Arc of Fire

Chapter 34

Major Schlieffen was just inquiring about the position of the 351st Regiment when a strange sound suddenly came from Upper Peniye Village.

Due to the distance, the sound was very faint, but the Major's sharp ears still clearly made out many people shouting "Ura" in unison.

"The enemy's morale is quite high," he remarked.

The communications officer didn't catch on: "What? About the 351st Regiment?"

"I meant the enemy," Major Schlieffen said, looking toward Upper Peniye Village.

The Chief of Staff suggested: "We could have the mortars deliver a rapid barrage, with the 351st's infantry guns covering the mortar fire afterwards."

"No." Schlieffen waved his hand. "The victors have the right to celebrate their victory undisturbed. Their ultimate fate is to be crushed by us anyway - let them enjoy their illusion for now."

----

Wang Zhong - by Count Rokosov's side.

Su Fang listened with tears in her eyes, constantly tugging at Lyudmila's sleeve - mainly because Lyudmila was the only woman in sight, leaving her no one else's clothes to pull.

Lyudmila looked utterly bewildered, too distracted by her wildly tugged sleeve to notice, staring suspiciously at Alexei Konstantinovich Rokosov on the truck.

Lyudmila couldn't help muttering under her breath: "Is this really the same Alyosha?"

Yegorov overheard this, and the battle-hardened veteran commented: "Men change in war - sometimes for the better, sometimes worse. The Count has clearly changed for the better."

Lyudmila still frowned: "But we attended Pushkin Academy in Saint Yekaterinburg together - he always got zeroes on essays. And he loved writing those nonsensical rhymes, passing them off as poetry to the Grand Duke's daughter."

Yegorov: "Perhaps to him they were heartfelt words, made all the more moving by the crucible of war."

Lyudmila wanted to say more, but Rokosov climbed down from the truck.

Still feverish, his steps were unsteady, so Lyudmila decisively went to support him.

The young woman even prepared herself for potential groping, straightening her posture.

Yet Rokosov merely said "Thank you" before walking down the street.

The soldiers continued shouting "Ura" for the Count.

Yegorov clicked his tongue: "Not even Marshal Mikhaïlovich got this treatment during the Civil War!"

Lyudmila watched her childhood friend's unfamiliar back with puzzlement.

----

Wang Zhong remained oblivious to the girl's thoughts.

Under different circumstances, he might have admired her face more or taken advantage of their physical contact.

But now, he had no such intentions.

Right now, women would only slow his sword-drawing - no, that phrasing was too archaic - they'd only reduce his machine gun fire accuracy.

Of course, another major reason was his lingering fever.

For someone like Wang Zhong already running a fever, antibiotics wouldn't work immediately - full recovery might take until tomorrow or the day after.

But the current situation didn't permit bed rest.

The enemy was less than two kilometers away on the back slope, and they might receive reinforcements at any moment.

Conversely, his side couldn't expect reinforcements - they'd even lost contact with headquarters.

The Ant Army's long-range communications relied on telegraphs, but their radios were only issued at the infantry division level.

Moreover, the Duke's original communications unit had been wiped out by naval artillery, leaving Wang Zhong without a single radio - even if he had one, it'd be useless without anyone to decode messages.

In short, Wang Zhong's small unit was completely cut off from command.

Headquarters probably still thought the 2nd Battalion of the 31st Regiment, 4th Tank Corps was holding this position.

Under these circumstances, how could Wang Zhong possibly rest easy?

Of course, another option was abandoning the position entirely - after all, the orders were for the 2nd Battalion, not Wang Zhong's unit.

But Wang Zhong had already ruled out this choice.

By now, Wang Zhong's motivations had significantly diverged from his initial goal of "survival," though he hadn't consciously realized this shift.

His mind was wholly focused on completing the mission and beating the damned Prossenian forces.

As for why he needed to complete the mission or fight the Prossenians - he hadn't had time to consider that.

He didn't even have a clear plan for his next move - just a vague notion of visiting old Mrs. Irinichna's family at the village's western edge.

That had been the surface reason for his lone tank charge earlier.

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

A wrecked T28 tank lay against the distillery wall.

A white horse stood by the tank, gently nuzzling the turret.

