Arc of Fire

Thirty minutes later, landing crafts rushed onto the beach.

"Prepare!" a Naval driver shouted as he frantically turned the wheel to lower the landing craft’s gate.

Although Aromeyev was a veteran, he still tensed up.

Involuntarily, the worst-case scenario flooded his mind: the moment the gate opened, the enemy’s machine gun fire would sweep across, killing everyone on board the landing craft.

The thought was so vivid it felt as though it had actually happened.

At that moment, the Naval helmsman started blowing his whistle.

It meant that the landing craft’s gate was fully lowered.

Aromeyev’s surrounding soldiers roared together, "Hurrah!"

Wrapped up in the momentum with Aromeyev, they charged down the landing craft and quickly dispersed, everything going as smoothly as in training—

He stopped, surveyed the surroundings, and noticed that under the illumination of the dawn sky, there were no fire-spewing points on the beachhead, nor anti-tank berms to block their landing.

A group of Balasians collecting seafood stopped in shock, basket on their backs, as they watched the "Black Reaper" storm the sands.

Aromeyev finally realized that this beach was not the one he had scouted previously—they had landed off target!

Just then, the Battalion Military Bishop came running over, shouting, "Hey, Brigadier! Have we made a mistake?"

Aromeyev crouched down, pulled out a waterproof map, and spread it on the ground, then took out a compass the size of a fingernail cap to study the map with it.

The Military Bishop ran up, out of breath, and asked, "What’s the situation... did we land at the wrong place?"

Aromeyev replied, "Yes, I think our landing spot is two kilometers west of the originally planned landing area."

Before the Bishop could respond, a soldier shouted, "Look, the landing crafts are running off!"

Everyone turned to see the landing craft that had just delivered them begin to back off and retreat.

Naval Infantrymen closest to the landing crafts were chasing after them, waving their hats and yelling, "Hey! Did you put us in the wrong place? Come back!"

Aromeyev shook his head, "No, they won’t come back. They are going to pick up the second wave of troops. We need to hurry—"

Before he could finish, gunfire and artillery sounds came from the east.

The Battalion Military Bishop commented, "Sounds like our original landing beach. But we’re all here."

Aromeyev slapped his thigh, "Anti-tank guns! The General assigned anti-tank guns to us are hitting the correct beach! Hurry! Everyone, assemble! We must force-march over there and attack the enemy positions from behind, to rescue our comrades! If the enemy launches an armored counterattack, we need those anti-tank guns!

"Quick! Assemble, fast!"

Moha, the intended landing sector.

Karamazov crouched low behind the slender body of the ZIS-30, urging loudly, "Hurry up with the loading, damn it!"

The ZIS-30 hardly had any armor to speak of, who knew that now facing the enemy’s beachhead firepower, the ZIS-30’s slim figure would actually be reliable—could it be because the enemy had few heavy machine guns?

Several machine-gun bullets had already hit the bulletproof shield in front of Karamazov, and many more struck the vehicle with clanging sounds, but nothing serious happened!

Karamazov even suspected that the enemy didn’t have heavy machine guns at all and that today the ZIS-30 could be used like a Whirlwind!

Feeling like Venus was calling him, he grew more impatient, "I need ammunition!"

Finally, the Gunner came over with a shell, "It got a bit wet. Try it and see if it works!"

"Give it here!" Karamazov grabbed the shell and shoved it into the breach, his eye glued to the sights, rapidly twisting the elevation wheel—the ZIS-30 was all about simplicity, with manual controls for both elevation and traverse.

Karamazov’s target was a sandbag bunker where a Balas machine gunner was setting up and opening fire.

After locking onto the target, Karamazov yanked the firing lanyard, and the ZIS-30’s tank gun spewed flames.

The sandbag bunker’s front immediately billowed with smoke, and the machine gun’s relentless firing ceased.

Karamazov exclaimed, "That showed them! Reload fast!"

As soon as he spoke, the machine gun resumed firing.

The dust clouds from the high-explosive shell dispersed, revealing the machine gunner’s helmet knocked off, his head covered in blood, the red spreading across his eyes, unsure if he could even see his target.

But the machine gun kept firing.

Karamazov demanded, "Reload! Don’t we have a stronger high-explosive shell?"

The Loader replied, "Do you remember our main gun is only 57mm? That’s the amount of explosive in our high-explosive shell, that’s its power! At least it’s better than a 45mm gun’s shell, be thankful!"

"Wait!" Karamazov stopped the Loader as he was about to insert a new high-explosive shell into the breach, "Load an armor-piercing shell! The General said during the briefing that the enemy’s morale was low, their combat will was low, maybe armor-piercing shells will have a surprise effect!"

The Loader looked puzzled, "What surprise effect?"

"Just bring it!" Karamazov insisted.

The Loader hesitatingly put down the high-explosive shell and loaded an armor-piercing shell, "Ready!"

While taking aim, Karamazov licked his dry lips with his tongue.

He aimed at the same sandbag bunker that the high-explosive shell couldn’t damage and then yanked the firing lanyard again.

The armor-piercing shell hit the sandbags, and in an instant, it pierced through and hit the machine gunner himself.

