Cannon Fire Arc

Several seconds later, Filippov ran out of bullets in his sidearm and shouted, "Reloading," as he stepped back to change the magazine.

At that moment, he heard heavy footsteps. In the blink of an eye, a tall Prosen combat engineer burst out of the thick fog, charging at him with a Wolf Fang Club raised high.

Filippov raised his rifle, barely blocking the strike.

The powerful impact bent the rifle barrel, as thick as a threading machine, out of shape. Despite the rifle absorbing much of the force, Filippov was still pressed down into a half-kneel by the remaining power.

He thought that this was it, he might meet his "Grenade of Glory" moment, his hand instinctively reaching for a grenade. But just as he grasped the grenade, the enemy's body tilted to the side and fell to the ground, motionless.

The Wolf Fang Club slipped from the bent rifle and fell into the weeds.

Still shaken, Filippov realized that the enemy had been bleeding from below the breastplate's edge, apparently already gravely injured, using his last surge of willpower to land that blow on Filippov.

In that instant, the disdain Filippov had recently developed for the enemy vanished—the disdain that had become mainstream in the army following a series of victorious battles, as if under General Rokossovsky's leadership, they would soon be storming into Ploseni.

The Military Chaplains had repeatedly tried to extinguish this disdain among the soldiers, but to little avail.

At least Filippov himself would no longer look down on any Prosen but regard them as deadly adversaries.

Filippov picked up a steel helmet that fell to the ground, placing it back on the enemy's head as though the kneeling, motionless corpse were a tombstone. When the Ante People buried their comrades, they would do something similar by inserting a wooden stick and covering it with a helmet.

After finishing these acts, Filippov checked the bent rifle, slung it over his back with a sense of resignation, and bent down to pick up the Wolf Fang Club.

At this moment, the area was filled with the sounds of battle and the cries of both friends and foes.

Filippov discerned his bearings and darted into the dense fog, soon facing an ordinary Prosen soldier wielding a spade.

Both men froze for a moment upon seeing each other, then simultaneously swung their weapons—

The spade flew off, and the Wolf Fang Club landed solidly on the Prosen's arm.

In the midst of the crunching sound of breaking bones, the Prosen screamed out in pain.

Filippov withdrew the Wolf Fang Club and swung it full circle, crashing into the Prosen's head, snapping the enemy's neck.

"Misha! Grishka! Anyone from the third squad, regroup on me! Regroup on me!" he shouted, charging towards the nearest combat noises, soon finding a Prosen soldier on top of an Ante soldier.

With one blow, the Prosen's back was distorted, a mouthful of blood spurting out in the process.

Filippov pulled back the Wolf Fang Club, kicked away the half-dead enemy, and pulled up the man on the ground: "What were you doing, Grishka, letting a Prosen ride you! You're clearly bigger than the enemy!"

Grishka swore, "He ambushed me!"

As he said this, he raised his hand and fired a short burst at the still-struggling enemy.

"Damn it!" Grishka spat at the enemy and reiterated loudly, "He ambushed me!"

"Stop yelling!" While speaking, Filippov suddenly noticed something on the ground and quickly crouched to inspect it, pulling up a wire.

Filippov: "A phone line!"

He took out a small compass, checked the direction, then pointed forward: "This is heading towards the enemy's rear. Let's follow the line and take out their headquarters!"

Grishka: "Are you sure? Just the two of us?"

Filippov: "What's there to be scared of? The enemy can't see how many of us there are! Let's go!"

————

Yeisk, Ante Army First Mobile Group Army Headquarters.

Popov: "Rokossov, do you always have to travel dozens of kilometers back and forth with each attack?"

Pavlov: "That's just him unable to contain his impulse to charge. If we don't hold him back, he'd command a little tank right into Ploseni."

Wang Zhong: "Hmph, just you wait. One day I'll personally command a tank into Ploseni and give the order to blast the Plathen Emperor's memorial to pieces."

Popov and Pavlov laughed.

At that moment, someone on the radio shouted, "Contact with the assault troops established."

Wang Zhong hurriedly shifted his view and indeed saw a small patch light up at the forefront of the battle line.

It was lit up, but each soldier could only see their immediate surroundings. Wang Zhong, looking down, felt like he was observing a piece of cheese full of holes.

Under such circumstances, only limited intelligence could be obtained. Nonetheless, Wang Zhong took note of a small squad rushing to the front.

The squad had only five members, and the officer leading them was named "Filippov."

—Wasn't this Vasily's good friend?

Vasily helped arrange "The Holy War," so his name appeared on the music score alongside Vasily's great name.

Wang Zhong stared at Filippov, watching as his five-man squad took down several groups of enemies in succession.

For some reason, Filippov didn't have a gun; instead, he was wielding a Wolf Fang Club.

