Cannon Fire Arc

The cavalry had already spread out across the grassland, and a messenger with a small flag ran shouting, "Don't bury the captured landmines on the left side!"

Horses have a certain ability to avoid obstacles, and if the mines aren't buried, they can generally avoid them on their own. Of course, with the grass so dense, it's normal for a horse not to notice them. In such cases, one can only trust their own horse.

The battlefield is just like that, if you're unlucky, you die, and it's got nothing to do with your rank or combat experience.

Luck is always the best amulet on the battlefield.

The cavalrymen dismounted, inserted the fuses into the landmines, and then carefully placed the mines on the ground.

The messenger came over again with the small flag, "Release the smoke and immediately retreat toward the signal flare!"

At this moment, the signal flare soared into the sky, exploding in midair and hanging under a parachute, it looked like sudden stars had appeared in the sky.

The cavalrymen quickly got back on their horses and threw smoke bombs—although the order didn't specify which direction to throw them, everyone tacitly threw them towards the direction from which the enemy was attacking.

The entire horizon was covered in dust raised by the enemy's armored units.
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To be honest, many of the cavalrymen were feeling worried; not like Rocossov's favored First Mobile Group Army who had fought many victories last year. They had coincidentally encountered the theory of cavalry obsolescence and had seen brother troops reformed into armored units, so now they truly lacked confidence.

The myth of the invincible Rocossov was just that, a legend. They did not have the unconditional trust in this legendary general that his direct subordinates had.

The cavalry began to distance themselves from the smoke and the advancing enemy armored units.

Tracer rounds pierced through the smoke, obviously the Prussian tankers were not willing to let the troublesome cavalry go so easily.

Unfortunately, their shots were too high, whistling over the heads of the cavalry.

Cavalryman Misha leaned close to the back of his beloved horse as he galloped, shouting, "It looks like the enemy hates us to death!"

Valery, from the same village as him, laughed and said, "Because we've snatched all their fuel and ammunition, and divided up their food."

Misha replied, "Don't remind me of those disgusting canned beef. Was that even beef? I wouldn't trade a ton of that stuff for a single can of Spam!"

Someone ahead turned back and shouted, "And that coffee was truly awful, tasted like mud!"

The meals of the Prussians are said to give even the officers of the United Kingdom a sense of superiority when it comes to food.

Misha was about to respond to his companion when Sergeant Semyon turned back and scolded, "That's enough! We're in a battle here, not a chat! Death loves to come for those who underestimate him! If you don't want to die, shut your mouths!"

No sooner had the sergeant finished speaking than the sound of landmine explosions came from the smoke behind them.

Five mines detonated in succession, and then a tank with its tracks blown off burst out of the smoke.

The tank's first road wheel fell off in a flash as it fled the smoke, as if carrying on its whole frame a longing for freedom.

Correspondingly, the tank itself seemed to have exhausted its last bit of strength and stopped at the border with the smoke.

More Prussian tanks broke through the smoke; clearly the mines had not completely stopped them.

The iron knights of the Prussians roared, chasing after the cavalry on the grassland, and the "knights" from two different eras began a cross-temporal duel.

As the saying goes, in the blink of an eye, Misha's mount suddenly fell forward, and he was thrown forward. He instinctively took a crash position to protect his head and rolled on the ground a few times before finally stopping.

Misha immediately got up and looked back to check the condition of his warhorse, realizing its front left hoof had stepped into a ground squirrel's burrow.

It looked like the horse's front leg was broken, an injury so severe that there was no chance of treatment, even if it were taken to the rear.

At such a time, Misha should have quickly put his mount down, but he still stroked the forehead of the horse, now in agony and wailing, comforting it as he crouched down, hiding in the tall grass.

The enemy tanks were getting closer.

The fleeing cavalry had once again laid a smoke screen, and Misha could no longer see them.

However, the commander must have intentionally led the cavalry into the territory of the ground squirrels.

