Cannon Fire Arc

Chapter 897: Chapter 22 Attack

Filippov came out of the headquarters and was immediately called by Battalion Commander Makarov.

“What do you think about this operation?” Makarov asked.

Filippov: “We’ll definitely complete the mission.”

“Infantry infiltration, only carrying light weapons, what if we encounter the enemy’s armored troops?”

Filippov: “Haven’t they distributed such a detailed map? Every battalion’s attack route has been carefully planned, to bypass the tough enemy. According to the map, the enemies we encounter should be within the capabilities of our weapons to handle.”

Makarov took out a cigarette, put it in his mouth, and tried several times to light it with matches but failed.

Filippov took out a lighter, with a click opened the lid, and helped Makarov light his cigarette.

Makarov took the lighter, fiddled with it, and asked, “Is this captured?”

“Yes, captured from a dead Prosen officer.”

“Really dead?”

The Ante Army prohibits robbing prisoners, so sometimes Ante soldiers would kill a prisoner with something valuable in hand, and then take what they fancy.

Sometimes Ante soldiers would kill prisoners out of hatred, with robbery of spoils being incidental.

Filippov: “We are the Imperial Guard, the Marshal’s elite troops, can’t disgrace the Marshal. This was taken from a dead man, and I reported it, saying having a portable fire source is beneficial for combat, and the Priest agreed.”

“Damn it, is it beneficial for combat because it makes lighting incendiary bottles easier?” Makarov complained.

The Ante Troops have long since stopped using incendiary bottles against tanks; even if they really wanted to burn a tank, there are more effective incendiary grenades available.

After the brief interlude, Makarov continued with business: “If the map is correct, our infiltration shouldn’t have too many problems, but what if the map is wrong? What if we encounter armored troops?”

“Are the rocket launchers in our hands just for show?”

“Of course not, but these things have limited range—”

“Use the buildings, there are villages all over the map. If we encounter enemy tank units, just hide in the villages and prepare to counterattack.” Filippov said.

“But—”

Filippov patted the battalion commander’s shoulder: “Don’t worry, think about the Cavalry Troops, they also infiltrated the enemy’s rear in previous offensives like this. We’re doing the same job. If the Cavalry Troops can complete their mission, so can we.”

“And before, on the steppes of Kazarlia, there wasn’t even a place to hide when we encountered tanks. Now look at the Melania countryside, you find a village every so often.”

Makarov: “You’re right, but the cavalry is fast, and we just have two legs. Never mind, getting the chance to attack is better than anything.”

Filippov’s unit had a relatively high survival rate among key sergeants, so they were selected to join the Vistula River campaign group, advancing eastward.

Their army group didn’t have this honor, and reportedly other units held soldier meetings to protest to higher-ups and collectively request to fight.

Makarov took a step forward, turned around, and saluted Filippov: “Good luck tomorrow.”

“See you in Plowsonia.” Filippov returned the salute.

After the battalion commander left, Filippov suddenly slapped his thigh: “Sukabule, he walked off with my lighter!”

He ran several steps, and when he got to the gate of the headquarters, he saw the battalion commander’s Jeep speeding away, Makarov waving at him from the car.

“Sukabule!” Filippov cursed.

“What are you cursing about?” a stern voice came from behind.

Filippov turned around and saluted: “General!”

Yegorov walked over: “Do your best tomorrow! My troops, apart from the Melania People’s Army, have only selected you guys, so don’t embarrass me!”

“Sukabule, I wanted to command your regiment personally, but that bald Pavlov wouldn’t allow it!”

Filippov glanced at Yegorov’s head, thinking there wasn’t much hair on it either?

“What are you looking at? Tomorrow, charge for me! Understand? Don’t let me down! Show your mettle!” Yegorov said, patting Filippov on the shoulder forcefully. Then, taking advantage of his distraction, he snatched the map, “Let me see what the battle plan is. Oh my goodness, it’s more detailed than I imagined. When I saw the map at headquarters, I didn’t think it could be this detailed! If I had this map, I could charge straight to Plowsonia!”

Yegorov looked like a child who got a new toy, smiling so hard his muscles twitched.

“Let me see the attack route—this route is more suitable for cavalry, why have you infiltrate like this?”

Filippov nodded: “Yes, and the offensive is divided into phases by week. I think it’s because the stockpiled supplies can only sustain a week of intensive firepower, after which we need to stop and resupply.”

Yegorov stared at the map for a long time and nodded: “It’s the Marshal’s doing, very imaginative. You guys better execute it well! Otherwise, if you don’t fight well, the Marshal ends up taking the blame, and that’s not right, understand? You must complete the Marshal’s plan no matter what!”

After saying that, Yegorov patted Filippov on the shoulder hard again: “Do your best tomorrow, drummer boy!”

Filippov: “Huh?”

“I remember you, you’re the veteran who survived Loktov, the drummer! Where’s your drum?”

Filippov: “It’s ruined.”

Yegorov immediately turned around and said to the guard: “Where’s your harmonica? Give it to Filippov.”

Guard: “Huh? The harmonica was a gift from my sister.”

Yegorov: “I’ll give you another one later. You can tell your sister that it was a gift from the General, she won’t blame you for it. Come on, hand it over, he’s going to fight under the Marshal’s personal command and needs a musical instrument on him.”

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