Eagle Sauce: The 055 destroyer was launched into the sea just after the founding of the country?

Not just the front lines.

Shortages of supplies occurred everywhere in Stalingrad.

At a temporary medical station not far away, a female military doctor was bandaging the wound of a young soldier who was shot in the abdomen.

Medical supplies were almost exhausted, and she could only use strips of cloth torn from boiled sheets instead of regular bandages.

"Hold on, Nicholas," she whispered, her hands moving without stopping. "It will be all right soon."

"Can I...can I still return to the front, Comrade Doctor?"

the young soldier asked weakly, his face pale from blood loss.

The female military doctor fought back tears and forced a smile: "Of course, as long as you get enough rest. But now, you need to conserve your energy."

She knew it was a white lie.

The soldier's injuries were so severe that without proper surgery and medication, his chances of surviving the night were slim.

But in this besieged city, hope had become the most precious luxury, and she could not bear to deprive the dying soldiers of this last vestige of comfort.

On the other side of the city, an infantry company was distributing its last rations and ammunition.

Each soldier was given only half a loaf of black bread and less than twenty rounds of ammunition.

“Is that all?” a young soldier looked at the meager rations in his hand in disbelief. “These bullets won’t last even half an hour!”

"Then make sure every bullet hits a NATO soldier's head,"

Captain Gregory responded sternly.

"Remember, we may not have many bullets, but we stand on the land of our ancestors. This is Stalingrad, where we defeated the Hans ten years ago."

"We will not let history repeat itself and foreign invaders cross the Volga River!"

The soldiers nodded silently, carefully storing the precious ammunition. No one objected, no one flinched.

Many of them had accepted the possibility of their own death in this city, but they were determined to make their enemies pay dearly...

……

At the same time, at the NATO headquarters across the Volga River, General MacArthur was discussing the final offensive plan with his staff.

This legendary general, who was a powerful figure in the Pacific battlefield, now had a gloomy expression on his face, with an unconcealable anger burning in his eyes.

"I can't believe we've been trapped by the river for two whole weeks by this bunch of defeated soldiers!" MacArthur slammed his fist on the strategic map. "We have overwhelming firepower and manpower advantages, why can't we take this damn city?"

Chief of Staff Wilson responded cautiously: "General, the Russian soldiers showed amazing tenacity at Stalingrad."

"They knew the terrain well and used every building and every street for defense."

"More importantly, they seem to have some kind of...spiritual drive that makes them willing to defend the city at all costs."

"Spirit?" MacArthur sneered. "No spirit can withstand artillery shells and bombs. Prepare the final general offensive plan and mobilize all available artillery and air force forces. I want Stalingrad to fall within 24 hours!"

His orders were quickly passed down and NATO's military machine began to operate at full speed.

Logistics troops continuously delivered ammunition, fuel and supplies to the front line; artillery units adjusted their positions, ready to provide maximum fire support; in the air force base, the engines of bombers and fighter jets roared, ready to take off at any time.

In stark contrast to the resource depletion faced by the Soviet Union's forces, the NATO coalition has an inexhaustible supply of supplies and sophisticated equipment.

The sun began to set, and the sky over Stalingrad was dyed blood red.

Captain Petrovich leaned against a broken wall, sharing his last pack of cigarettes with his comrades.

These soldiers who were once invincible on the battlefield now looked extremely tired and silent.

“Do you think Moscow will send reinforcements?”

A young signalman broke the silence, his voice carrying a hint of hope.

Veteran Sergei shook his head, the wrinkles on his face appearing even deeper in the sunset.

"My son, Moscow is already struggling. I heard that Poland and Hungary have already turned to NATO. Our Western Front is almost collapsing."

"Then why are we still holding on?" the young man asked in confusion. "If the situation is hopeless, why don't we retreat and preserve our strength?"

Petrovich raised his head, his eyes determined.

"Because Moscow is right behind us."

"If Stalingrad falls, NATO tanks will head straight for the capital. Every day we hold out gives the motherland one more day to prepare."

Political Commissar Ilya came over and joined the conversation.

"The Captain is right."

"And Stalingrad is more than just a city, it's a symbol."

"More than a decade ago, our fathers defeated the elite troops of the Hans here and turned the tide of the war."

"Today, we will not let the enemy cross the Volga River!"

He looked around at the soldiers around him and raised his voice a few degrees.

"Comrades, we have nowhere to retreat! The Volga River is our last line of defense! Remember the order from above: do not retreat a single step!"

