Arc of Fire

Chapter 5

What does it feel like to take a direct hit from a 381mm heavy shell at close range?

For Wang Zhong, his thoughts instantly cut out.

For the first dozen seconds after the shell landed, he couldn't think at all - his entire head was ringing as if ten thousand church bell towers were tolling simultaneously in his ears.

In his dazed state, Wang Zhong's subconscious was certain he must be deaf, because apart from the ringing in his skull, he couldn't hear anything.

But he wasn't deaf. Along with a sharp buzzing sound, about eighty percent of his hearing returned, and he could faintly hear screams coming from nearby.

Wang Zhong-Lieutenant Colonel Alexei Konstantinovich Rokossovsky-struggled to get up from the ground and surveyed what remained of the headquarters building.

More than half of the communion room had collapsed, with visible cracks running through the remaining structure.

The collapsed roof had buried almost all the telephones and telegraph machines, and the communications soldiers operating them along with the supervising staff officers were basically all dead.

The telegraph sounds that had filled his ears earlier were now replaced by screams.

Still stunned by the blast, Wang Zhong only realized he should check for injuries when he saw a staff officer desperately digging his severed hand out from the rubble.

He didn't seem injured-except for his previously wounded arm.

Wang Zhong clicked his tongue. His brain was finally starting to function again, and belated cold sweat began pouring down.

Had he just narrowly escaped death's scythe?

He looked to the side and saw the Duke being pinned down by two guardsmen.

The guardsmen must have sacrificed themselves-they were covered in blood.

Wang Zhong staggered over, pulled the guardsmen aside, and found the Duke beneath them, bleeding from the head and barely alive.

"Duke Vladimir!" Wang Zhong shouted, "I'll find a medic!"

"Don't bother, get out!" The Duke managed only a few words before grimacing in pain. After a long pause, he continued, "If battleships can shell us... it means... the navy failed to stop them... this city... can't be held..."

With that, the Duke's head lolled to the side as he lost consciousness.

Finally, a medic arrived-a burly male soldier who roughly pushed Wang Zhong aside and checked the Duke's pulse.

"I need to perform cardiac massage on His Grace here!"

Wang Zhong stepped back to give the medic space.

Then he heard someone call out to him: "Lieutenant Colonel! What do we do now?"

Wang Zhong turned in confusion to look at the speaker.

The man had one less stripe on his epaulets than Wang Zhong-a Captain with reddish flaxen hair. Wang Zhong, perhaps still concussed, found himself thinking this hair color would make the man a protagonist in Japanese games.

The red-haired Captain repeated: "Lieutenant Colonel! What do we do now?"

Wang Zhong pointed at himself: "You're asking me?"

Captain: "Yes, you're the highest-ranking officer I could find!"

Wang Zhong instinctively glanced at the Duke, watching the brawny medic performing CPR with little hope of success.

He could only reply: "Keep looking-there must be others alive."

Captain: "I already did! I've been searching since the shelling stopped-twenty minutes now."

Wang Zhong frowned, realizing he hadn't been dazed for just a minute but unconscious for at least twenty. No wonder the Duke was in bad shape-he'd been bleeding under those guardsmen all that time.

Wang Zhong: "Uh, I'm still a bit confused. First, how many have you gathered?"

What Wang Zhong really wanted to ask was "What's our country called?" It should be on his ID, but he'd forgotten to check earlier, only looking at his name.

Now wasn't the time to pull out his ID for confirmation.

The Captain answered: "I've gathered the headquarters logistics and field hospital personnel. Most of the guard battalion fled, and the communications company too. We can't contact any assigned units."

Wang Zhong frowned: "The guard battalion fled?"

Captain: "Their commander was probably killed in the blast. I couldn't find other officers-given the situation..."

Just then, the medic gave up on the Duke and stood up, shaking his head at a nearby sergeant.

The sergeant cried out: "We're done for! The Duke's dead, all senior officers gone! Only the Duchess's lover and the Crown Prince's useless brother remain! Let's run!"

With sudden decisiveness, Wang Zhong roared: "Seize him! Execute him!"

Several soldiers instinctively obeyed, but hesitated after grabbing him.

The sergeant kept shouting: "You're mad! I'm telling the only way out! Look at that Lieutenant Colonel's pants-he pissed himself! Let's capture these officers and surrender to the Prossenians!"

Wang Zhong actually looked down to confirm he hadn't "opened the floodgates" during the shelling.

The sergeant kept yelling, and the soldiers holding him visibly wavered.

