Cannon Fire Arc

Chapter 975: Chapter 22 Marshal’s Justice

Vasily’s psychological warfare headquarters’ convoy was advancing down King Street, only to see a Rocossov Type II tank, draped with a Red Flag and equipped with loudspeakers, parked in the middle of a crossroads.

“That’s our headquarters’ tank. Drive over and check which one it is!” Vasily said.

The jeep immediately accelerated, rushing over to the tank. Vasily took one look at the text emblazoned on the tank and burst out laughing: “It’s you guys again? You named your tank ’Westward Journey,’ and yet you’re always the ones who have the worst luck!”

The tank commander looked distressed, “Colonel Davarish, it’s not like we wanted this! But it’s like we’re cursed. Look at this—entering the city, we’ve hit three landmines already, and now the tank broke down on its own. Enter any major battle, and this tank always acts up. Look at the kill rings on the barrel—not a single one is from a crucial battle.”

“It’s as though the curse only works during key battles!”

Vasily: “Well, at least you’ve made it into Plowsonia; you haven’t technically missed the final battle.”

“You call this ’making it’?!” The commander still looked glum. “We did make it to the city, but not a single Plowson soldier to greet us. The machine guns haven’t fired a single shot, and as for the shells, how many did we come in with? That’s exactly how many are still left.”

The driver interjected, “Not true! We fired once to clear a roadblock.”

“Alright, fine, one shot for the roadblock.” The commander sighed heavily, “I suppose we’ll mark the roadblock as a victory on the side of the turret. Rusha, bring the paint!”

Vasily: “Enough. I’ll call the repair regiment using the radio.”

“It’s useless; we’ve already tried. The repair regiment is too busy fixing other tanks; they can’t spare a single repair vehicle!” The commander forced a bitter smile, “Once the war is over, when this tank and Podoliskov’s ’Revenge for the Heroic Brother’ are side by side, people will say, ’Ah, two tanks from the same unit—one participated flawlessly in all the key battles, while the other flawlessly missed every single one!’”

Vasily was about to say something when his deputy officer tapped him on the shoulder: “Quick, look—could that be our fake Rocossov?”

“What?” Vasily turned and followed the deputy’s finger, squinting. “Looks like it… but why is he alone on horseback? Does he swap out right after getting killed just to deceive the enemy? This violates my rules! And why is he at the rear? Deception units are supposed to be in front!”

Vasily jumped out of the vehicle and strode into the middle of the road.

“Watch me stop him and give him a good talking-to!”

The white horse galloped directly toward Vasily.

“What’s your problem?!” Vasily shouted. “Didn’t I say no solo actions? And you’re not allowed to wear Marshal uniforms while acting alone! Get off the horse!”

The white horse rider halted and addressed Vasily: “Vasily, have you gotten so disoriented after promotion to colonel that you’re ready for more manure shoveling?”

Upon hearing the voice, Vasily instinctively shrank his neck: “Uh-oh, you’re the real deal.”

Marshal Rocossov: “Of course I’m the real deal. For Plowsonia’s final blow, my presence is non-negotiable. Gather your troops and let’s move forward!”

“Understood!” Vasily nodded and made way.

The white horse immediately broke into a sprint forward.

Following the white horse, Sergeant Grigori saluted Colonel Vasily from the jeep and smirked mischievously.

Vasily climbed back into the jeep, grumbling, “It’s really him!”

Driver: “Commander, what should we do now?”

“Follow! The Marshal is moving forward; we sure can’t stay behind!”

And so, the jeep ignited its engine, chasing after the Marshal’s accompanying jeep, while the convoy of psychological warfare headquarters vehicles trailed behind Vasily’s car, all heading after the Marshal.

Meanwhile, the commander of “Westward Journey” slapped the top of his turret: “Don’t leave me behind! Fix my tank—I’ll go too! Hey! Don’t leave me! Get my tank repaired!”

————

Filippov led his regiment headquarters into a relatively intact reinforced concrete building and discovered that it turned out to be a residence.

Judging by the decor, it was likely home to a Plowson noble or wealthy family.

He climbed up to the highest floor, pushed open a door, and found the room filled with luxurious furniture—a dining table so enormous that Filippov hadn’t seen one even at Marshal Rocossov’s estate.

Filippov’s staff officer opened a cabinet against the wall and immediately exclaimed: “This place has so many silver and steel utensils! Damn, have we broken into the home of a Plowson high official?”

Most Plowson households had their steel confiscated, with the recovered steel and rare metals used to manufacture ammunition and weapons.

This family retained so much steelware—clearly, their status was extraordinary.

At that moment, a Plowson woman pushed open the door, carrying a rectangular tray loaded with six cups of coffee.

Speaking in Prosenese, the woman said: “I invite you to have some coffee.”

Filippov: “Thank you.”

Staff Officer: “Her family still has coffee!”

The regiment’s guard said: “And look at her clothes—my mom’s never worn anything this nice!”

Filippov: “The Marshal forbids us from looting civilians, and besides, they’ve offered us coffee. When Plowson transitions to a secular faction nation, they’ll become our Davarish. Drink the coffee, Vanya.”

The guard pulled out his water flask: “What’s the point of coffee? Here, have some of this instead, Major Davarish.”

Filippov: “Wow, you brought alcohol in here! If the Priest finds out, you’re gonna be punished with manure duty!”