Suddenly, the enemy tank leading the charge seemed to fall into a trap, its front end dipping sharply and stopping in the grass, motionless.

Misha was overjoyed; the tank was not far from him, and if he could just crawl over to throw the incendiary bomb—

A second tank fell into a ground squirrel hole.

Misha saw a man with a large cap on the turret of the first tank that had been crippled. He was pressing a headset to one ear and holding a microphone in the other hand, chattering away.

Misha stared at the man, feeling as if his heart was about to leap into his throat. He took out an old-fashioned hand grenade issued to the Cavalry Troops, first slipping on the fragmentation sleeve, then trembling as he fitted the fuse to the top of the grenade—these old-fashioned grenades were unstable and the fuse was only inserted just before throwing.

His warhorse seemed to sense his tension and actually tried to stand up.

Misha hurriedly shushed it, but the noise the warhorse made had already caught the attention of the Prussians.

The man with the large cap put down the microphone, took off his headset and retrieved a submachine gun from the turret, his eyes alert as they searched the underbrush.

Misha grew more nervous, pressing down hard on his horse's head, trying to make it understand the situation, to stop struggling—

At that moment, a Prussian soldier shouted something, and the man with the large cap immediately looked off into the distance.

Misha also turned to look and saw his own cavalry unit maneuvering upwind, each man holding a smoke bomb, with the smoke obscuring the windward direction and then drifting down—

Once the smoke completely covered the Prussian tanks, the cavalry could charge and engage in close combat!

The man with the large cap put down the submachine gun and picked up a pair of binoculars.

Misha knew the opportunity had come.

He made a dash to a range where he could throw the grenade, spread his arms, and launched it toward the tank.

He had a premonition that the grenade would land inside the tank's hatch—

However, the grenade exploded mid-air.

The old-fashioned hand grenades supplied to the cavalry had extremely unstable impact fuses. The explosion timing was random, and the vigour of the throw might even cause the fuse to fly out, turning the grenade into a mere club.

But Misha was in luck, the grenade still exploded, and the resulting shrapnel rain fell onto the tank.

The man with the large cap was hit by several pieces of shrapnel, his face obliterated. Instinctively, he tried to touch his face, only to have his hand impaled by the shrapnel embedded there.

He screamed in agony.

Misha rushed forward and then realized that the airburst grenade had also killed the driver who had exited to check the tank—earlier, the grass was too tall for Misha to see the driver.

As Misha's gaze rested on the driver, the tank's mechanic suddenly burst out of the tank and tackled Misha to the ground.

The mechanic clamped his hands around Misha's neck in an attempt to strangle him.

Misha plucked a handful of grass and smeared it across the mechanic's face, the sharp edges of the grass blades immediately scratching the enemy's eyes.

The enemy wailed, loosening his grip on Misha.

So Misha took the chance to break free and kicked the mechanic away, then grabbed the submachine gun and sprayed a burst of fire.

"Surrender! Sukha, surrender!" Misha yelled.

By this time, the smoke had rolled in, and not a single Prosen tank could be seen within visibility.

The solitary surviving gunner and loader raised their hands, shaking as they climbed out of the tank.

Then, explosions sounded from within the smoke, Misha said, "It must be our cavalry blowing up your tanks! You've lost! Tanks defeated by cavalry!"

No sooner had the words left his mouth than a roar approached, a Prosen tank burst from the smoke, its turret turned to the rear and its machine guns blazing.

Misha's eyes widened, but before he could react, the tank's hull machine gun opened fire, and he was hit in the chest, falling backward.

His warhorse neighed, struggling to get up.

The Prosen tank thundered forward, its steel tracks crushing the warhorse beneath.

Misha lay on the ground, his blue eyes staring at the blue sky above.

In the last moments of his life, he noticed a wildflower blooming in the corner of his vision.

The wildflower seemed so blue, so beautiful, as if it were about to merge with the sky itself.