Wang Zhong suddenly realized that without decisive action now, the unit would disintegrate.

If the unit broke up, his fate would be in others' hands-only with troops could he control his own destiny.

He drew his pistol, but raising it made his wounded shoulder ache.

Gritting his teeth, he aimed at the still-shouting sergeant.

He didn't hesitate before firing, but the first shot missed, only knocking off the sergeant's cap. The second hit a distant broken wall.

Apparently headshots at this range were too difficult for a first-time shooter with a wounded shoulder.

So Wang Zhong stepped closer, switching his aim to the chest, and fired three shots from less than three meters away. The sergeant's shouts stopped abruptly.

When that truckload of Prossenians was blown up earlier, Wang Zhong hadn't done it personally. This was his first time firing at a person-his first kill.

Surprisingly calm-maybe he'd seen too many corpses already?

Holstering his gun, he told the soldiers restraining the sergeant: "You did well. I'll take command and get everyone home."

One soldier said: "My home is here-this city."

Wang Zhong paused, remembering these men were defending their homeland-while he didn't even know the country's name.

If he just wanted to survive, he could take off his uniform and hide as a civilian.

After all, he wasn't really an officer or even from this country-no obligation to fight for it.

Just then, Wang Zhong thought of Lyudmila.

If he ran and this unit collapsed, what would happen to her?

Wang Zhong felt no loyalty to this nameless country, but he knew Lyudmila-and she was still fighting.

He wanted to see her again, to prove he wasn't a coward, to erase the shameful impression left by his pre-transmigration self.

So Wang Zhong steeled himself and told the local soldier: "You're right-this is our home. Those German-Prossenian devils want to take it, but we won't let them!"

Damn, he almost said "German devils"-those black Prossenian uniforms really had a German vibe.

Wang Zhong turned to the Captain: "Your name?"

"Sergei Nikolaevich Romanov."

Wang Zhong instinctively asked: "Are you royalty?"

The Captain looked puzzled: "No. The royal family name is Antonov."

Wang Zhong: "I know. The blast messed with my hearing."

Covering his slip, he continued: "Find a way to restore frontline communications, organize replacements for the guard battalion's positions, and gather willing soldiers."

Maybe Wang Zhong spoke too loudly-debris and dust fell from the ceiling.

Looking up, he said: "This place isn't safe. Any sturdy buildings nearby?"

Sergei: "There's a bank building nearby-concrete construction, still intact."

Wang Zhong: "We're moving there."

With that, he strode out of the crumbling communion room.

The chapel outside was also devastated-the stained glass that had impressed Wang Zhong before the shelling now lay shattered.

The bank building was deserted. The guard battalion had set up machine gun positions here, but no one remained.

Wang Zhong told two soldiers following him: "Set up those machine guns."

The soldiers immediately complied.

Then intense gunfire sounded in the distance-the Prossenians were attacking.

Wang Zhong: "I'm going to the roof."

He bounded up the stairs two at a time.

With no railing on the roof, Wang Zhong could only crawl near the edge and raise his binoculars-or pretend to, since his overhead view was clearer.

First he checked the unit markers on his interface, finding only one new designation: "Remnant Soldiers." Focusing on it revealed:

A motley crew of field hospital doctors, nurses, logistics clerks, parade troops, and band members who'd never seen combat-probably better at playing tubas than fighting.

Wang Zhong clicked his tongue.

Though just remnants, Wang Zhong could see through their eyes-all views overlapped without distinguishing individuals.

He couldn't control them either-even Sergei beside him required verbal orders.

But his cheat let him clearly see the battle one block away.

Prossenians advanced along the city's east-west main road, while khaki-clad soldiers defended from a sturdy five-story building-the same one Wang Zhong had seen while fleeing.

The old sergeant who'd brought Wang Zhong to headquarters was probably in a building south of this one.

He wondered where Lyudmila was-

Just then, Wang Zhong saw something astonishing: a rocket shot from a second-floor window, trailing smoke across the street to hit a Prossenian tank.

The tank stopped moving instantly, flames shooting from its hatch as burning crewmen rolled out to extinguish themselves.

Then its ammunition exploded, launching the turret skyward.

Bazooka? RPG?

Wang Zhong checked the distance-something was off. The rocket had flown over a kilometer. At that range, forget whether such rockets could reach-aiming would be impossible.

At that distance, the tank was just a speck, especially in an urban environment.

Then a term came to mind: Divine Arrow.

Is the Divine Arrow actually a type of missile?

Is the "Prayer Hand" actually a radio operator?

(End of chapter)