Arc of Fire

On Wang Zhong’s side.

After the Air Force’s attack was dispersed by Divine Arrow, the Prussian Army did not stop their assault.

The enemy’s Panzer IVs and mortars added more smoke to the ground, and then the mixed cluster of armored vehicles and infantry attacking the flank directly turned towards Wang Zhong and his colleagues at the third ambush position.

Meanwhile, the armored grenadiers originally attacking from the north continued to advance towards the now-empty first and second ambush positions.

The enemy’s choice was understandable; retreating to reorganize the attack would have wasted one or two hours.

Such a division-level offensive action, being able to organize an attack within two hours, would already be considered elite. The staff officers at all levels must have been very experienced.

Wang Zhong had already prepared for this situation.

Although his principle in setting up the positions was to avoid close combat as much as possible, facing the Prussian Army who liked using smoke, he had to consider the possibility of hand-to-hand combat.

Wang Zhong, “Tank column, follow my command, remind each other without radio, maneuver to the flank.”

In addition to tank bunkers, Wang Zhong had prepared many points for side attacks and had all 30 tank drivers familiarize themselves with the routes between several points in jeeps so they could quickly change their positions during combat.

The main reason they were unable to change positions during the Stuka raid yesterday was that many crew members were on the battlefield for the first time, so busy firing their guns they didn’t notice their comrades beginning to maneuver.

Today, Wang Zhong especially arranged a messenger behind each tank, who normally lay behind the tank gun turret and, seeing other tanks maneuver, would lift the lid of the turret to notify the inside crew.

This could be considered a form of human radio.

The good news was that the communication efficiency was alright; the bad news was that it was manpower-intensive, with the person outside often injured by stray bullets.

Damn it, Wang Zhong was fed up with fighting this frustrating war. Next year, when the aid from the Federation arrived, he would definitely equip the entire army with Shermans.

In the second year of the war, the Sherman was basically a true god on the battlefield. The Sturmtiger, with its short 50 tank gun, couldn’t even scratch the large sloped front armors of the Shermans.

The reputation of the Sherman only collapsed in ’43 when facing Tiger and Panther tanks.

While thinking this, Wang Zhong led his troops to maneuver to the side firing positions. As he passed by Yegorov’s command bunker, he saw Yegorov coming out and shouted, “I’ll leave the front to you!”

“Don’t worry. Guys, remember the anti-tank techniques I taught you: First, cut off the infantry; second, find a way to get close to the blind spots in the tank’s vision—the closer you are, the less the tank can see you; and finally, throw Molotov cocktails!”

“Two people in a team; the first throws grenades to scatter the infantry, the second approaches to ensure the Molotov cocktail hits the engine’s cooling cover!”

Wang Zhong left Yegorov’s words behind in his head.

The battlefield demands specialization, and Wang Zhong’s tank platoon’s task was to occupy the flank, circumventing the enemy’s smoke cover to shoot at the reinforcements.

The meat grinder at the front had Yegorov’s two battalions.

As Tank 422 sped towards its predetermined position, a signal flare rose from the distant forest.

This was a flare shot by the scouts left behind, mainly to inform the friendly forces that the enemy had charged the position, so artillery cover could be provided in time.

But Wang Zhong looked up at the sky. The enemy’s Do 215 reconnaissance plane was lingering overhead, and even if they ignited the hard-gathered tires to produce black smoke, there was no guarantee the enemy would completely fail to notice the artillery positions.

The enemy’s heavy artillery had just finished preparing for fire and upon receiving coordinates provided by the observation plane, could start firing immediately.

Wang Zhong had already lost three B4 guns like this in Loktov.

If it had now reached the critical moment where not firing would mean the front couldn’t hold, Wang Zhong would have ordered to open fire. But it was obvious that it hadn’t reached that point yet.

So he looked again at the signal flare in the sky and quietly said, “I’m sorry.”

The current Wang Zhong was able to make such tough decisions, heart as hard as iron.

Yegorov ran around the trench and returned to the command shelter, where the battalion staff officer immediately said, “A signal flare has gone up. The enemy must have entered the position we abandoned. Why aren’t we covering with fire?”

“There’s a reconnaissance plane in the sky,” Yegorov pointed to the sky. “That craft will tell the enemy artillery where our artillery positions are.”

The staff officer immediately got close to the shelter’s observation window, ducking down to look up at the sky, trying to spot the reconnaissance plane.

“It should be over Orachi. The noise is blocked by the outer wall. You’ll hear the roar as soon as you step out the door.”

Staff officer, “Then… aren’t we just sacrificing the scout who risked his life to launch the signal flare? He must have been spotted by the enemy!”

Yegorov nodded, “Yes. But even if there were no enemy reconnaissance planes, covering the location of the scout with artillery would still mean his death… it would just be death by friendly fire instead of being killed by the enemy. There are countless things like this on the battlefield.”

The staff officer pursed his lips and didn’t speak.

At this moment, at the first ambush position.

Private Semyon was skirmishing with the enemy, taking cover in the woods.

The light from the still-floating signal flare shone from behind him to the side.

To enable the scout to deal with the numerous enemies, Semyon’s weapon was switched from the Tokarev to a captured MP submachine gun.

