Arc of Fire

Chapter 35

Wang Zhong's orders were swiftly carried out.

Soon, a small hill taller than a single story appeared at the village entrance.

Wang Zhong stood by with his hands on his hips, supervising the work, occasionally giving instructions: "Remember to take out the bullets and grenades from their bodies. I don't want the bullets to go off like firecrackers when we set them alight later.

"It would be terrible if someone got hit by stray bullets."

"Don't worry," Yegorov said beside him, "all the ammunition has been collected. Although their rifle bullets don't match ours, I still ordered everything to be taken away, just in case. These bullets, along with the captured rifles, are stored in the distillery warehouse."

Wang Zhong nodded, showing no further reaction.

Soon, the young men of the small town brought over the last corpse, threw it onto the top of the pile, and stood in place, looking at Wang Zhong in unison.

Wang Zhong: "No more?"

"Yes, all the bodies we could find on the streets are here."

Wang Zhong: "Fewer than I expected... How come I remember killing a lot more enemies?"

Yegorov turned to look at Staff Officer Pavlov, who immediately reported: "This should be the number of enemies killed. Your impression isn't wrong; it's just that many of the people you shot down didn't die. We've taken in those wounded soldiers under humanitarian principles."

Wang Zhong: "Humanitarian principles only apply to humans, not beasts. Besides, we don't have enough medicine, do we? Bring out the wounded soldiers. And the surrendered enemies too-Prossenian soldiers are fierce and skilled in battle; they would never surrender. It must be a trick!"

Pavlov stammered: "This..."

He kept glancing at Yegorov.

Yegorov: "Count, if we kill the wounded and surrendered soldiers here, when we counterattack in the future, even if we crush the enemy's morale, they'll be forced to fight to the death. We'll suffer greater casualties."

Wang Zhong pursed his lips, staring at the already substantial pile of corpses, lost in thought.

At this moment, Lubokov's white horse somehow got its reins loose, left the hitching post, came over to Wang Zhong, and gently nuzzled his hair.

Wang Zhong sighed and said in a very regretful tone: "You're right. We can't push the enemy too far; we have to think about the future counterattack. Let's burn just this much. Get some gasoline from the vehicle we rode in and pour it on."

"I already gave the order; it's ready," Yegorov said, then gestured to a sergeant who had been waiting nearby.

So the sergeant led two Private Second Class soldiers, each carrying a bucket of fuel, and started pouring it wildly over the pile of corpses.

As they poured the fuel, Wang Zhong looked toward the small hill to the west.

Without binoculars, he could only barely make out the outline of the Prossenian tank parked on the hilltop, unable to see any people clearly.

But when Wang Zhong switched to Overhead Perspective, the enemies on the hill were highlighted-because this was Wang Zhong's own vision.

Wang Zhong clearly saw that one-eyed man looking over here with binoculars.

Unfortunately, since the enemy was holding binoculars, Wang Zhong couldn't quite make out his expression from the Overhead Perspective.

But Wang Zhong was happy to imagine that the man was gnashing his teeth in hatred right now.

If that were true, then building this mound of corpses was worth it.

Unfortunately, Wang Zhong was feeling weak and sickly right now, with no way to climb up the pile of corpses. Otherwise, he would definitely climb up there to strike a pose and thoroughly infuriate the leader of these beasts.

However, even if he couldn't climb up himself, that didn't mean he couldn't express his contempt.

So Wang Zhong pushed aside a Corporal who was still pouring fuel, picked up a Prossenian helmet that hadn't been splashed with fuel, threw it on the ground as a stepping stone, and lifted his military boot to step on it.

Just stepping on it wasn't enough. Wang Zhong patted his pockets but didn't find any cigarettes.

He looked at Yegorov.

Yegorov took out some tobacco: "I'm poor and can only smoke hand-rolled stuff. You probably won't like it. Ask Pavlov; he's a noble."

Pavlov pulled out a silver cigarette case, opened it, took out a meticulously rolled cigarette, and handed it to Wang Zhong: "Sir."

Wang Zhong put the cigarette in his mouth.

Pavlov took out an engraved lighter and lit it for Wang Zhong.

Actually, Wang Zhong had imagined himself smoking a big cigar, and halfway through, like Sheffield in *Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2*, flicking it disdainfully so the cigar butt would fly onto the pile of corpses, igniting a roaring blaze.

Oh well, this will do.

Wang Zhong, standing on the enemy's helmet, leisurely smoked half the cigarette, waiting until the soldiers poured the last bucket of fuel before glancing at the distant hill.

Even without switching to Overhead Perspective, Wang Zhong knew the enemy's leader was there.

Wang Zhong blew out a smoke ring, flicked lightly, and the cigarette butt in his hand traced a bright arc through the air, landing on the pile of corpses.

Flames roared to life with a whoosh, spreading across the entire mound of corpses in the blink of an eye.

Wang Zhong hadn't expected there to be someone still alive inside. Burned by the flames, the person immediately let out a scream, then, driven by the instinct to survive, crawled out of the pile, fell to the ground, and rolled around desperately.

Unfortunately, the fire had already taken hold, and rolling alone wouldn't extinguish it.

Wang Zhong maintained his pose with his foot on the helmet, watching the enemy struggle on the ground: "Don't shoot. Let him burn."

He watched as the enemy gradually stopped struggling, turning into a burning human shape on the ground.

Then he looked up at the hill.

----

Major Schlieffen kept watching until that soldier stopped struggling before lowering his binoculars.

The corners of his mouth trembled, as if he were suppressing the urge to curse out loud.

His Chief of Staff also lowered his binoculars and said: "This is the enemy's psychological tactic, trying to provoke us into attacking rashly before our follow-up troops arrive."

Major Schlieffen: "Who is this person? I mean the bastard who lit the fire!"

The Chief of Staff replied: "We don't know. The attack failed, and we didn't capture any prisoners to interrogate, so we don't know their unit designation or structure, nor who their commander is.

"However, the soldiers said the tactical number of the tank that flanked us at the end was 422. Based on the enemy's tactical numbering pattern, this might be a unit under the 4th Tank Corps. According to this morning's battle report, that corps was already destroyed by the air force."

Schlieffen muttered through gritted teeth: "Not a single word from the air force can be trusted!"

He took a deep breath, glanced at the increasingly fierce fire at the village entrance, and asked in an angry tone: "Where's the 351st Regiment? Where are they?"

"The Regiment Commander said over the radio that they'll be here in an hour."

"Tell them to hurry up!"

Although the 351st Regiment was assigned to Major Schlieffen's command and was part of the Schlieffen Battle Group, the Regiment Commander was also a Major, equal in rank to Schlieffen. So Schlieffen couldn't be too harsh when giving orders.

This made him even more furious.

The reason this battle group was called the Schlieffen Battle Group was mainly because the current emperor of the empire, Reinhardt von Hohenzollern, wanted to weaken the influence of the Junker nobles in the military and heavily promoted younger officers who were more familiar with modern military technology.

Especially young officers without noble backgrounds.

Meanwhile, the Regiment Commander of the 351st Regiment, Major Franz, was a typical Junker noble who had been in the military for thirty years and firmly believed that the key to victory in war still lay in infantry and artillery.

So the young Schlieffen became the commander of the battle group, and it was named the Schlieffen Battle Group, not the Franz Battle Group.

Now, the outcome of this battle depended on the speed of that old noble's reinforcements!

Schlieffen glared fiercely at the blazing torch at the village entrance.

"No," he said to himself, "I can't lose my rationality. Attacking now would only play into the enemy's hands. This brutal demon will eventually pay the price."

(End of chapter)