Cannon Fire Arc

Chapter 951: Chapter 8 The Gradual Offensive Begins_2

Uncle Vanya: “Music? Really?”

“It’s part of psychological warfare! The enemy will flee!”

With “Fate Symphony” playing, the tank rolled off the beach, onto the ice. The tracks equipped with anti-skid devices left clear marks on the frozen surface.

Almost simultaneously, the whistle signaling the infantry charge sounded across the starting line. Uncle Vanya shook himself out of his daze and barked at the rookie soldiers under his command, “Move forward! If you survive this, you’ll be the new backbone of the fight!”

Uncle Vanya’s regiment had a significant number of veterans recovering from injuries, leaving them short on sergeants. But still, they were among the best-conditioned regiments, which is why they were chosen for the infiltration operation.

The skirmish line followed behind the tanks, stepping onto the ice and advancing toward the opposite shore.

————

West Bank, Prosen’s 603rd National Guard Division’s position.

As the shelling began, the entire position instantly transformed into a flooded anthill. New recruits scattered like headless chickens, clueless about where to find cover.

The few veterans left shouted, “Get into cover!”

“No cover nearby? Then hit the ground!”

“Don’t press your body flat to the ground, or the shock will kill you!”

The veterans’ guidance produced some results, as many rookies scrambled into the trenches.

However, the hastily dug trenches were poorly constructed; shells landing nearby caused the trench walls to collapse, burying many alive.

The shelling continued for a while, and then the shrieking of the far more terrifying rocket artillery pierced the air.

At this point, even veterans stopped shouting; all were lying flat on the ground, praying the Grim Reaper wouldn’t come for them.

The rocket barrage was brief and brutal; as soon as the explosions ceased, some began to rise and sprint away toward the rear.

Then the Constitutional Guards’ blocking squads opened fire, bullets mercilessly ripping through the bodies of those who tried to flee.

Veterans who’d regained their composure shouted to restore order.

At that moment, music wafted over from the direction of the ice.

Everyone turned toward the source of the sound and saw tanks flying red flags, with tank commanders visible from the waist up.

“Dear God, it’s Rocossov!” someone shouted, scrambling out of the trench and running toward the rear.

The blocking squads began running faster than the deserters, abandoning their machine guns and tearing off the half-moon “necklaces” marking them as Constitutional Guards, throwing them to the ground.

Confused rookies and People’s Self-Defense Army soldiers followed suit, abandoning their posts and fleeing en masse.

The rout had begun.

With “Fate Symphony” still playing, the tanks pursued the fleeing crowd at high speed.

Suddenly, a military officer shouted, jumped out of his trench, and fired at Rocossov atop one of the tanks.

Bullets pinged off the tank turret, making it seem as though Rocossov might have been hit.

But he remained motionless, still staring at the officer who fired at him.

The officer broke down, dropped his weapon, and tried to run, but the tank’s coaxial machine gun opened fire.

The officer was struck in the back, his body stiffened, spun around, and crumpled onto the snowy ground. Brilliant red blood spread across the white snow.

More men climbed out of the officer’s trench shortly afterward, all raising their hands in surrender.

————

Uncle Vanya looked at the Prosen soldiers walking out of their trenches to surrender, his mouth agape.

“It actually worked? These guys were scared shitless by a damn scarecrow?”

Still in shock himself, he saw the rookies rushing forward to disarm the prisoners.

Snapping out of it, Uncle Vanya shouted, “Be careful not to break protocol! We can’t loot from prisoners!”

“Got it, Uncle!”

————

November 14th, 2100 hours, Melania First Front Army Headquarters.

Eugene put down the report and asked the Chief of Staff, “Isn’t this going a little too smoothly? Could this be a trap?”

Chief of Staff: “What kind of trap could it be? Lure us in and encircle us for annihilation? They couldn’t even take down that regiment we sent a few days ago.”

Eugene picked up the report again, flipping through the pages and shaking his head. “The enemy didn’t even prepare counter-battery fire, their artillery lacked coordination during defense.”

“All defensive units collapse at the first sign of engagement; our forces are chasing them the entire time… If the road to Plowsonia is lined with such units, we can advance while singing songs.”

Chief of Staff: “Logistics can’t keep up. We should proceed methodically, step by step in infiltration operations. Besides, the Marshal already mentioned that some Asgard Knights units are expected to offer strong resistance.”

“We might need to bypass their defense at critical points.”

Eugene rubbed his stubbled chin in thought for a moment, then said, “In any case, let the troops stop to consolidate their positions and determine the scope of the enemy’s collapse.”

“If there’s a significant number of abandoned positions, let other regiments advance. Free ground left unchecked is a waste.”

“Yes, sir.” The Chief of Staff picked up the phone.

The Front Army’s Military Bishop teased, “You’re not going to personally head to the frontlines to direct troops in digging trenches, are you?”

Eugene rolled his eyes: “Don’t treat me like Yegorov! And don’t treat me like the Marshal either! My post is here; I can’t leave without authorization.”

After a brief pause, Eugene sighed: “I’d like to be as brave as those two, but unfortunately, I discovered long ago that I simply can’t. I’m just a miner. I know mines and paperwork better than gunfights and killing.”

General Eugene finished speaking, lowered his head, and picked up another document to read.

The numerous medals covering his chest reflected the electric light as brightly as Yegorov’s.

————

Andreas once again volunteered for night watch.

This time, Kosolek joined him, dragging along the deserter—now wrapped in ill-fitting infantry gear.

Kosolek: “Today’s deserters outnumber usual contingents; the Constitutional Guards are looking pretty smug, seems like they’re squeezing a lot of goodies out of them.”

Andreas: “What’s even the point of squeezing them now?”

Kosolek: “For immediate indulgence, or they’re saving for leisure after the war ends. I’ve heard Duke Meyer is sending paintings and gold bars collected from Europa to South America via submarine.”

Andreas: “Does he really think he’ll have the chance to enjoy those things in South America?”

The deserter interjected: “Duke Meyer is always dressed in pristine white uniforms—spotless, not a speck of dust. While we don’t even have soap anymore, how does he keep them so clean?”

Andreas chuckled: “If we knew that, we wouldn’t be freezing our asses off here in the dead of winter.”

Suddenly, the sound of large birds flying overhead filled the air.

The deserter looked up: “Birds at this hour?”

“Not birds—Antean Dark Night Witches,” Kosolek said, crushing his cigarette. “Don’t show any lights; they’ll drop bombs at the slightest glimmer.”

Andreas sighed: “So they’ve finally tracked us here. No idea if the Capital’s anti-air gunners have dealt with targets like these.”

“They probably haven’t.”

As the words settled, explosions rang out in the distance, alarms blared, and searchlights flicked on one after another, their beams erratically sweeping the sky—all failing to lock onto the Dark Night Witches’ biplanes.

Andreas, Kosolek, and the deserter stood idly, watching the chaos unfold in the night sky.

The deserter suddenly asked, “How far are the Anteans now?”

“No idea,” Kosolek said. “Why does it matter? We’ll just wait till they appear in front of us to serve the Empire loyally.”

Andreas: “You didn’t say that yesterday.”

“Really? Guess I secretly drank some of the Quartermaster’s liquor yesterday. Tasted absolutely awful.”

Andreas started to complain: “You had booze and didn’t share it! That’s pretty low of you.”

Kosolek pulled out a flat flask: “Here! Drink up, warm yourself.”

Andreas took a sip and immediately grimaced: “Damn, this stuff’s worse than sludge coffee.”

“But it lets you forget reality for a while.” Kosolek grabbed the flask back and took a hard gulp.

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