Cannon Fire Arc

Five minutes later, the forward command watched the reconnaissance plane, trailing thick smoke, plummet to the ground.

“The Divine Arrow is really effective against low-flying air units,” Wang Zhong exclaimed.

Popov: “Yes, it’s a pity it doesn’t work against high-flying enemy aircraft.”

Wang Zhong: “It’s difficult for the enemy to spot our well-camouflaged artillery positions through high-altitude reconnaissance.”

He could say this mainly because, first, he had seen photos taken by Sturmtiger high-altitude reconnaissance aircraft in military history before he was transported, and second, he had confirmed the camouflage of his own artillery positions from an overhead view.

From high altitudes, it would be difficult to locate these positions with the naked eye.

Popov: “Let’s hope so.”

Looking at Popov, Wang Zhong suddenly had a guess and asked, “Are you sticking around at the forward command because you don’t want to help Pavlov handle a mountain of paperwork?”

Popov said seriously: “How could that be! I would never shirk my responsibilities! But many documents do not require my signature as the Archbishop of the combat group.”

Wang Zhong was about to speak to Popov when Vasily, who was manning the field phone, suddenly began frantically flipping through a captured notebook.

Everyone’s attention instantly shifted to him.

After searching for a while, Vasily reported, “The enemy’s 223rd Armored Grenadier Corps is encamping tonight in Karashnoye!”

Wang Zhong immediately found the village on the map: “It’s here; we’ve scouted it. It’s a large village with nearly 100 houses, all abandoned.

“According to inquiries in other villages, there’s generally no wind around nine o’clock in the evening, which would make an artillery attack more effective.”

Yegorov picked up the telephone, but instead of immediately asking the operator to connect to the artillery positions, he asked Wang Zhong, “How much ammunition to fire?”

Wang Zhong: “Three rounds per gun should do. Twenty-four rounds ought to be enough to cause trouble for the enemy. No telling when we’ll get more 203 mm shells, so we should conserve.”

Yegorov then instructed the operator, “Connect to the artillery positions.”

————

The 223rd Armored Grenadier Corps had entered Karashnoye, ten kilometers southwest of Loktov.

Based on the latest aerial reconnaissance report, the nearest Ante Army troops were at Dolini Villiage to the northeast, where aerial surveillance had spotted defensive positions.

By tomorrow, the 223rd would launch an attack on Dolini Villiage, and once captured, they could encircle Loktov.

The 150 half-track vehicles of the 223rd were now crammed into Karashnoye to the point that the self-propelled mortar company assigned to the corps could only stop in the threshing yard at the entrance to the village.

Also in the threshing yard, filling it up, were the supply trucks of the logistics unit assigned to the corps—since the 223rd, as infantry assigned to an Armored Division, had no mules or horses in their establishment.

The eight Panzer IV tanks assigned to reinforce the 223rd were lined up northeast of the village, with the tank crews checking the running systems.

After finishing the maintenance of their firearms, the infantrymen were now gathered around the fires, sharing canned food and captured sausages.

Someone had placed a radio on the roadside gasoline drum, and from its speaker came the latest popular love song in Prussia, “Lili Marleen”—music broadcasted to the entire army by the Prussian military radio station.

This night seemed no different from the first thirteen nights since the 223rd had entered the territory of the Ante Empire.

Suddenly, the screech of heavy artillery shells tearing through the air came from the sky.

The battle-hardened Prussians of this battalion could roughly gauge where the whistling indicated the shells would land, so they left their bowls full of meat broth behind and scurried into whatever could provide cover.

The first shell landed, striking the village church at its center, causing the bell tower to collapse from the base.

Then, one after another, shells kept falling, demolishing houses, flinging vehicles into the air, and flipping one of the half-track vehicles in the middle of the road.

After the first salvo, the entire village was alight with flames and moans of the wounded.

The surviving Prussians shakily lifted their heads but did not leave their shelters.

About 30 seconds later, a second wave of howls came from the sky again.

A truck exploded violently, turning its fuel tanks into glowing orange spheres that rose slowly, illuminating the night like daylight.