Wang Zhong stopped to observe the horse.

He remembered Captain Lubokov who loved riding that white steed.

This must be that very horse - after all, that tank had been Lubokov's command vehicle.

Wang Zhong turned to Yegorov: "Where's Captain Lubokov?"

Yegorov: "Still inside the tank. We haven't had time to bury our fallen comrades yet."

Recalling Lubokov's performance in battle, Wang Zhong said: "He was brave, just lacked sufficient experience."

He almost added "didn't follow my orders clearly," but reconsidered - lying in the distillery command post while accurately reporting enemy tank status to frontline crews would raise too many questions.

So he left that part unsaid.

Truth be told, among the four tank commanders, only Lubokov showed real promise - the others were either reckless fools or cowardly idiots.

Wang Zhong: "If the enemy doesn't attack tonight, have logistics retrieve Lubokov's body for proper burial."

"Yes sir." Yegorov nodded.

Wang Zhong looked at the white horse.

Raising his uninjured left hand, he gestured to the horse: "Come."

The horse studied Wang Zhong for a second before turning to gently sniff his hair.

Wang Zhong had never ridden horses nor knew how to handle them - he only remembered from Red Dead Redemption 2 that calming new horses required gently patting their necks.

So following this memory, he softly patted the white horse's neck.

The docile animal nuzzled Wang Zhong's cheek.

After sufficient petting, Wang Zhong took the reins and handed them to Yegorov: "Have logistics take good care of it - I may need to ride it during tomorrow night's retreat."

"Understood."

Wang Zhong took a final look at the burnt-out tank and drew a quiet breath.

Lubokov wasn't the only casualty that morning - there was no time to mourn the young captain.

Wang Zhong continued westward along the road.

Soldiers kept cheering until Yegorov bellowed: "Enough cheering! Keep fortifying positions! Move it, you swine!"

The soldiers quickly dispersed.

Wang Zhong finally saw the Irinichna family's house - situated at the village's westernmost edge, directly in the enemy's path.

From the doorway, one could see the Prossenian command tank on the hillside.

That one-eyed man was there.

After several seconds staring at the hilltop, Wang Zhong averted his gaze and pushed open the wooden door.

He went straight to the basement.

The Irinichna family remained in the basement, preserved in their final moments of torment.

Flies buzzed intrusively through the cellar.

Approaching slowly, Wang Zhong saw the old woman still desperately shielding her grandson - though the child had already been claimed by evil bullets.

Wang Zhong remembered his parents from the dream.

Then he recalled visiting Jinling during his freshman summer vacation, what he'd seen at the Nanjing Massacre Memorial Hall.

Before entering, Wang Zhong had thought it would just be some photos and exhibits - how wrong he'd been.

From the entrance statues onward, the memorial used artistic techniques to create an atmosphere of solemn tragedy, with carefully arranged photos delivering devastating impact.

Leaving the hall, Wang Zhong silently bought white flowers to place before the Peace Monument.

Modern history made Chinese people naturally sympathize with the invaded and hate atrocity-committing invaders.

This was ingrained through 150 years of suffering.

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

True, I'm not from the Ante Empire, I've no love for monarchy, and I think nobles should all be hanged.

But I cannot tolerate atrocities happening before my eyes.

Expecting me to stand by? Impossible!

Wang Zhong bit his tongue hard enough to draw blood, the metallic taste spreading through his mouth.

If his morning tank charge had been an unconscious choice of the most efficient, viable plan, now Wang Zhong was consciously, deliberately choosing to fight the invaders to the death.

In this decisive moment, Wang Zhong felt profound pride.

He'd always admired the International Brigades of the Spanish Civil War.

Now he too was an internationalist fighter.

For justice!

To protect the weak!

To destroy evil!

Wang Zhong resolved to fight to the end as Count Alexei Konstantinovich Rokosov.

With this uplifted spirit, Wang Zhong turned to Yegorov: "Bury them immediately. Also, recruit able-bodied townsmen willing to fight - have them pile enemy corpses at the village entrance."

"Right at the entrance of this house."

Yegorov frowned and asked, "What are you planning to do?"

Wang Zhong said through gritted teeth, "I want to make the Prossenians feel fear."

(End of chapter)