Cannon Fire Arc

Major General Schneider reluctantly opened his eyes, disoriented for five minutes before remembering who he was, where he was, and what he was supposed to do.

He got up. It was then that he overheard two guards whispering outside the room, “Do you know? That Rokossov from Ante melts down the medals and ranks of our captured or killed officers into metal plates inscribed with their names and ranks, which he then displays in his home cabinet!”

Major General Schneider furrowed his brow, finding the statement oddly familiar.

Suddenly, he slapped his thigh, recalling that this was what he had hysterically made up yesterday. How did it turn into truth overnight?

He opened the door, about to scold the guards for slacking off during their watch, when he suddenly remembered that he wasn’t wearing his uniform pants.

Major General Schneider was the type who preferred to sleep in just a tank top and briefs during winter before crawling under the blanket.

Embarrassed, he quickly closed the door, leaving the two dumbfounded privates outside.

Moments later, a fully equipped Major General Schneider opened the door with seriousness, and asked the soldiers, “Where did you hear such rumors about Rokossov?”

“One of the guards from the whole company said it, seems like it came from the communications company!” replied one of the guards.

Major General Schneider: “The communications company, damn it. They should be working properly instead of gossiping! Bring the communications company commander to me!”

The two guards exchanged looks, then the Private First Class with the Wound Badge pointed and the Private Second Class immediately turned and ran off to find the commander of the communications company.

Major General Schneider stood there, shivering from the cold wind, “Why is it getting so cold at this time? Damn it…”

He looked up at the sky and then felt raindrops on his face.

Very fine raindrops, carrying the scent of the wind from the Inland Sea.

Major General Schneider’s spirits plummeted instantly.

Memories associated with mud from the previous year suddenly flooded his mind, “Damn that Rokossov, he is relying on this again!”

———

Wang Zhong stood on the steps in front of the headquarters, looking up at the drizzling sky.

Pavlov, with his hands clasped behind his back, observed, “The timing couldn’t be better. This will reduce the enemy’s logistical capacity by at least fifty percent. Even if they manage to restore their supply lines and deploy anti-aircraft guns to protect key nodes, the materials delivered to the front line will be significantly reduced.”

Popov: “And we have the railway and a continuous supply from the Bahara-Balas transport line from the Allied Nations.”

Wang Zhong nodded, “Yes, from a strategic perspective, the puzzle pieces necessary for victory are now in place. Now it’s up to our tactics to hold back the Prosens.”

Pavlov: “However, the freezing period for the downstream of the Valdai Hills River is approaching, the Prosen Army might seize the chance to attack our railway line on the opposite bank.”

Wang Zhong: “Then it will be a contest of who excels more at winter warfare, I can’t wait to see our cavalry crossing the ice to strike at the Prosen’s supply lines.”

After he spoke, Pavlov and Popov laughed. Yakov, suspicious, looked at the group and wrote in his war diary, “Early this morning, it started raining, the three giants of the Front Army laughed together like villains. Despite the looming threat of a great enemy, they appeared as victors.”

———

At the Western Front Army Headquarters, General Gorky extended his hand, watching the raindrops falling onto it.

“Finally, it’s here,” he exclaimed.

His new Chief of Staff (the previous one had been promoted to Front Army Commander) frowned, “Defeating the enemy with the weather feels a bit like winning without honor.”

“That’s not right! If you say that, then winning by using terrain is also without honor. Only facing each other and fighting like gladiators in an arena is considered fair and honorable. But the art of war encompasses the art of using the weather and terrain,” General Gorky wiped his rain-drenched hand on his coat before clasping his hands behind his back and looking up at the sky.

After a brief pause, he added, “Rokossov is a master of this aspect, he foresaw this moment last year.” Find your next read on My Virtual Library Empire

At that moment, two staff officers approached, carrying a thick stack of documents and saluted the Chief of Staff, “The plan for the winter offensive is ready.”

Chief of Staff: “Good, I’ll look at it right away…”

“Give it to me,” General Gorky took the operational plan, glanced at the summary at the beginning, closed it, and handed it back to the Chief of Staff, “Very good, proceed with this.”

“Aren’t you going to look at it more closely?” the Chief of Staff exclaimed.

General Gorky: “Because the value of an attack plan lies in its execution. As long as the Prosen forces in our direct confrontation feel the pressure, it’s enough—they will definitely feel it. We have far more troops than them, and have stockpiled so much ammunition.”

“The key of the plan is to fire 400,000 shells on the first day, four hundred thousand, understand?”

The two officers responsible for the plan looked at each other, then replied, “Reporting, General, it’s more than 400,000. Following your tactical thinking, we will launch an indiscriminate attack across the entire line, then reinforce the successful break-through points with reserves, while surrounding but not attacking the hard-to-break points.

