Just as the commissar attached to the Krieg regiment had said, the first barrage passed over their heads and fell upon the plains before the bunker complex.
Heavy shells slammed deep into the earth and hardened ground. After all, this had once been a heavy industrial district that produced weapons and ammunition.
Thousands of sparks erupted across the enemy positions almost simultaneously. Grenadier 19 stared fixedly at the beautiful sight before him. He could see the explosions of the heavy shells setting off chain reactions among the mines.
He could see enemies in every concealed bunker and ambush point being blasted to pieces, their remains flung into the sky.
He gripped his gun tighter.
The bombardment lasted half an hour. Massive craters pocked the plain before them, and blue smoke and heat rose from the ground. Charging in rashly without protective gear would likely scorch one's skin.
Beep!
The first whistle sounded. The soldiers of the first echelon charged fearlessly onto the battlefield. Grenadier 19 nearly rushed forward with them, but he remembered that he had been assigned to the second wave.
The hundred thousand soldiers and two hundred tanks that charged first were meant to scout out the enemy's firing positions.
The soldiers slid into enormous shell craters, using the changes in terrain left behind by the impacts to set up heavy weapons and provide covering fire for their comrades charging ahead.
As the tank units and first wave of assault troops drew closer and closer to the bunkers smeared with blood and viscera, carved with blasphemous runes, they finally came under enemy fire.
Hundreds of artillery pieces extended from bunkers that had neither gaps nor firing ports. These permanent fortifications, which should have stood solidly in place without moving, should not have wriggled like living creatures.
Yet the