Arc of Fire

October 29, 915, 0700 hours, Abawahan Front Army Headquarters.

Pavlov heard the telephone ringing and said to Wang Zhong, "I guess the front line is under artillery fire."

Before Wang Zhong could reply, he picked up the receiver, "Front Army Headquarters, okay, got it. Hold your ground."

After hanging up the phone, Pavlov looked at Wang Zhong.

Wang Zhong asked, "Is the artillery preparation starting?"

"Yes."

Wang Zhong said, "Given Prosen’s patterns, this indicates their troops are already assembled. We should start preparing counter-artillery fire too. Fire away. They had moved their assembly point forward last time to avoid our counter-artillery fire, I bet they’re using the same spots as before."

Popov interjected, "Actually, it doesn’t matter if we don’t hit them directly, we now have enough shells to waste freely."

Wang Zhong nodded, "Right, our current situation is such that if wasting shells can reduce manpower losses, then waste without reservations. The Prosens broke through too quickly before, coupled with the incompetence of the previous Front Army Commander, leading us to be constrained in manpower. But as long as we hold on, we will have ample forces; we will always have ample forces."

Wang Zhong nodded again, "And General Winter."

Two kilometers west of the Train Dispatch Yard, the front line company of the first battalion of the 29th Infantry Division from Prosen’s Fourth Infantry Army departed from their position.

Captain Hansen of the company recognized something off about the whistling of shells overhead.

He looked up, puzzled.

Many of the veterans in the company also sensed something was wrong and all looked up.

The deputy company commander ran over and said to Captain Hansen, "This isn’t right, is it? It sounds like artillery fire coming back at us. Are the Anteans firing back?"

Captain Hansen looked toward the rear of his troops, "They’re hitting behind us, could be our battalion’s supply center, or the assembly points for the second and third waves of attack."

Deputy company commander asked, "Do we still advance? Will there be follow-up forces if we go ahead?"

Captain Hansen replied, "As long as the order hasn’t changed, we advance. We’ve taken it before, and the Anteans took it back because we ran out of ammunition. Now that we have plenty, it will be easy to retake."

The deputy company commander nodded, "I’ll go inspect the departure formation then. We’ll set off as soon as the artillery preparation is over. In one vigorous effort!"

Captain Hansen nodded and watched the deputy company commander run along the skirmish line toward the distance.

He checked his watch; the artillery preparation was expected to last another twenty minutes, so he took out his diary from his pocket and opened it to the page marked with a bookmark.

On the bookmark was a portrait of his wife, copied from a photograph.

Captain Hansen gazed at his wife’s portrait for a few seconds before writing in his diary, "My dear, I don’t know if this diary will make it through the strict censorship to the rear after I write this.

"The fighting will of the Anteans is getting stronger. During the combat, I sensed their determination to liberate their homeland, perhaps the Empire’s propaganda that they are inferior is wrong.

"At least at our front, no one underestimates these warriors who are as strong as oxen and disregard death. After so many years of war, they are the most formidable opponents I have encountered...

"Honestly, my dear, I don’t know if I can return to your side, nor if we can truly win this war. Last year they said they would end this war, but as you see, I am still at the front, and the Anteans are still resisting.

"They say the same this year, and now the Constitutional Guards are closely watching anyone who doubts this point, which gives me a very bad feeling.

"My dear, I am increasingly feeling this diary will never return to your hands, but... I must write it down. Perhaps in the future, some kind-hearted Ante officer will deliver this diary to you.

"I wrote our home address on the title page, my dear. Five years ago, I believed we needed living space, which is why I joined the army with all my passion, but now, I only want to return to your side."

After finishing the last letter, Captain Hansen looked up at the city retaken by the Anteans.

The city was burning because of the shelling, with at least five huge pillars of smoke slowly rising.

Artillery shells were still falling; it was said that this time they had deployed 210mm heavy artillery—one shell could completely demolish a three-story brick building.

Hansen heard a messenger beside him whisper, "No one could maintain the will to resist under such artillery fire."

Captain Hansen glanced at the messenger, "Never underestimate the enemy."

At that moment, the whistling overhead gradually diminished, leaving only the incoming barrage from the enemy—their counter-artillery preparation was still ongoing, as if the shells cost nothing.

With a grim expression, Captain Hansen realized that this meant his company—perhaps the entire battalion—would not receive follow-up reinforcements for a while after advancing.

If possible, he would have liked to halt the attack.

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Yet the whistle was blown.

Captain Hansen also took out his whistle, blew a long note, then turned back and gestured to his men, "Forward!"

With that, he grabbed his submachine gun and led the way out of the departure position.

His men followed closely behind, forming a skirmish line across the charred landscape.

Ahead, the city was burning, filled with billowing smoke.

Hansen’s company encountered no resistance; they safely crossed the open ground and entered the burning city.

