Steel Soviet Union

Most of these American soldiers who had raised their hands to surrender were still dissatisfied, and all of them had either a stern look or a bad poker face. 6⃞ 9⃞ s⃞ h⃞ u⃞ x⃞ .⃞ c⃞ o⃞ m⃞ While walking slowly in line, they muttered something from time to time, which seemed to be cursing, but this made me stand aside and lean against the tank and watch. Wittmann was a little bit dumbfounded.

"Who do these Americans think they are? They surrendered, but they still have this stinky face. Why does it feel like we surrendered to them? Huh?"

Wittmann was not the only one who had similar feelings. Gunner Wegener, who had just gotten off the car, also had similar feelings.

But compared to Wittmann who kept it in his heart, Wegener was more willing to express his feelings. This is the biggest difference between the two.

"The Russians were angry and hateful when they were captured by us, but these Americans had their nostrils turned upward and their faces turned sideways from beginning to end, and they had no idea how much they weighed."

Wittmann had heard some stories about the Yankees, which he overheard while chatting with Wehrmacht veterans who had returned from the North African battlefield.

"Those Americans are very arrogant. If the British are a bit gentlemanly, then these Americans are the nouveau riche in the countryside. You can't feel that there is anything worthy of your admiration in them, but they are very arrogant. I am very proud, my country has no historical accumulation at all, and all I carry in my pocket is this nouveau riche arrogance.”

"Maybe one day you will meet these guys on the battlefield, and then you will understand. Some of the battles you Waffen SS fought were indeed tough, but I bet these Americans will still have a bad face by then. Even if I am captured by you."

Recalling the description he had heard at the time, Wittmann suddenly felt that this was so damn right.

"Push these Americans together, don't let them run around, and send more people to guard them. Their reinforcements may arrive at any time, and there may be riots by then."

The commander of the SS infantry company leading the team received the order from Wittmann, nodded and left. Then he waved to his men who were escorting the prisoners and spoke out orders.

The difficulty of language barrier does exist. Except for the young American military officer who took the lead in surrender just now, who understands German, it seems that no one else among the Americans who have raised their hands to surrender in front of them understands German. The SS also knew almost nothing about English. Several guys who knew English and could serve as field translators were on Enschel's side, but no one on Wittmann's side could understand it.

"Be honest! You damn Yankee, do you want to take a shot!?"

"You son of a bitch! You are abusing prisoners! I want to sue you. Where is your officer!? Oh, damn! You still fight!?"

"Hey, I'm sorry he can't understand German. I'll translate for him."

The SS wanted to gather these surrendered Yankees together for easier management, but the American soldiers were dissatisfied and had a language barrier. When we get together, physical conflicts and violent tempers are inevitable.

"Killers! These gangsters are killers. They want to kill us! Fight them!"

While the butts and fists of the gun were waving, I don't know which guy with no brains yelled this. Wittmann, who was leaning against the car and was about to throw away the cigarette butt and start doing business, then saw the order. It's an unforgettable and quite surprising scene.

A tall American soldier, who looked to be at least 1.8 meters tall, rushed out of the way. With his shoulder, he knocked an SS rifleman from the back who was beating a disobedient prisoner. Got out.

The SS rifleman who was knocked away was thin and medium-sized. He looked like he only weighed 130 to 40 pounds and was about 1.7 meters tall.

The little SS rifleman, who was caught off guard by the sudden attack from behind, couldn't even hold his gun steady and flew forward like a dog chewing shit. His head hit hard on the rubble on the street. If it weren't for the chamber pot on top of his head, he would have been hit to the point where he would have been bleeding to the ICU.

Things weren't even fun at this point. The big American soldier, who had taken advantage of the bear's heart and the courage of the leopard, didn't stop doing anything. He simply went to pick up the rifle that fell not far from his feet, and was ready to do something bigger.

This big American soldier is indeed very fast. He rushed forward with a lunge and leaned down at the same time, intending to bend down to pick up the gun.

But at this moment, the SS company commander, who had quick eyes and quick hands and still had the cigarette Wittmann had just given him in his mouth, shot him directly in the waist. Without even taking aim, he directly chose to hold the gun with one hand and pull the trigger, relying on his neural reaction speed and perfect touch.

Da da da da——

The rate of fire of the MP40 submachine gun is not very fast. A short burst of fire only takes five or six bullets out of the chamber, but it is enough to knock down the American soldier who looks as strong as a cow on the spot.

The SS infantry company commander, whose gun was still smoking, didn't even drop the ashes from the newly lit cigarette in his mouth. With a cigarette in his mouth, he held the handle of the gun with one hand and walked forward with the gun across his waist. He came to the man who had been swept and fell on his back, with blood holes in his chest. He was already out of breath and out of breath. In front of a small number of American soldiers.

"How come even mentally ill people are sent to the battlefield? They are a bunch of rubbish."

After taking a look at the face of the dying American soldier, with a look of disdain on his face, the company commander, holding a gun in one hand, tilted his right hand downwards and pointed the muzzle of the gun at the dying man's head.

clatter--

There was a crisp single-point gunshot, and the bullet in the face directly hit the American soldier who was destined to die on the spot. His legs were still pumping out like electric shock, and he kicked his legs completely after two hits. Kill.

"When was the last time you saw this kind of scene? In 1941?"

Before he could say anything, Wittmann, who was leaning against the car like a crowd, heard a familiar voice that came to him at some point.

Turning his head in the direction of the sound, Wittmann saw that it was his partner and immediate boss: the Second Assault Group Captain Enscher, commander of the 101st Heavy Armored Battalion of the Waffen-SS.

"No, my impression is that at least the Russians were relatively honest after they surrendered. They would only use violence at most. This is the first time I have seen someone who beat a guard and dared to seize the gun."

In 1941, Wittmann and Enschel had not yet served in the same SS unit, so although they were both veterans of the armed SS, they did have slightly different battlefield experiences.

"Really? I have seen it. The Russians in that battle at Seván Castle were simply the craziest I have ever seen."