The large pot of soup the cooks were tending was overturned; the scalding broth poured onto the unlucky ones nearby, creating desperate screams.

The second round of artillery fire passed, and no one from Prosen dared to raise their heads anymore, all waiting for the next round of shells to fall.

Some people whispered prayers, and at this time, no one mentioned “See you in Valhalla” – a response commonly heard from the glorious imperial soldiers of Prosen propaganda when facing death.

The third round came.

The church finally collapsed completely, and senior officers and staff at the headquarters hurriedly ran out.

The cattle that the locals had no time to take away caught fire and charged violently down the street, trampling over several unlucky fellows lying in the middle of the road.

After the third round, the only sounds in the entire village were groaning and the crackling of the massive fire.

Almost a minute had gone by before the commander of the 223rd Armored Grenadier Corps, still frightened, got up, glanced at the collapsed church behind him, and then gazed at the burning half-track vehicle on the street and the bodies scattered all over, his brow twisted into knots.

“Count the casualties! Quick! And notify headquarters immediately – we had just reported our position when the artillery came. I suspect the enemy has our codebooks! We must change the codes ahead of schedule!”

The radio call signs of a typical Prosen Army unit changed every three days – such a change was a hassle, necessitating couriers physically delivering new call signs to various units.

“Yes!” the staff officer answered.

The commander looked at the devastated village and shouted, “Quick, rescue the wounded! Put out the fires!”

————

Wang Zhong looked at his watch, “The shells should have hit by now, but I don’t know how effective they were.”

At ten kilometers from Loktov, even with Wang Zhong’s advantage, he couldn’t see the effects of the artillery barrage.

Yegorov offered reassurance, “Don’t worry, these are 203 mm heavy guns. That unit must have suffered heavy losses; whether they can even move tomorrow is a question.”

“I hope so.”

Just as Wang Zhong finished speaking, Vasily shouted, “Enemy communication! They’re actually using clear text! ‘Our unit just reported its position and was then hit by precise artillery fire. The radio call sign is definitely compromised. Please change call signs ahead of time.’ General, we hit them!”

“Good!” Wang Zhong clenched his right fist as if he were a young man riding the crest of success.

Yegorov: “This will seriously weaken the infantry attached to the enemy’s Armored Division, reducing the pressure for the city’s meat grinder battle tomorrow.”

“But that’s a problem for tomorrow,” Popov said. “Today’s fighting should be near its end; we should let the soldiers rest as soon as possible, excluding the sentries, of course.”

Vasily: “And clean their guns!”

Yegorov glanced at him and nodded, “Yes, and clean their guns.”

At this moment, Wang Zhong suddenly realized he was very hungry, having been too focused earlier to notice.

And as if on cue, just when Wang Zhong felt his hunger, the voice of the cooking team’s matron called out from outside, “Boys! Dinner’s ready!”

“Let’s go eat!” Wang Zhong said excitedly.

————

After dinner, Wang Zhong, accompanied by his guard Grigori, strolled around the position to digest their meal and took the opportunity to perform the commander’s duty of checking posts.

Having made the round and on their way back, they passed by a factory building where a 72K anti-aircraft gun and heavy machine guns were deployed. Wang Zhong stopped in front of the south-western wall of the factory, examining the dense bullet marks on it.

Just looking at the bullet marks, one could imagine how fierce the exchange of fire had been that afternoon.

Wang Zhong followed the wall, walking up to a turn where he saw a group of young people crowded at the corner of the factory building, seemingly gazing at something.

Grigori stepped forward, intending to let the youngsters know their commander was there, but Wang Zhong stopped him.

Then, Wang Zhong tiptoed to the back of the youngsters, peering along with them.

In the night, someone held a bottle where, under the stars, one could faintly see it filled with baby’s breath flowers.

He passed the bottle of flowers to the girl in front of him, “Natalia, I found these at the station, they are as beautiful as you are!”

Wang Zhong remembered – this was the new recruit named Aleksei, who was the same as himself, and he had a crush on Natalia from the field laundry unit.

What a move, bringing romance to the front! This calls for a serious critique!

So, Wang Zhong moved a bit closer.