Arc of Fire

Emerging from the duke’s study, Wang Zhong took a deep breath. The issue of troop reinforcements was solved—partially, at least. What remained a concern was the encirclement.

If he couldn’t influence the decisions, at the very least he needed to take more troops with him.

As Wang Zhong pondered this, Ludmila came up to him, took him by the arm, and led him to the terrace next to the duke’s study, “You know, with your brows constantly furrowed in worry. Since these are issues that can’t be solved right now, why don’t you just do what you can handle first?”

“Mhm.” Wang Zhong replied absently, gazing out at the scenery from the terrace.

At that moment, Petrov said, “Then I won’t disturb you two any longer. I still have work at the headquarters.”

“Goodbye.” Ludmila waved and then poked Wang Zhong in the waist.

“Goodbye.” Wang Zhong said.

After Petrov had left, Ludmila asked seriously, “Is it really that dangerous? The Crown Prince said we have seven hundred thousand men. Even if they were seven hundred thousand pigs, the Prussians couldn’t capture them that quickly, right?”

Hearing this, Wang Zhong’s heart sank to the bottom because in his memory, the last force that was referred to as “XX pigs that couldn’t be caught in XX days” had already been annihilated.

Seeing Wang Zhong’s expression, Ludmila suddenly suggested, “Let’s go horse riding! You haven’t galloped around the estate in a long time, have you?”

Wang Zhong: “Horse riding?”

“Yes, your second favorite activity.”

…He felt like there was no need to ask what his most favorite activity was.

Wang Zhong: “Alright, I do need to check the terrain around here and find suitable locations for anti-tank gun positions.”

Ludmila blinked but still smiled, “Sure! Then I will help you strategize where to place the Divine Arrow Company!”

Wang Zhong turned to look at the girl, sensing all the beauty she embodied.

Wait, how did the duke address her just now?

Wang Zhong: “Oh, Liu Da, my dear Liu Da, my sunshine and spring flower!”

Ludmila laughed happily.

————

Just like everyone else, Vasily cleaned up his dormitory and then went to the dining hall, where meals had already started.

As he entered the door, Vasily smelled a strong aroma, “Oh, it seems to be cabbage soup! Great, finally something other than pickles.”

Filippov: “And meat that isn’t spam!”

Vasily: “How could that be possible? You think the duke would really use real beef for the soup? It’s definitely sausage! At most sausage from his own factory!”

Dmitri turned to ask, “Do you hate sausage or something?”

“Ah? Of course, I don’t hate it—twenty-five percent beef, seventy percent pork, plus five kilograms of eggs and milk! I love sausage so much that I can recite its recipe!” Vasily shook his head, “But it gets tiresome if you eat it all the time!”

At that moment, the people in front of the line had reached the soup pot, and the maid scooped a large heap of beef that had been cooked until tender into a bowl.

The soldier who got the bowl exclaimed, “Wow, it’s really made with beef! And they didn’t skimp on the onions and carrots either! The soup is so rich it’s almost no longer watery!”

The maid then asked with a look of “what is this country bumpkin surprised at,” “Do you want sour cream?”

“We can add sour cream? Go ahead, put a lot on!”

So another maid spooned a thick dollop of sour cream into the soldier’s bowl.

The young man walked away delighted, not even bothering to take bread or oatmeal porridge.

Vasily and the others watched their comrade walk by, their eyes fixed on the soup that looked incredibly delicious.

Vasily: “By golly, they really did slaughter a cow.”

Filippov: “And there’s sour cream, too!”

Just then, three maids, working together, pushed a cart in. On the cart was another huge soup pot.

In the soup pot was a thick, red stew.

Filippov nudged Vasily, “You’re the professor’s son; what kind of soup is that? It smells quite good.”

Vasily said uncertainly, “It looks like it might be kharcho chicken stew.”

Filippov: “Oh, although the beef is tempting, I’ve had cabbage soup countless times since I was born. I want to try that chicken!”

So, Filippov eagerly followed the serving cart, and once in place, he was the first to get served, “Fill it up for me! And I want sour cream, too!”

The maid: “Um, that’s not usually how it’s eaten. But alright, Katya! This soldier wants sour cream!”

While she spoke, the serving maid had already ladled a big spoonful of the stew into Filippov’s bowl and then specially fished out a large piece of chicken, placing it in the soup.

Filippov inhaled deeply and immediately showed an expression of ecstasy, “It smells amazing, my mouth is watering!”

Vasily looked at his friend with a frown, “Really disgraceful, is it just chicken, onion, and tomato soup? They even added vinegar, it’s already a sour soup, and then you add sour cream, sour enough to kill you!”

As he was freely expressing his disdain, Dmitry suddenly grabbed him, “Look over there!”

