Arc of Fire

Major Shrifen was inquiring about the location of the 351st Regiment behind the staff when a strange noise suddenly came from the upper Peniye village.

Because it was quite far away, the noise was very faint, but the major had good ears and still heard a lot of people shouting “Ura” in unison.

"The morale of the enemy is pretty high,” he said.

The communication staff officer didn’t catch on, “What? Are you talking about the 351st Regiment?”

"I’m talking about the enemy,” Major Shrifen looked in the direction of the upper Peniye village.

The chief of staff suggested, “We could let the mortars fire a rapid barrage, with the infantry guns of the 351st Regiment in the back taking over the firepower from the mortars.”

"No,” Shrifen waved his hand, “The victor has the right to celebrate victory without being disturbed. In the end, they will be crushed by us anyway, so let them live in the illusion for now.”

Wang Zhong—by the side of Count Rokossov.

Sufang listened with tears in her eyes, incessantly tugging on the clothes of Ludmila beside her—mainly because Ludmila was the only woman in sight, and she had no one else’s clothes to pull on.

Ludmila, however, looked astonished; she didn’t even care about her sleeve being violently tugged but gazed doubtfully at Aleksei Konstantinovich Rokossov sitting on the truck.

Ludmila couldn’t help but mutter softly, “Is this still the same Alyosha?”

Yegorov, the seasoned veteran, overheard her and said, “Men transform on the battlefield, maybe for the better, or perhaps for worse. The count seems to have changed for the better.”

Ludmila still frowned, “But I studied with him at the Pushkin Public School in Saint Yekaterinburg, where he always got zero on his essays. And he liked to write some nonsensical rhymes and present them as poems to the Grand Duke’s daughter.”

Yegorov said, “Perhaps in his view, those were candid words inspired by emotions, just made particularly moving by the baptism of war fires.”

Ludmila wanted to say more, but Rokossov got down from the truck.

He was still running a fever, so his steps were unsteady; Ludmila decisively stepped forward to help him.

Moreover, the girl was prepared to be taken advantage of, even pushing out her chest.

However, Rokossov merely said thank you and then proceeded along the street.

The soldiers continued to shout “Ura” at the Count.

Yegorov clicked his tongue, “During the civil war, even Marshal Mikhailovich never enjoyed such treatment!”

Ludmila looked puzzledly at the somewhat unfamiliar back of her childhood friend.

Wang Zhong was completely unaware of the girl’s thoughts.

Perhaps in another situation he would have taken a longer look at the girl’s face, or taken advantage of the physical contact just now.

But right now, he wasn’t in the mood for that.

Right now, a woman would only affect the speed with which he drew his sword—no, that phrase is too archaic, it should be said that it only affects the accuracy of the machine gun fire.

Of course, another big reason was that he still hadn’t completely recovered from his fever.

For someone like Wang Zhong who was already running a fever, antibiotics wouldn’t work so quickly; a complete recovery from fever might not happen until tomorrow, or even the day after.

But the current situation didn’t allow him to lie in a sickbed and rest.

The enemy was less than two kilometers away on the rear slope, and they could receive reinforcements at any time.

Conversely, on his side, let alone reinforcements, even the communication with superiors had been cut off.

The Ante Army primarily relied on telegraph for long-distance communication, but Ante Army radios were only assigned up to the level of the Infantry Division.

Add to that the fact that the communications troops of His Grace the Duke had been wiped out by naval gunfire, and Wang Zhong now had not a single radio—and even if he did, he wouldn’t be able to communicate, because there was no one who could decode the messages.

In short, Wang Zhong’s small unit was completely cut off from the higher-ups.

The higher-ups might still think that the 2nd Battalion of the 31st Regiment of the 4th Tank Army was guarding this place.

So in such a situation, how could Wang Zhong even think about resting?

Of course, there was another option not to stand their ground here, to simply run away, considering the orders were given to the 2nd Battalion of the 31st Regiment of the 4th Tank Army, and had nothing to do with Wang Zhong’s own troops.

However, this option had already been ruled out by Wang Zhong.

At this time, Wang Zhong’s objective had seriously deviated from the initial one of “saving his own life”, but he had not yet realized this change.

He was just single-mindedly thinking about how to complete the mission, how to beat the damned Prosen Army.

As to why he should complete the mission or why he should beat the Prosen Army, he hadn’t had time to think in detail.

He even had only a vague concept of what he was supposed to do right now: he wanted to go see how Ilynichna, the old lady living at the westernmost end of the village, and her family were doing.

That was the superficial reason that prompted him to jump onto the tank and strike out alone.

Wang Zhong reached the crossroads between the distillery and the machinery mill.

The wreckage of a T28 tank was parked beside the distillery’s fence.

A white horse stood next to the tank, gently rubbing its muzzle against the tank gun turret.

Wang Zhong stopped, looking at the white horse.

