldiers were gesturing to him, possibly to tell him not to move. He couldn't see clearly because the machine-gun bullets had hit the wall near the men, and he tried harder to raise his head.

"Help me, save me, I ......" he struggled and tried to shout, but with all his might, more blood spurted out from several holes in his belly. The comrades around the opposite corner seemed to be very anxious, gesturing hard to calm themselves down.

"Phew!" A crisp gunshot rang out, and the British soldier felt something hit his steel helmet hard, and then his eyes went black, and his mind was full of thoughts and something like liquid spread out from his face, and his whole head smashed on the ground filled with warm liquid, and it was over.

Not far away, the German soldier pulled the bolt of his rifle and reloaded his rifle, aiming at a wounded soldier lying on the ground and struggling, and shattered the unlucky man's head with a single shot. He didn't know if it was right or wrong, but he felt that if one day he lay on the ground like this, watching his blood squirrel like a fountain, he would wish someone would break his head.

He felt so kind that he could waste a bullet for a mortal enemy. If it were someone else, perhaps it would have been more willing to watch this British soldier languish and die of flu blood. What did the Führer say about that? We should keep a low profile, and whoever stands in our way will be shot and killed.

In the distance, the gunfire grew more and more intense, and the two German snipers who had jumped down the second floor and climbed up another broken wall once again found their ambush, and they stood guard ahead, shot out a few British soldiers who had sneakily touched the street, and then hummed softly and set up the small folding stove again, and lit the alcohol block.

The machine-gun team also shifted positions at about the same time, leaving behind the bodies of almost a dozen British soldiers, carrying machine guns and ammunition boxes, and stooped down into a narrow alley.

The Germans, who had paid enough for the Norwich street battle a few days earlier, were now the more familiar masters of the area, roaming the streets and alleys, firing heavily at the British soldiers who rushed into the encirclement, and then vanishing into the rubble and rubble after a wave of ammunition was poured out, without any mud or water.

The artillery of British retaliation began to violently shake the already ruined land of Norwich, leaving huge craters in the streets and the ruins of buildings, and the German soldiers crouched on the ground to endure the attack of the British artillery, squinting their eyes and waiting for the splash of dirt to hit their faces, while leisurely lighting cigarettes and puffing smoke.

One explosion after another, a cloud of black smoke rising one after another. The rolling gunfire was matched by the fierce howling of the wind. The Second Battle of Norwich began, and both sides had to commit more troops to a city in ruins, sending their limited reserves to the ground.

Whether it was the commander of the 1st Infantry Division, the commander of the 1st Infantry Corps, the commander of Army Group A, Rundstedt, the chief of the Army General Staff, Brauchitsch, or even the Führer Accardo, everyone knew that Norwich was just a www.biquge.info of pen fun, and every British city in the future would have to be filled with people and lives, and rivers of blood would flow and never die