Vasily turned his head, following Dmitry’s pointing finger, and saw an ice cream machine.

“Wow!” he scampered over, “Can you eat this for free?”

Maid: “Of course, this is all provided by the Duke to treat you brave fighters.”

Vasily decisively said, “Give me ten!”

The maid immediately began to operate, and soon the first ice cream was in Vasily’s hand.

He licked the ice cream contentedly, like a happy child.

At this time, the maid making ice cream said, “You all must have gone through a lot, with so few of you left, the count must have really screwed you over, huh?”

Vasily stopped licking his ice cream.

In fact, the entire dining hall suddenly quieted down—many didn’t know what had happened, but they were held back by the comrades who did.

The ice cream maid asked in confusion, “Uh? What’s wrong?”

“I won’t allow you to insult the General!” Vasily said with thunderous emphasis.

At that moment, a priest came over, “Vasily! Come on! She just doesn’t know what we’ve been through. Can’t you just explain nicely? We are the Imperial Guard, look at your cloak, even if you’re angry, you must speak kindly to the common folk!”

Vasily put down the half-licked ice cream, “Then, let me tell you all about it! It all started when the General had us set up a fake minefield!”

Someone couldn’t resist making a snide comment, “Shouldn’t it start with you picking up manure?”

Then seven or eight hands pressed down on the shoulders of the one who’d made the interruption.

“Alright, alright! My bad, I shouldn’t interrupt at this time!” He backed down immediately.

“Those Prosen devils,” Vasily began, “are extremely rigid! The General had already crossed swords with them at Peniye and destroyed 40 tanks! So, he knew they were all inflexible idiots! Hence, the General ordered me to write on 40 wooden signs, ‘Minefield, beware!’”

It must be said that Vasily, as the son of a music professor, did have some talent. As he spoke with great animation and spittle flying, the story of General Rokossovsky’s battle against the 15th Armored Demon Division came vividly to life.

However, when he got to the part about his trick mines blasting the enemy meters into the air, someone couldn’t sit still anymore.

“You’re just blowing your own trumpet! I know for a fact that you were stuck guarding the General’s captured enemy radio for two days!”

Vasily: “I was guarding the radio, that’s why I was closest to the General, and knew every decision!”

“Nonsense! Our tank troops were the closest to the General! Alexander Yefimovich, come and tell us about the General leading you to charge the formation and kill the enemy’s major general!”

Alexander quickly wiped all the soup out of his bowl with the bread in his hand, stuffed it into his mouth, and started to chew as he stood up, “This incident, we have to start with our tank! Our tank was originally meant for young masters on spring outings to enjoy the scenery, specially equipped with a spot for them to view the countryside.

“Guess what, the General thought this was great, the position was perfect for surveying the battlefield! So, during the battle, the General was sticking his head out the whole time, bullets from the enemy whizzing by sounding ‘clang, clang’ on the tank armor, and the General was not scared at all!

“We charged through the enemy’s armored forces like that, and suddenly the General shouted, ‘Turn left, full speed ahead!’

“I was targeting those Prosen devils’ tanks through my gun sight, and then with the tank’s turn, everything in the sight went topsy-turvy! And just like that, the enemy’s division commander was right there in the crosshairs!

“With the General’s shout of ‘fire,’ I fired, and a High-Explosive Shell landed right at the enemy major general’s feet! ‘Boom,’ he was blown to bits!”

Others let out sounds of admiration as if they were hearing such an exciting story for the first time.

At that moment, someone picked up a champagne bottle from the table, “A toast to the General!”

“To the General!”

“We don’t recognize anyone but him!”

As the men became passionately roused, the maids looked at each other, unable to believe that the once-detested and disdained Aleksei had become the commander they all worshipped.

At this time, Vasily said, “The General can even write poetry!”

Then, the usually arms-folded head maid couldn’t contain herself and yelled, “On that point, we girls are well aware; every maid with a bit of looks here has received a ‘sonnet’ from the young master!”

A maid couldn’t help but snort with laughter, it seemed that the ‘sonnet’ was so poorly composed that everyone couldn’t help but laugh when they thought about it.

Vasily pulled out a notebook, “Hmph, I’ll read it to you all! Although this poem has many grammatical mistakes, the content is beyond reproach! After my modifications and edits, it’s like this:

‘The hero’s song rolls with the smoke, surrounded by green hills, listen closely… (Here, Vasily read a version rhymed in the Ante language)’”

The maids of the Rokossovsky family were not completely illiterate; at the very least, they had attended Sunday school, and the younger ones had even studied up to 10th grade at the common schools established by the church.

They could tell the level of the poetry.

The maids looked at each other.

Was this still the same Aleksei Konstantinovich Rokossovsky they knew?

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