Cannon Fire Arc

Indeed, it was a Russian make; even in a stationary state, its ergonomics were poor enough to cause head bumps.

Wang Zhong opened the hatch, poked his upper body out, made direct contact with the ground, then crawled on his hands and knees, striving to drag the rest of his body out—

Just at that moment, there was the sound of a heavy object being thrown into the tank.

The next instant, a grenade exploded inside the tank, and the blast blew out of the bottom hatch.

Wang Zhong looked around and saw several pairs of Prosen-standard military boots.

He hurriedly checked his pistol, then switched to a bird\'s-eye view, trying to see if there was any possibility of escape.

Then he despairingly realized that at least a platoon of Prussians was gathering around him.

All was lost. Just moments ago, he had been slaughtering the enemy, and now, suddenly, the situation had taken a dire turn. Was this the battlefield?

Wang Zhong didn\'t want to surrender or give up; he was trying his hardest to find a way to break the deadlock—but all he found was despair.

————

Just then, the Guardian Army, who had been struggling to keep up with Tank 422, finally reached a position where they could see it.

Across an entire street, everyone could clearly see Tank 422, with its tactical number, paralyzed on the roadside, covered with Prosen soldiers.

The crowd was stunned, unable to accept that Tank 422, which had been slaughtering the enemy like a war god, could be undone just like that.

It was at this moment that Rezenov said, "The general has been martyred! At the very least we can retrieve his body and prevent it from being desecrated by the enemy!"

He raised his antique rifle with a bayonet affixed, shouting, "Ura!"

The others started to scream as well.

Maybe it was the general\'s death that enraged them.

Maybe it was the fury of losing the general that drove them, but they started to scream nevertheless.

Kozlov, holding high the Saint Andrew cross flag with the Double-headed Eagle, charged at the front of the column.

An enemy sergeant kneeled and shot at Kozlov, the bullet hitting the strong man\'s neck, and a great deal of blood sprayed from the artery, staining the flag.

Kozlov fell forward and knelt, but Rezenov caught the flag.

The old man held the antique rifle in one hand and hoisted the flag with tremendous strength in the other.

Enemy bullets pierced the old man\'s chest, but he did not stop running, charging forward several more steps before he finally fell to the ground.

Strange hands took the flag from the fallen elder.

More and more people rushed out from the streets and alleys, carrying various makeshift weapons, and charged at the enemy on the street.

Stools, umbrellas, even door frames!

Women from the second and third floors threw down vases and stones, supporting the "offensive" on the road!

The once haughty invaders, like boats in a vast sea, were swallowed up in an instant.

————

Wang Zhong watched this scene in shock, so much that he didn\'t even notice that at the distant train station, which had been vacant for two days, a train was pulling in!

After the last Prosen soldier had his head cracked open with a blacksmith\'s hammer, Wang Zhong crawled out from beneath the tank.

He had only crawled halfway when countless hands reached out to grab him.

"The general is still alive!"

"The general is still alive!"

People pulled him out from under the tank and then helped him to his feet in a flurry of activity!

Wang Zhong looked at the excited crowd, his mouth agape.

—"Those people who never abandoned me, with overwhelming force, they defeated the heavily armed enemy and pulled me from the abyss of despair."

The immense shock left Wang Zhong unable to think about things like "what happened to the enemy" or "whether the offensive had ended." He just watched the ordinary people before him demonstrate their surging, powerful force, feeling the strength of it.

It was then that he saw a flag.

He faintly remembered that it was the flag Rezenov had brought.

Now, the flag was stained with much fresh blood, looking dirty and torn.

But in Wang Zhong\'s eyes, the flag exuded a comforting aura.

He remembered the song: On the flag of the Republic, is the brilliance of my blood-stained glory—

So, Wang Zhong took the flag.

In his heart, he had already decided, this flag would accompany him until the day the invaders were completely crushed.

The setting sun was like blood, the red flag like a painting.

At that moment, he heard the roar of an engine coming from the direction of the station.