Wang Zhong also saw him distributing the helical gear cartridge clips he carried to the others.

Could it be a rifle malfunction?

Wang Zhong took a closer look and realized that Filippov's squad seemed to be following something on the ground, a line perhaps?

Good Heavens, they're following the telephone line to find the enemy headquarters! But can so few of you really take on the headquarters' guard?

Wang Zhong really became anxious for this group of brave soldiers.

Suddenly, the squad ran into two communication soldiers carrying equipment head-on, who seemed to be repairing the telephone line.

In the blink of an eye, the Prosen communication soldiers were struck down to the ground.

Filippov used the Wolf Fang Club, which came from who knows where, to smash the two communication soldiers' heads.

Just as Wang Zhong was about to continue watching, Pavlov's voice interrupted him, "Hey! If there are any orders, issue them quickly to the attacking troops! We don't know how long communications will hold!"

"Tell them to maintain the original plan, clear the enemy's outer defenses at the fastest speed after breaching, and then pull back to the ambush positions," said Wang Zhong, as he switched his view back to Pavlov.

Pavlov picked up the radio headset and microphone and repeated Wang Zhong's words to the other end.

Popov: "The attack is going so smoothly, should we expand the victory?"

Wang Zhong: "We don't know how many enemies are behind the fog. It's better to be cautious at this time. Strategically we scorn the enemy, but tactically we must treat them seriously."

Popov: "I have no objections, after all, I'm not a military officer. But what if the enemy is weaker than we anticipated and the armored counterattack is delayed, could it affect the morale of the ambushing troops?"

Wang Zhong stepped forward and patted Popov's shoulder: "That's why we have you! I believe you can boost the morale of the entire army!"

"I don't have your level of appeal," said Popov, "but I'll do my best. If all else fails, you'll have to make a speech at the front."

Upon hearing this, Pavlov looked up sharply: "If he goes to the front, do you think he'll come back? Then I'll have to make all the decisions!"

Wang Zhong: "Well, you make the decisions then. Maybe in the future, you could switch from a staff position to a command post and lead a Front Army! Then you can boss around another chief of staff!"

Pavlov shook his head: "I'm not the same as you. I'm at an age where I can recognize the limit of my abilities. I'm just suited to be a chief of staff."

Wang Zhong wanted to say "give it a try," but Pavlov's expression dissuaded him. Pavlov was already over forty, which according to the old saying of Ceres, meant he had reached the age of no doubts.

And Wang Zhong was still a youngster. Although his rank was higher than Pavlov's, he felt odd about imparting wisdom on life to an older man who was beyond the age of doubt.

After all, before he time-traveled, Wang Zhong was not as old as Pavlov, nor had he eaten as much salt as the other had eaten rice.

At that moment, a telegraph operator came running from the radio station: "Report! Urgent telegram from the Front Army!"

Wang Zhong directly took the telegram and read it out loud: "The Army Group Command is eager to know your opinion on increasing pressure on the enemy to alleviate the pressure on the Bolsk Army Group. The signature is General Golikov."

Pavlov: "How about informing the Front Army about our plan to make fake tanks?"

Wang Zhong: "No, that might give away secrets. Just tell General Golikov that we already have a good strategy and don't need—no, we do need the Front Army to mobilize reserve forces and additional supplies for support."

Pavlov looked puzzled: "What's this all about?"

Popov laughed: "Isn't it obvious, deception. If troops and supplies start concentrating towards our side, it will trigger the movement of supplies and logistics along the line, which will look more credible to Prussian scouts."

Wang Zhong nodded: "That's the idea. If General Golikov really wants to know what we're up to, he'll fly in on a Polikarpov Po-2 bomber."

On Earth, the Russians often used Polikarpov Po-2 bombers for generals' mobile field transportation. This aircraft could take off and land anywhere, very convenient, and even if there was a mechanical failure, it could mostly make an emergency landing.

Pavlov: "Alright, draft the telegram like that!"

————

Meanwhile, Filippov led his small team forward through the fog.

Suddenly, he heard voices ahead.

It sounded like Prussians shouting something; Filippov's Prosen wasn't as good as Vasily's, and he couldn't make it out clearly at first, but he guessed it might be "speak louder."

It appeared they had found the enemy headquarters—what level of headquarters it was, they couldn't discern in the dense fog.

Filippov turned back to the four members of his squad and said: "Our objective is right ahead. Once we get there, split up and sneak inside. Those who can't get in, stay outside and fiercely attack the Prussians to draw attention. Those who make it in, try to take control of the enemy commander to have him issue an order to surrender weapons!"

Misha: "We don't speak Prosen!"

Filippov: "Then try to capture as many as possible. We will fight here, and others in the fog will converge towards us. Remember to prevent friendly fire. That's it, let's go!"