"For the Soviet Union, for Stalingrad, and for our families, we must hold on until the last man and the last bullet!"

The soldiers nodded silently, with determination glittering in their eyes.

They knew that tomorrow's battle might very well be the last of their lives, but no one showed fear or backed down.

At this moment, each person transcends individual life and death and becomes part of a greater mission.

In the darkness before dawn, NATO forces launched a general offensive.

First came a massive artillery bombardment, with hundreds of howitzers firing simultaneously, raining shells down on the Stalingrad defenses.

The explosions were continuous, the earth shook, and smoke and dust covered the sky.

This was followed by an air strike, with bomber formations roaring past and precision-guided bombs destroying one Russian defense after another.

Fighter planes roared at low altitude, and machine guns strafed any suspicious targets.

"The enemy is about to cross the river!" a lookout reported loudly, his voice full of tension.

Petrovich quickly climbed to a vantage point and peered through his telescope across the river.

Sure enough, NATO's engineering troops were building a pontoon bridge, and tanks and armored vehicles were lined up in long rows, waiting to cross the river.

"Everyone, fight!"

Petrovich shouted.

"Anti-tank guns, prepare, aim at the crossing point! Riflemen, cover the artillery! Machine gunners, conserve ammunition, wait until the enemy is within effective range before firing!"

The Russian soldiers quickly took their positions. Although they were poorly equipped and few in number, everyone knew their duties.

They used the natural cover provided by the city ruins to set up a cross-fire network, ready to deal a fatal blow to the enemy crossing the river.

The first NATO assault troops began crossing the river.

The M1 tank slowly drove onto the pontoon bridge, followed closely by armored vehicles and infantry.

Thick smoke billowed over the river, partially obscuring the view of the Soviet defense line, but this could not completely cover the attackers.

"Fire!" Petrovich gave the order as the first tank approached the river bank.

Several anti-tank guns hidden in the ruins opened fire at the same time, and the shells whizzed towards the target.

Two shells hit the leading tank, and with the sound of metal collision, the tank's tracks were blown off, but the thick armor blocked most of the damage.

The tank stopped in place, but soon its turret turned and the main gun aimed at the Soviet position.

"Get down!" Petrovich shouted. Almost at the same time, the tank's 125mm main gun roared, and the shell accurately hit an anti-tank gun position. The huge explosion blew away the equipment and the operator.

More NATO tanks and armored vehicles crossed the river, forming a strong bridgehead.

The Soviet Union's defense line began to come under increasing pressure.

The machine gunners did their best to suppress the enemy infantry, but their ammunition was quickly exhausted; the anti-tank gun crews, although fighting bravely, were unable to stop the numerous enemy armored forces.

"Concentrate fire on their engineers and supply vehicles!"

Petrovich ordered.

"If their supply lines are cut off, the troops ahead will be isolated!"

But this tactic can only temporarily delay the enemy's attack.

NATO's air superiority is too obvious, and any exposed Soviet firepower point will be quickly attacked from the air.

Step by step, NATO forces expanded their bridgehead and began to advance deeper into the city.

Petrovich and his men were forced to retreat gradually, using streets and buildings for street fighting.

But their ammunition was running low and their casualties were increasing.

An atmosphere of despair began to spread, and even the hardiest soldiers began to doubt whether they could hold the city.

However, just when the NATO forces were about to break through the last line of defense, the Russian soldiers were almost out of ammunition and food.

Suddenly, an unusual whistling sound was heard in the sky.

It was not the sound of conventional artillery shells or aircraft, but an eerie howling sound that they had never heard before.

Everyone, whether they were Russian soldiers or NATO soldiers, couldn't help but look up at the sky.

Beams of blazing light fell from the sky like the wrath of God, precisely covering NATO's bridgeheads and river crossing points.

Explosions rang out one after another, flames shot up into the sky, and thick smoke billowed.

The NATO troops at the forefront were almost instantly engulfed by this sudden "rain of fire". Three or four thousand people, along with their tanks and armored vehicles, turned into a sea of ​​fire in the blink of an eye.

Petrovich stared at the scene in amazement, unable to understand what was happening for a moment.

The soldiers around him were equally shocked, and some even knelt on the ground as if they had witnessed some miracle.

The NATO offensive came to an abrupt halt, and the survivors retreated in panic, trying to escape the attack from an unknown source.

On the other hand, the soldiers on the Russian side recovered from their initial shock and began to cheer, even though they had no idea where this timely help came from...