Cannon Fire Arc

The last flicker of flame was finally extinguished through the combined efforts of the Third Platoon and the First Platoon, which had rushed in to assist.

When the flames disappeared, the young people cheered as if they had won a great battle.

Popov shouted, “Don’t celebrate just yet! Quickly check the burned-out vehicles for any usable parts! Inspect those that were strafed, fix any malfunctions, and if there are none, drive them to the auto repair shop for the mechanics to check again.”

The soldiers’ cheers died down, and Wang Zhong murmured, “Isn’t it okay to let them be happy for a moment?”

“I don’t think it’s good for the future,” Popov replied, with an uncompromising attitude, “this is within my scope of work.”

Wang Zhong clicked his tongue.

However, the army did indeed need to maintain good discipline; Popov was not wrong, so he said nothing more.

Popov issued a new command: “Squad leaders, check your numbers and see if anyone is injured or lost.”

In truth, Wang Zhong had already confirmed there were no casualties through his overview perspective, but he had to pretend he didn’t know and watched as the veteran squad leaders did a headcount.

At that moment, a cart appeared at the entrance of the encampment.

The guard at the gate initially thought to stop it but chose to open the barrier after clearly seeing the person driving the cart.

Yegorov was wielding the long pole used for driving the cart, leading an old horse pulling a two-wheeled cart into the camp.

Wang Zhong: “You have this skill too?”

Yegorov sighed deeply as he stopped the cart and jumped down, handing the driving pole to the guard and looked at Wang Zhong solemnly: “I’m a farmer, there’s no farmer who can’t drive a cart.”

At this time, several civilians got off the cart, and upon seeing Wang Zhong’s general’s stars, became uneasy, standing there awkwardly.

Yegorov: “Let me introduce you to these folks who volunteered to help us. This is Andreyevich, a tailor; this is Pierre, a cook; and lastly, this is Nikolai, a cobbler.”

Wang Zhong’s brows twisted into knots: “What do you need these people for?”

Yegorov replied seriously: “Tailors and cobblers are very important! Otherwise, when the muddy season comes, just wait for the soldiers to get sick! Are you really an Ante person or not?”

Hello, no.

But Wang Zhong could only pretend to be a spoilt fool oblivious to the hardships of the world.

To change the subject, he asked, “What about the cook? We already have a field kitchen team.”

“Yes, yes, every day it’s soup boiled with potatoes, onions, and carrots, dry bread. I’m not disparaging the ladies’ cooking, but we need to diversify our diet!” Yegorov said, turning to the cook, “What dishes are you good at making?”

Pierre pushed up his glasses: “Carolingian traditional dishes. I was the head chef for Lord Boye back home.”

Wang Zhong frowned: “So, your name isn’t Peter but you are called Pierre; your real name is Pierre?”

Because there was a time when all of Europe aspired to the French court, Russians would sometimes change the pronunciation of their names to sound “French.” For instance, one of the protagonists of “War and Peace” named Pierre is actually called Peter, but it’s read the French way, which seems more “fashionable.”

Wang Zhong originally thought this cook was the same.

Pierre straightened his clothes: “I am indeed Pierre, I am Carolingian, and I fled here after Carolingian fell.”

Wang Zhong: “Ah…I see…”

Popov said jokingly, “Great, Aleksei Konstantinovich enjoys French cuisine; you can be the general’s cook.”

Do I really have this setting?

Wang Zhong shook his head: “Well, it’s good that you’re here. As a chef, you must be proficient in managing food supplies, right?”

“Yes. I was the head chef for the lord. I managed the entire kitchen operation,” Pierre replied proudly.

Wang Zhong: “Alright, you’ll manage the food supplies for the troops, and if we run out of food, I’m coming to you!”

————

On July 4th of the year 914 by the Jules calendar, just as Wang Zhong had put on his general’s uniform, Popov burst into his bedroom: “Aleksei Konstantinovich, I’ve found communication personnel!”

Wang Zhong: “Really? So no one needs to go to headquarters to copy maps anymore?”

Typically, battle reports are publicly broadcast by Argesukov’s Front Army headquarters, and as long as there’s the capability to decode, anyone can receive, interpret and restore the situation to the battle maps.

Up till now, the Rocossov battle group had no radio communications company of its own and had to visit the station headquarters every day to copy the newly updated maps.

Until yesterday, this was a task Pavlov had to do himself, but today, he could finally pass it on to two artillery cadets.

Having their own radio company would spare them the time wasted visiting the station headquarters.

More importantly, with their own communications company, they could receive orders directly. Currently, any orders from above for the Rocossov battle group had to be relayed by the station headquarters.

However, Wang Zhong always felt that those above might deliberately let his battle group sunbathe here.

After all, the reports from headquarters were already claiming that a counter-offensive was imminent.

Wang Zhong, after realizing he had become a celebrity yesterday, specially looked for newspapers from the last few days to read—previously he didn’t do this because asking a 21st-century young man from Earth to read newspapers was quite a challenge.

If one only read the newspapers, the front line was performing excellently, the Prosen Empire suffered heavy losses under the resolute resistance of the Ante Empire army, and the war situation could reverse at any moment.

The style of this “Annihilate the enemy by millions with lightning speed” felt all too familiar.

Wang Zhong had a bad premonition.

All he could do was to prepare his troops as best as he could.

“Let’s go,” Wang Zhong draped the Imperial Guard cloak assigned to him, “let’s take a look. Where are they now?”