He remembered Captain Lubokov who liked to ride a white horse.

This must be that white horse, considering the tank was indeed Lubokov’s chariot.

Wang Zhong turned his head and asked Yegorov, “Where’s Captain Lubokov?”

Yegorov replied, “He’s still inside the tank; we haven’t had the time to bury our fallen comrades.”

Wang Zhong remembered Lubokov’s performance in battle and said, “He was brave, but unfortunately lacked enough experience.”

Actually, Wang Zhong also wanted to add, “He didn’t hear my orders clearly,” but after giving it some thought, the idea that he could tell someone driving a tank whether the enemy had been destroyed from his command post in the distillery was too strange upon close inspection.

So he didn’t say the latter part.

To be honest, among the four tank commanders, Lubokov was the only one who could really be relied upon. The others were either reckless fools or spineless idiots.

Wang Zhong: “If the enemy doesn’t attack tonight, let the logistics department take Lubokov’s body out and find a place to bury him.”

"Yes,” Yegorov nodded.

Wang Zhong looked at the white horse.

He raised his uninjured left hand and made a gesture to the horse: “Come.”

The horse looked at Wang Zhong for a second before turning around and gently nuzzling Wang Zhong’s hair with its nose.

Wang Zhong had never ridden a horse and didn’t know how to interact with one. He only remembered that in “Red Dead Redemption 2,” to calm a newly acquired horse, you had to gently pat it on the neck.

So he followed what he remembered and gently patted the white horse’s neck.

The horse was very tame and rubbed its nose against Wang Zhong’s cheek.

After petting the horse enough, Wang Zhong grabbed the reins and handed them to Yegorov: “Let logistics take good care of it. I might need to ride it when I retreat tomorrow night.”

"Understood.”

Wang Zhong took one last look at the tank turned to scrap metal and took a deep breath.

The morning’s battle had claimed more lives than just Lubokov’s; there was no time to mourn the young captain.

Wang Zhong continued walking westward.

Along the way, the soldiers kept cheering for him until Yegorov shouted, “Stop cheering! Keep fortifying the defenses! Get moving, you swine!”

Only then did the soldiers scatter.

Wang Zhong finally saw the house of the elderly Ilynichna and her family—it was the westernmost house in the village, directly in the path of the enemy’s assault.

Standing at the entrance, he could see the Prussians’ command tank on the hillside.

The one-eyed man was there.

Wang Zhong stared at the hilltop for a few seconds before retracting his gaze and pushing open the wooden door.

He went straight down into the basement.

The Ilynichna family was still in the basement, maintaining the postures they were in when they were murdered.

Flies buzzed annoyingly about the basement.

Wang Zhong walked slowly forward and saw that the old woman was still protectively holding her grandchild, but the child’s life had already been taken by a bullet of evil.

Wang Zhong thought of his parents in his dream.

Then he remembered his visit to the Memorial Hall of the Victims in Nanjing Massacre by Japanese Invaders during his first summer vacation at college.

Before entering the memorial hall, Wang Zhong thought it would be nothing more than some photos and exhibits, but later he realized he was wrong.

The Memorial Hall, starting from the sculptures at the entrance, used a very artistic approach to create an atmosphere of solemnity and desolation. Once inside, the photos were displayed with shocking impact.

After leaving the hall, Wang Zhong silently bought a bunch of white flowers and placed them in front of the Peace Memorial.

Because of modern history, Chinese people naturally sympathize with the invaded and naturally hate the aggressors who commit atrocities.

This is something rooted in the genetics of a hundred and fifty years of suffering.

Here, in this basement, Wang Zhong completed his final ideological transformation.

Yes, I am not a person from the Ante Empire, and I have no affection for the imperial regime. I think nobles should all be hanged.

But I cannot tolerate bestial acts happening before me.

Expecting me to stand by and do nothing? No way!

Wang Zhong bit his tongue slightly, just enough to taste the salty iron of blood spreading in his mouth.

If saying that in the morning he had unconsciously chosen to jump onto the tank as the most efficient way, and the most likely to complete the plan, now Wang Zhong was consciously, and able to weigh the pros and cons, choosing to fight the invaders to the end.

The moment he made this decision, Wang Zhong was filled with pride.

He had always admired the International Brigades in the Spanish Civil War.

And now, he too was an Internationalist Warrior.

For justice!

To protect the weak!

To eliminate evil!

Wang Zhong decided to fight to the very last moment as Count Aleksei Konstantinovich Rokossovsky.

With an uplifted spirit, Wang Zhong turned around and said to Yegorov, “Bury them immediately. Also, recruit young adults in the town who are willing to fight with us. Have them stack the bodies of the enemy at the entrance to the village.

"Right at the entrance to this house.”

Yegorov asked with a frown, “What are you going to do?”

Wang Zhong said through gritted teeth, “I want to make the Prussians feel fear.”

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