The next moment, the machine gunner’s innards spurted out in a fan-shaped area behind him, leaving a hole in his body large enough to stick a head through.

The assistant machine gunner was splattered with blood, his eyes wide open as he stared at the large hole in his partner’s body. He opened his mouth to scream but couldn’t make a sound—likely due to the overbearing mental stress that had caused his vocal cords to seize up.

In the end, the assistant could only let out a sound akin to a leaky tire as he stood up and fled.

Karamazov, watching all this through his scope, shouted, "Good! That’s the way! Quick, keep loading the armor-piercing shells! We’ll pick off the enemy’s machine gunners one by one!"

The loader, blind to the effects without a scope, could only mutter as he loaded, "Is this really effective? Armor-piercing shells have so little explosive charge—they’re not even as good as grenades!"

"Just load!" was the response.

Karamazov continued firing, targeting only machine gunners and officers.

Just then, a voice came over the radio, "Karamazov! Why are you firing armor-piercing shells?"

Karamazov replied, "Haven’t you noticed? The enemy’s morale is low; armor-piercing shells will scare them to death! We’re attacking their morale!"

"Eh? Hiss (sharp intake of breath). Hey? It does seem that way. Hurry, hurry, switch to armor-piercing shells! We’ll try it too!"

And so, the entire ZIS-30 unit, riding on wooden boats to the beachhead, switched to armor-piercing shells.

With a rapid firing rate of the small 57mm gun, and if the loader was efficient, they could even manage a shot every three seconds.

Then the gunners of the 225th Division’s destruction battalion, all veterans, systematically began eliminating machine gunners, officers, and non-commissioned officers.

Once hit by an armor-piercing shell, a human would explode in a shower of gore, and with its penetration power far exceeding the defensive capability of the beachhead fortifications at the time, anyone targeted was dead without a doubt.

After several volleys, an increasing number of Balasian soldiers began to run.

Finally, a total collapse happened!

Balasian soldiers poured out of their shelters, sprinting towards the rear.

Karamazov exclaimed, "Good! Advance!"

The driver slammed the accelerator, and the ZIS-30 crashed through the already battered bow of the boat, speeding onto the beach towards the fleeing enemies.

The loader asked, "We don’t have a machine gun! What can we do if we catch up?"

Karamazov replied, "The point is to scare the enemy, of course! Besides, you have a submachine gun! That rounds up to a machine gun too, doesn’t it?"

Saying so, he grabbed the submachine gun and started spraying bullets towards the fleeing enemy.

The ZIS-30 was fast and bumpy, making accurate fire a matter of faith at this point.

But the bullets popping off everywhere made the fleeing enemies run even faster.

Aromeyev stopped and shouted, "Wait a moment!"

The Naval Infantry immediately ducked for cover while keeping their arms at the ready.

Aromeyev’s deputy officer ran over, "What’s happened?"

"There’s dust ahead; come find higher ground with me."

As he spoke, Aromeyev had already rushed forward and scrambled up a large rock—such boulders seemed common on the Balas Plateau.

From atop the rock, Aromeyev raised his binoculars towards the distant dust clouds.

His expression immediately stiffened.

The deputy officer, startled, asked, "What is it? Something terrible? Has the enemy’s armored troops counterattacked?"

"No," Aromeyev handed the binoculars to his deputy, "If I’m not mistaken, it’s the General’s ZIS-30 units herding sheep."

The deputy officer said, "What?"

He quickly lifted the binoculars and his expression, too, stiffened.

"This... does indeed look like herding sheep. What should we do?"

Aromeyev said, "Tell our troops to hold their fire when they see the enemy approaching, and to capture prisoners. Also, be careful not to accidentally hit our own ZIS-30. It’s practically running around naked, a mere stone’s throw could cause casualties."

The deputy officer immediately turned and jumped off the rock to deliver the orders.

Moments later, a large group of soldiers dressed in Balas Imperial Guard uniforms were herded before the ready and waiting Naval Infantry.

Officers who had been preparing yelled out in their broken, hastily learned Balasian, "Surrender or be killed!"

The Balasians stood stunned; upon realizing they were facing Ante Naval Infantry, they quickly surrendered.

At that moment, the pursuing ZIS-30 reached Aromeyev, skidding to a halt with a tailspin, with the Gunner hanging onto the gun mount to avoid being thrown off.

Once the vehicle had finally come to a stop, the Gunner jumped out and saluted Brigadier Aromeyev, "Reporting! Captain Karamazov, commander of the 1st battalion, 3rd company of the 225th Division Anti-tank Artillery Regiment, reporting to you!"

Aromeyev returned the salute, "How did you end up here? What about the beachhead?"

"Reporting, Brigadier, the beachhead has been secured. The enemy not only refused to surrender but dared to retaliate against our forces!"

Aromeyev, raising his eyebrows, "How did you deal with the fortifications? With 57mm high-explosive shells? Wouldn’t be enough, would it?"

Karamazov shrugged, "We just blew a breath, and the fortifications were destroyed, like sandcastles."

Aromeyev frowned, silent for a few seconds before finally breaking out in laughter.

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