The remnants of buildings interrupted the defenders’ firing lines. According to Captain Hansen’s military knowledge, the Anteans had already missed the best chance to defend.

Captain Hansen relaxed slightly.

Yet, he always felt as if something was watching him.

His infantrymen began to clear each room one by one, searching for the shadow of Ante warriors, and the entire company dispersed into countless small groups.

Suddenly, gunfire erupted.

The sound of the Papasha stirred Captain Hansen’s nerves.

Someone was cursing, and it was unclear which officer was yelling, "Grenade! He’s hiding around the corner, grenade!"

The explosion of the grenade silenced the Papasha.

Suddenly, the street became quiet, only the crackling sound of flames consuming tree branches could be heard.

Someone shouted, "Sanitater! Sanitater!"

Captain Hansen patted the messenger on the shoulder, "Go see who died, and search the Anteans’ bodies. Find out which unit he belonged to, if they were stragglers or..."

The sound of the Papasha rang out again, accompanied by grenade explosions.

This time, there was an immediate response from a squad machine gun, a sound like ripping canvas that quickly suppressed the Papasha.

Seconds later, all was quiet again.

Captain Hansen, "Where is the firefight? Where is the enemy?"

The deputy company commander replied from afar, "Seems like it was two stragglers, the enemy probably retreated, leaving only a few—"

The Papasha rang out once more, this time two of them, simultaneously from different directions.

Captain Hansen’s scalp tingled, "They’re broken up! They’re hiding in the ruins! They are—"

They are trading their lives for the lives of Prosen soldiers!

These were suicide squad members, who from the moment they hid in the ruins did not expect to return alive. Their only goal was to kill as many Prosens as possible.

These men wouldn’t break, wouldn’t be afraid, as long as they had bullets, as long as they had a breath in them, they would fire on the Prosens.

Captain Hansen breathed terribly fast, he had heard about an Antean who fought in a fortress that was thought to be conquered in the first week of the war, who until he was shot at the beginning of the year, managed to kill a Prosen with a knife.

He looked at the burning city before him.

This was Purgatory, the nightmare of every Prosen soldier.

Startled, the captain heard the sound of a manhole cover being pushed open nearby.

He turned his head to see an Ante Warrior sticking out halfway from the sewer, holding a Papasha.

The Papasha fired, and the Ante Warrior sprayed bullets liberally, hitting Captain Hansen, his messenger, and an unprepared Prosen soldier nearby.

The well-trained Prosens instantly retaliated, their MP40 bullets piercing the body of the Ante Warrior but could not stop his barrage.

Bullets penetrated the Antean’s head, ensuring his complete death, yet the tensed muscles allowed the Papasha to continue firing, and stray bullets hit a Prosen sergeant in the shoulder.

Finally, the Papasha ran out of bullets, and the Ante Warrior fell backward, tumbling back into the sewer.

A Prosen Master Sergeant ran to the body of Captain Hansen, touched his nose, then closed his eyes.

The Master Sergeant wanted to reach into the Captain’s pocket, but a Papasha from across the street opened fire, its inexperienced shooter scattering bullets indifferently within a few meters.

The Master Sergeant crouched in the hail of bullets, lifted his MP40, and burst a few shots at the gunman.

The shooter was hit, tumbling down from the second story, crashing onto the road.

The Master Sergeant stood up, forgetting to grab the Captain’s diary, instead gesturing to the surviving Prosen soldiers—

Another Papasha shot rang out.

It seemed the battle wouldn’t stop until one side was completely dead.

Literal meat-grinding combat.

Now every Prosen soldier knew they were in hell itself.

The evening of the 29th, at the Abawahan Front Army Headquarters.

Pavlov, "Today’s battle assessment has come out. We held the Nameless Highlands, we held the Agricultural Machinery Station which flanks it, and we held the Train Dispatch Yard. Beyond these three places, the line collapsed. The enemy has penetrated our second line of defense, and some of their more aggressive forces have reached our third line."

Wang Zhong, "The temporary Infantry Division managed to hold for a day, not bad."

Yakov, "Should we stop the temporary troops from resisting on the outskirts? Facing the enemy’s Armored Troops, they really are struggling, why not pull them all back to the city..."

Wang Zhong, "Do you think they can outfight them in city’s meat-grinder? No, no, close-quarters combat demands too much on morale and fighting spirit; let’s leave it to the elite troops."

Pavlov, "The good news is, Infantry Division 225 and the First Melania Division have already taken their positions. They are stationed in a line from the Nameless Highlands to the city center, responsible for guarding the riverbank. Once the surface of the river freezes over, the troops from the opposite bank can directly cross."

Wang Zhong, "The weather forecast! I need to know how many days until the freeze."

"Not later than November 20th," reported Yakov.

Wang Zhong fell silent for a few seconds before cursing, "Sukabule."

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