Chapter Eight: The Cruel War

After the brief skirmish ended, Kyle began to collect the spoils of battle from the field. Once the German soldiers had fallen, all their belongings became available for extraction.

“What’s this?” Kyle wondered as he examined two parchment scrolls he had found on one of the German soldiers. With a thought, the information from the two item cards appeared before his eyes.

[Encrypted Map I]: Contains detailed topographical maps of the local combat zone as drawn by the German army, as well as the location of their temporary base.

[Encrypted Map II]: Contains information gathered by the German elite squad on the distribution of American forces in the combat zone, their camps, and supply routes.

“No wonder they dared to penetrate so deep behind enemy lines—it was an elite squad sent by Germany,” Kyle mused, a thoughtful look crossing his face as he secured the two parchment maps, now carded, on his person.

Maps were essentially strategic guides, depicting the deployment of both armies and the terrain in detail. It was no surprise the Germans were putting so much pressure on the American forces with such an advantage.

Kyle swiftly finished extracting equipment from the German bodies and then moved on to the military supplies in the American truck. He had no qualms about taking as much ammunition as he could carry—what was meant to be plundered by the enemy was now rightfully his, and he felt no guilt about it.

Finally, after surveying the now-empty military truck, Kyle considered for a moment, cleared the two fallen American soldiers from the driver’s seat, and carded the slightly damaged vehicle to take with him.

With the card extraction complete, Kyle was now, in effect, carrying an entire truckload of military supplies—fully armed in every sense of the word.

Ready for action, Kyle stood atop a small knoll, gazing toward the nearby battlefront. He murmured to himself, “It’s time to join the front lines.”

Having survived his first kill, Kyle felt a deeper understanding of his own strength. With the abilities and items at his disposal, he was confident enough to face even the chaos of large-scale war.

If such trials were inevitable in this new life, then let the war come even fiercer!

At the front line, the cacophony of gunfire and explosions blended together into a thunderous symphony. In the blue-red flashes of muzzle fire and the blinding bursts from shells and grenades, American and German soldiers clashed with ferocity beneath the night sky.

The Americans were mostly on the defensive, using makeshift stone-and-earth barriers as cover, spreading out in a line to repel the Germans’ attempts to breach their defenses. Though bullets and shells claimed the lives of many advancing Germans, those behind used the bodies of their fallen comrades as cover, inching relentlessly forward. The distance between the two armies’ lines grew ever shorter.

“These Nazi bastards must be brainwashed—they fight like suicidal madmen!” growled the black sergeant leading one American squad. He gritted his teeth, glanced at his bloodshot, exhausted men, and clenched his fists, shouting into his field radio, “We’re almost out of ammo! Where the hell is our backup and resupply?!”

“At this rate, our middle defensive line will only hold for another ten minutes—”

Before the sergeant could finish, a sudden, dull explosion cut him off. A shell screamed down, detonating just a few meters ahead, obliterating a nearby soldier.

“What the—?” The sergeant was thrown to the ground by the blast, his ears ringing and body aching. He forced himself upright, peering out from the ruined trench. There, he saw a monstrous steel vehicle crawling inexorably forward, its treads grinding the corpses of countless Germans into pulp.

“So those Nazi animals have been holding back a tank? I was wrong—it’s not ten minutes, it’s ten seconds before they tear a hole in our line!” Despair flickered in the sergeant’s eyes.

As the German tank advanced, adjusting its aim for a second shot, a deep, thunderous roar erupted from behind the sergeant before the tank could fire.

A rocket launcher screamed, trailing a plume of smoke, arcing perfectly through the night sky to strike the German tank's gun barrel from forty meters away.

The tank’s second shell hadn’t even left the muzzle when the rocket struck—an eruption of fire and steel reducing the vehicle to a heap of twisted metal and scattering the German troops that had been poised to follow.

“Nice!” The American soldiers who witnessed this cheered in unison.

Even the black sergeant’s eyes widened in disbelief. In an instant, what had seemed a desperate situation was reversed by a single well-placed rocket. Unable to help himself, he turned to look back.

There, a strong, handsome young man stood a dozen meters behind the trench line, a rocket launcher resting casually on his shoulder—it was Kyle, who had just arrived.

Seeing so many eyes on him, Kyle smiled faintly.

“Private Kyle, reporting for reinforcement!”

This grueling, brutal defense lasted the entire night.

From dusk until the first pale light crept over the eastern horizon, the German forces finally abandoned their suicidal assault and retreated like a receding tide.

It was, for the Americans, a fleeting victory—a pyrrhic one. The line between life and death was drawn by broken trenches; the corpses of both American and German soldiers lay heaped in the wasteland, the earth scorched and stained dark red with blood.

Most of the surviving American soldiers lacked even the strength to cheer. After a night of relentless, high-intensity combat, their bodies and spirits were utterly spent. Many collapsed where they stood, still gripping their rifles with locked, lifeless hands.

Kyle slumped in a trench, his own face drawn and exhausted, his uniform smeared with blood and mud. It had been a night like no other.

Though his marksmanship was deadly—a single bullet for a single life—the hellish conditions of the battlefield, the endless waves of enemy soldiers, pressed him close to death again and again.

It was a tug-of-war with the Grim Reaper, every muscle straining tight. A moment’s lapse and a stray bullet could open a hole anywhere in his body.

This was the reality of large-scale warfare.

Only when the enemy retreated did Kyle finally toss aside his rifle, its barrel red-hot and smoking—the weapon had served its purpose and was now spent.

“Private, your name’s Kyle, right?” The black sergeant staggered over, one eye blinded and an arm hanging uselessly by his side, yet he still managed a broad, white-toothed grin. “You’re so young—this must be your first time in battle, isn’t it?”

“That’s right,” Kyle replied, panting.

“First time on the front lines, and in a war like this—you performed way too well for a rookie. I’m going to recommend you for a special commendation when we get back,” the sergeant said admiringly.

“Whatever you think is best. After a night like this, just being alive feels like the blessing of the goddess of victory,” Kyle said with feeling.

“Yeah. Surviving is a miracle in itself.” The sergeant chuckled. “Just hold on a bit longer. Reinforcements will be here soon to relieve us, and we’ll finally get to rest for half a day.”

“Rest? I’m afraid I can’t.” Kyle shook his head, patting his jacket pocket. “I have something important—I need to report directly to the colonel!”