Cannon Fire Arc

Wang Zhong stopped, hoping the others had grasped his meaning.

Pavlov asked, “And then?”

Wang Zhong replied, “We’ve rescued a Monk from Karlinovka who has excellent hearing…”

“You mean a Sound Array Master?” Popov inquired.

“Yes, although he discarded his listening device, he said that the town’s blacksmiths could quickly forge some makeshift ones. He’ll be ready by tomorrow!

“He can distinguish the engine sounds of the enemy’s reconnaissance planes!”

Yegorov finally understood, “Are you suggesting we use the Divine Arrow to take down the enemy’s reconnaissance planes?”

Wang Zhong confirmed, “Yes, a fighter bomber pilot is highly nervous when dropping bombs under fire from our anti-aircraft guns and might not spot a well-camouflaged B4 launch position.

“But reconnaissance planes can take photos for reconnaissance, and the enemy intelligence staff can study the photos closely in a safe place. They have a good chance of finding our artillery positions!”

The others nodded in agreement, “That makes sense.”

“If we suppress reconnaissance and maintain good camouflage, those cumbersome B4s might survive longer! Inflicting greater damage on the enemy!”

Yegorov proposed, “If we find another launch position and spread the B4s out, we can withstand more attacks!”

Wang Zhong added, “If we use wood and such to create fake positions, without firing, the real and fake won’t be distinguishable. We just have to not fire when the enemy planes are in the air.”

“Exactly!” Yegorov slammed the table, “I’ll have my boys…”

“No,” Popov interrupted him, “it’s not a task for our boys. The church is organizing civilians and home guards for this, let them do it. Some of them are carpenters and blacksmiths.”

Wang Zhong queried, “The church is organizing this?”

“Yes, we are part of the Secular faction, and the local parish priest has great influence among the citizens. It would be different if it were the Sanctified faction.” Popov said with some pride.

Wang Zhong commented, “That’s good. The best cards we hold right now are these B4s. The good news is, we’ve captured the enemy’s communication codebook, and as long as they don’t change their codes, we can guess where and what units are by monitoring their communications.

“I personally scouted the villages within the B4’s firing range. They are mostly inhabited by the elderly, those who do not follow the Eastern Holy Church, and a few from the Sanctified faction, so we can bombard with confidence.

“Especially at night, when the enemy is encamped, we should be able to inflict significant casualties.”

————

Karlinovka.

The lead reconnaissance tank of the Prosen Army’s 15th Armored Division halted on the road five hundred meters from the village, as Captain Hank peered out from the turret with his binoculars to observe the settlement.

The smoke from the Air Force’s bombing rose high into the sky, and the airborne particles formed expansive clouds turned blood red by the sunset glow.

The terrain of Karlinovka village consisted of a straight road running from one end to the other, so Captain Hank could see the exit on the other side of the village from outside its perimeter.

Therefore, he could clearly see the motorcycles belonging to the 220th Motorcycle Reconnaissance Battalion toppled over in the village.

Clearly, these friendly forces had been ambushed.

The captain put down his binoculars and commanded, “Gunner, shoot into every window of the village.”

The tank’s machine gun immediately began firing, stuffing at least three 20mm high-explosive rounds into each window.

Since most houses in Karlinovka were made of wood, the machine gun even tore down the window frames.

When firing at the fifth window, the captain shouted, “Stop!”

The machine gun fell silent.

No one came out from the village, nor was there any return fire.

Wait, someone was coming out from the village!

An old man wearing a military uniform from the time of the Ante Empire and Anatolian Empire war staggered out from the village, stood at the entrance, and looked toward the Prussians.

The captain ordered, “Catch him, ask where the people who ambushed the motorcycle battalion went!”

The reconnaissance soldiers, who had been in hiding by the roadside, immediately stood up and advanced toward the village entrance.

After the infantry moved fifty paces, the captain ordered the tank forward.

By the time the tank reached the entrance, the infantry had already pinned the old man to the ground. A lieutenant, holding a saber, approached the tank, “Captain, this is all he had on him!”

The captain took the saber, examined it closely, and admired, “What a fine blade!”

