Battlefield Priest's Diary

Chapter 40 Offense and Defense in Muddy Water
Russian military defenses, an unnamed village.

The heavy rain continued for a day and a night without stopping, and the floodwater on the road began to seep into the houses in the low-lying areas. The soldiers of the Siberian Battalion had to use buckets to pour the water out.

"The weather changes so suddenly, it's awful. The cans I opened have all gone moldy," a soldier complained as he wrung water out of his clothes, then sadly tapped the now brightly colored tin cans.

"Idiot," someone muttered under their breath.

"What did you say?!" The soldier turned around angrily and found that he wasn't the only veteran staring at him.

"Um, did I say something wrong?"

Pavka stepped forward and said, "Come on, let me explain this to you clearly, so that your pumpkin-shaped head won't be unaware of where your stupidity lies."

The seasoned soldier pointed to the swampy area outside, which resembled a sponge soaked in water, and asked, "If you were a German, would you order your soldiers to attack in this kind of mud?"

The soldier shook his head, seemingly understanding.

"If you were German, could your carriage move around in a place like this?"

"If you were German, could your heavy artillery be deployed in this muddy mess?"

The soldier then realized what had happened and a look of shame appeared on his face.

"Use your brains! This isn't bad weather at all; it's practically a blessing from heaven." The soldier splashed a basin of water out and casually put the cigarette back in his mouth—the match was already soaked.

"Get to work faster! Before the Germans arrive." The veteran soldier was now directing the others like a squad leader.

Hopefully we'll always have this good luck—that's the honest thought in most soldiers' minds.

Although the soldiers in the Siberian battalion wished the rain would continue, perhaps that was all the face someone had before God. Two days later, the sky finally cleared briefly.

German soldiers wearing pointed helmets finally appeared on the horizon, facing the country bumpkins from Siberia in the distance.

The roads were completely flooded and German soldiers unloaded their weapons from the carts pulled by crossbowmen and then barely managed to form ranks!
"fire!"

An officer shouted, and with a command, a dozen small black dots flew toward the village.

boom! boom! boom!
When the smoke cleared, the village across the way showed no reaction; not even a single house collapsed.

Heavy artillery could not be transported to the swampy area, so the Germans used small-caliber mortars carried by infantry this time, while most of the villages on the other side were made of stone.

"Line up!"

"For His Majesty the Emperor! Attack!"

About 300 soldiers, lined up in skirmish lines and carrying Mauser rifles, charged toward the village. It wasn't that the commander didn't want to send more men, but that was all the men they could muster in the limited space they had.

The soldiers began to advance, initially managing to jog with difficulty, but after less than 100 meters, the formation became like a rotten pie with pieces missing here and there—some men's boots got stuck in the mud and they fell behind.

Seeing this, the officer observing from a distance with binoculars cursed angrily, "Damn this weather! It's making our soldiers wallow in the mud like Russian pigs!"

"Don't try to compete with pigs in mud-rolling; they're experts at it. You'd better hope the Russians aren't real pigs." Lieutenant Colonel Max Hoffman, standing nearby, also raised his binoculars with a stern face.

The German soldiers advanced 200 meters, but the other side did not react at all.

"Did those cowards run away?" the commander asked, puzzled. Lieutenant Colonel Hoffman didn't speak, only frowned. Whoosh! Boom!
A small black dot flew out of the village and landed straight in front of the troops, a dozen meters away. The explosion only splashed a large cloud of mud onto the soldiers' faces, but did not injure anyone.

But at this moment, a look of terror appeared on the commander's face!

"It's a calibration round! Quick!"

The whistling sound of artillery shells interrupted his words.

Russian shells kept flying out of the village and landing on the advancing troops.

Boom boom boom boom! ...
The 76.2mm field rapid-fire gun, nicknamed "Miss Three Inches," uses 4.1 kg high-explosive shells. It is manually loaded and locked. When fully manned, it can fire 10-12 rounds per minute. The Siberian Regiment has a slightly insufficient number of technical soldiers, but it can still fire a volley within 7 seconds.

Well-supplied Russian artillerymen were firing off ammunition as if it were free.

Boom! Boom! Boom boom boom boom!
As the shells fell, the advancing German troops were swept up in a storm of metal, and soldiers were blown to the ground one by one. Blood and mud mixed together, looking as gruesome as watercolor in an oil painting.

"Retaliate! Suppress the enemy artillery!" the German commander shouted from behind.

boom! boom! boom!
A few mortar shells landed in the village, briefly halting the Russian artillery fire, but the firing resumed after about ten seconds.

boom!
Seeing his soldiers being slaughtered without any resistance, the commander slammed his fist on a roadside rock. "Damn it! If we had heavy artillery, even just 105mm, we wouldn't have let these guys get away with this..."

"Get them back down. Otherwise, our men will all be wiped out before the soldiers can even get in," Lieutenant Colonel Hoffman calmly ordered, putting down his binoculars.

The Germans were pushed back by the artillery fire, as if someone had pulled a floodgate, and at a certain point the battlefield suddenly returned to silence, with only the whitish, bubbly corpses telling people what had happened there.

"Hurrah!!!"

The soldiers in the village cheered loudly. The Russian army, which had been suppressed by firepower, tasted the thrill of bullying others with artillery for the first time!

"We really have to thank this heavy rain; it's like God is protecting us," someone casually remarked.

Upon hearing this, cavalry squad leader Panasenko gave the man in black robes standing on the threshing floor a deep look, a hint of fear in his eyes.

"Captain, what's wrong with you?" A teammate slapped him on the shoulder, making the cavalry squad leader instinctively flinch.

"It's nothing, I just got caught in the rain and am a little tired," Panasenko replied casually.

“That’s perfect. The priest has had some meat broth prepared, made from canned meat.” The subordinate pulled him aside, then turned back as if remembering something and said, “If you’re eating canned food later, remember to keep the cans.”

"What?"

"I don't know, but the priest said it would work."

Sure enough, at dinner later, in addition to the traditional black bread, everyone was generously served canned food as a side dish, which delighted the country bumpkins who had never eaten like this before.

As for the empty cans being taken away after dinner, nobody cares at all.

As night fell, shadows began to flicker in and out of sight in the swamp.

(End of this chapter)