He covered his Imperial Guard cloak with a layer of grass so he could better hide in the bushes.

However, all his efforts to stay hidden became ineffective the moment the signal flare went up, and Semyon had to face a platoon of enemies pursuing him.

He ran between the birch trees, like a startled rabbit, becoming a lingering shadow in the woods.

He continuously swept the enemy with his submachine gun.

A Prussian platoon leader was hit by a stray bullet from the submachine gun and fell, clutching his chest, while his deputy platoon leader yelled something to the others behind him.

Then a machine gunner rushed over, setting up his machine gun between the roots beneath a birch tree.

The tearing sound of gunfire echoed through the woods, the bullets stripping the bark off birch trees that had grown for who knows how many years, creating a shower of flying wood chips.

Xiemiao’s eyebrows were cut by the wood chips, blood trailing down his cheeks.

He was still running, occasionally firing backwards.

Though he wasn’t aiming, his sporadic shooting still slowed the cautious Prussians’ pursuit.

From a distance, the voice of Aleksei, the comrade coming to meet him, suddenly came, “Xiemiao, run this way! Where’s your flare?”

It turned out that the comrades hiding in the forest hadn’t seen any flares go up.

Xiemiao: “I fired it! Why hasn’t the artillery come down yet?”

“Xiemiao!” Aleksei yelled, “Run to the communication trench! We are in the communication trench!”

As Aleksei spoke, he fired his Tokarev, trying to stop the enemy from pursuing.

As a result, the enemy’s machine gun immediately swung around, forcing Aleksei to abandon his position and dash towards the communication trench as well.

Xiemiao’s submachine gun was out of ammo, and in his frantic attempt to reload, a bullet severed his thumb and the full magazine dropped to the ground.

Xiemiao screamed.

The enemy was closing in; he didn’t dare pick up the magazine and just kept running forward, all the while shouting, “Where’s our artillery? I fired the flare! And I specifically stayed around the designated impact zone! Where’s our artillery?”

Aleksei had reached the communication trench and joined forces with a squad inside.

The squad leader yelled, “Xiemiao! Run ahead, we’ll cover you! Fire at will!”

The final word was addressed to everyone in the communication trench, and so six Tokarevs fired in unison.

The enemy’s machine gun immediately swung around to suppress the communication trench.

But this was precisely the squad leader’s strategy—this way, Xiemiao should be able to escape!

However, no one noticed that about three hundred meters from the communication trench, and less than two hundred meters from Xiemiao, a Prussian sergeant, leaning against a birch tree, raised his bolt-action 98K rifle.

The sergeant also had an unlit cigarette in his mouth, the insignia of an experienced veteran on his arm proclaiming his status as an old soldier.

He carefully adjusted the sight and took precise aim.

At the moment the rifle fired, Xiemiao’s entire body suddenly twitched, his back stiffened completely.

He opened his arms, like a bird spreading its wings to fly, and his submachine gun fell to the ground.

Aleksei cried out, “Xiemiao!”

Xiemiao fell to his knees, plunging his face toward the ground. In the last moment of his life, he thought of the day of his coming-of-age ceremony, the bonfire party in the village, where the girl he loved grabbed him, running towards the threshing floor.

Just like then, he had been pushed down onto the pile of wheat on the threshing floor by the girl.

Aleksei turned to the squad leader who came to help and shouted, “Why is there no artillery? Why?”

Squad leader: “Listen to the sound in the sky, there’s an enemy observation plane! This is how we lost half an artillery battalion in Loktov! When the enemy’s observation plane is present, we can’t fire and expose our artillery positions!”

Aleksei: “Then did Xiemiao die for nothing?”

“The artillery is a precious piece of technical equipment, more valuable than Xiemiao, than you, than me! More valuable than all of us! Instead of shouting at me here, channel your anger towards the Prussians!”

With that, the squad leader grabbed Aleksei’s collar and forced him to look towards the approaching Prussians: “Pick up your Tokarev and fire, Imperial Guard soldiers never shy away at times like this!”

Aleksei took a few deep breaths and raised his rifle to aim at the enemy.

Squad leader: “Fire, private!”

Aleksei pulled the trigger, channeling the unavenged fury of his fallen friend into the bullets.

The Tokarev faithfully executed its task, the action automatically recoiling, ejecting the spent casing through the ejection port.

Aleksei continued to shoot, his bullets flying towards the detested enemy.

Facing the fierce semi-automatic firepower of a squad, the Prussian Army retreated—-the covering forest wasn’t suited to their light machine guns and bolt-action rifles were even less suitable for jungle warfare.

Aleksei saw the retreating back of a Prussian soldier, so he swung the rifle around and took aim.

Aleksei’s experience wasn’t enough for him to think of adjusting the sights under these circumstances. He just lined up the notch on the rear sight with the bead on the barrel, aimed at the figure, then pulled the trigger repeatedly, emptying the magazine of its remaining bullets.

The target was hit, the body spasming once before twisting and falling to the ground.

Although there was no evidence that the killed was the actual perpetrator who had killed Xiemiao, Aleksei still roared in rage.