No sooner had these words left his mouth than an explosion sounded from within the village.

The Prosen soldiers around the tank immediately hit the ground, and the captain himself retreated into the turret, abandoning the “fine blade” on the ground.

The steel helmet flung by the explosion landed on the ground with a ringing sound.

Seizing the moment, the pinned old man stood up, grabbed the saber from the ground, and aimed to strike the nearest Prussian, but a submachine gun fired.

The old man’s body tensed sharply, bathed in the blood-red sunset.

He fell down little by little.

Although dynasties had changed, he still shed the last drop of blood for his hometown.

Major Hank climbed back out of the turret and asked loudly, “What was that explosion just now?”

“Report Major, the enemy buried mines under the bodies!”

The Major cursed and then ordered, “Drag everyone in the village out, ask where more mines are! Those who don’t talk are resistors, shoot them all!”

Soon, more than a dozen elders were brought under the birch tree at the entrance of the village.

The interpreter asked the first old lady, “How many mines have been buried here? Where are they?”

The old lady spat in the interpreter’s face.

The interpreter said, “This one is a resistor! Execute them!”

The submachine gun immediately rang out, the old lady fell, eyes still fixed fiercely on the invaders.

The interpreter approached the second elder man in line, asking, “How many mines are buried? Where?”

The elder man said, “I am a sergeant of the Thirteenth Guard Grenadier Corps, soldier number…”

“I’m asking you!” The interpreter slapped the old man across the face several times.

The elder man wiped the blood leaking from the corner of his mouth and continued, “I am a sergeant of the Thirteenth Guard Grenadier Corps…”

“This one’s a resistor! Shoot!”

Rat-a-tat-tat

The interpreter walked toward the third one, a middle-aged man, who said before the interpreter could speak, “I believe in the Prosen national religion! My family secretly worships…”

The interpreter cut him off, “Then tell me how many mines there are!”

“Only five, all buried under the corpses of the Imperial soldiers in the village! These damned inferior races, how dare they desecrate the bodies of Imperial soldiers!”

The interpreter said, “That’s right, you are an inferior race, that’s why you’d betray your own neighbors.”

Speaking, the interpreter turned to the surrounding Prosen soldiers and said in Prosen, “Just now, they were defiant to death, one after another; I thought their national spirit had elevated! Lucky there’s this one! They really are an inferior race!”

The Prosen soldiers laughed heartily.

The traitor looked blankly at the Prussians, fear written all over his face.

The interpreter stepped forward, patted his shoulder, “Don’t worry, we treat those loyal to the Empire well. You did well, very well. By the way, who buried these mines?”

The traitor answered, “It was a person named Aleksei Konstantinovich Rokossovsky! He claims to be the White Horse General!”

The interpreter’s smile froze on his face.

Then, a lance corporal ran up to the deputy commander, reporting loudly, “A note written in Prosen was found on the body of our soldiers!”

“Read it!” Major Hank said.

“General Aleksei Konstantinovich wishes you a pleasant occupation, I have left you twenty surprises, hope you like them.”

Major Hank frowned, “Is that really what’s written there?”

“Yes!”

The Major exchanged a glance with the interpreter.

The interpreter immediately slapped the traitor in the face, “Motherfucker! You dare to deceive us! Clearly, there are 20 mines!”

“What? Twenty? I swear I didn’t know! I was hiding too far away to hear clearly what their order was! I only saw them bury five!”

The interpreter drew his Luger pistol and chambered a round himself.

The traitor knelt abruptly, “I’m wronged!”

“Those who deceive the Empire must die!” the interpreter said emotionlessly, raising the gun to the traitor’s forehead.

In desperation, the man shouted, “Long live the Prosen Empire! Emperor Reinha…”

Before he could finish, the interpreter pulled the trigger, the bullet hit the target right in the middle of the forehead, passing out the back of the skull, creating a large hole, his brain matter spraying onto the roots of the birch tree.

Then the interpreter kicked the corpse away.

The old lady standing fourth in line spit on the corpse.

The interpreter said, “I suppose you won’t talk either?”

“The day my son comes back, he’ll send all of you to hell!”

Pop.

The gunfire continued.