“To ensure the execution, we have concentrated 2,000 cannons at the front line, with 20 cannons per kilometer.

“Each cannon has ammunition prepared, all accumulated over a period of four months.”

General Gorky nodded with satisfaction, “Good, just like that. Rokossov is skilled at precise break-throughs and encirclements, his style is actually very similar to that of the Prosens, full of elegance. Unlike him, my method of warfare is the true Ante warfare.”

“And I chose a different time to attack than Rocossov. He wouldn’t attack during the muddy season. I specifically chose the muddy season, catching the Prosens off guard,” he said.

General Gorky, with his hands clasped behind his back, watched the rain intensify. “This winter’s most significant victory will definitely belong to Rocossov; it’s the great victory he had talked about with me last year. And my attack on the central front will help him secure that victory.”

“Future military historians will remember my contributions, understand?” he added.

The Chief of Staff was somewhat puzzled. “Aren’t you part of the Rokossovsky faction, sir?”

“I am, of course, I am,” Gorky nodded repeatedly. “But even within the Rokossovsky faction, there’s a pecking order, right? He has staff who have been with him through many battles—chiefs of staff, bishops, and division commanders, and soon Kashuk and Kiriyenko will join under his command… But history will remember, my attack was also significant.”

General Gorky raised his head proudly. “My tactics, though inspired by casual conversations with Rocossov, are indeed my own! They will find place in the literature at the military academy!”

After a pause, he murmured to himself, audible only to his own ears, “I might even receive the Marshal rank before Rocossov—if the attack goes well.”

The Chief of Staff was unsure whether he heard that last remark and decided it was best to pretend he didn’t. At that moment, one of the timid staff members asked, “So… when is the attack scheduled?”

General Gorky thought briefly and responded, “In four days. It will take about that long to issue the combat orders and position the troops accordingly. We’ll begin artillery fire at 5 a.m. on the 25th.”

“Yes, sir!”

————

Over to Wang Zhong’s side.

A motorcycle made its way to a trio through the pouring rain.

A priest, wrapped in bandages, dismounted and saluted Wang Zhong with his left hand: “Commander Davarish!”

“Wang Zhong: Are you the Bishop Ilyich Davarish who held the Nameless Highlands for a day?”

“Yes,” the priest was deeply touched. “You know my name?”

Wang Zhong stared at Ilyich for a few seconds: “You have really thick eyebrows.”

“Ah?” the priest was shocked by this sudden topic, “Should I trim them?”

“No, don’t bother; thick eyebrows make you look honest. I saw all of yesterday’s battle.”

Ilyich was deeply moved. “Really! I felt like you were watching us from the sky!”

Wang Zhong: “Eh… Better not talk like I’m up in heaven; I haven’t died yet.”

“I’m sorry!” Ilyich immediately saluted.

Wang Zhong: “Don’t worry about it; I was just joking. Go have some food; my chef Ceres cooks delicious meals. I had him prepare a feast today just for you.”

“Thank you very much!” Ilyich responded loudly.

Wang Zhong: “Alright, no more saluting, go eat.”

As Ilyich turned to leave, he suddenly remembered something and turned back. “General, today, when it was most dangerous, a KV tank saved the day. But the tank was destroyed by the enemy. When I handed the position to the 393rd Naval Infantry Brigade, I recovered some items from the wreckage. As a Military Chaplain, it’s my duty to apply for their honors.”

Ilyich returned to the motorcycle, retrieved a backpack from the sidecar, and presented it to Wang Zhong, taking out one item at a time.

A charred rank insignia, a photograph burnt to half, a completely blackened cap badge…

Wang Zhong picked up the rank insignia, recognizing it from the shoulders of Major Romanov, commander of the 21st Heavy Breakthrough Tank Regiment.

“Was the tank’s tactical number 2101?” he asked.

“Yes,” Ilyich was surprised, “You know this major?”

Wang Zhong: “I know him, I met him before he went into battle yesterday. Were there any survivors from his crew?”

Ilyich: “No more. Major Romanov was the last survivor. He left the tank and continued to fight until a bullet went through his skull. Because he was outside the tank, these items were preserved as much as they are; inside, even the cap badges melted.”

Wang Zhong, holding the rank insignia and the half-burnt photo—the girl in the photo unknown to him, probably Romanov’s daughter rather than a girlfriend—felt rain intensified by the wind smack his face.

Pavlov raised his head: “Damn, why has it started pouring all of a sudden?”

Wang Zhong: “Because Ante’s mother is crying.”

Yakov silently jotted down this phrase in his notebook.

Wang Zhong collected the belongings, telling Ilyich, “Give them to me; I’ll personally deliver them to the family.”

Ilyich saluted, mounted his motorcycle, and rode off with a twist of the throttle.