Arc of Fire

October 30th, 0900 hours, Beachhead One.

After the Prosen bombardment had ceased, Nelly crawled out from the earth and looked around.

One advantage of the decreasing temperature was that the ground had frozen solid, so those unreliable anti-artillery shelters on the beachhead suddenly became dependable.

The troops guarding the beachhead even actively drew water from the Valdai Hills River to pour around their dugouts, making them rock hard after a short while. Unless it was hit directly by heavy artillery, the shelter was definitely secure.

As for being close to where heavy artillery hit, the overpressure could seriously injure people. At that point, the condition of the shelter didn’t matter anymore.

It was purely a matter of chance, something no one could influence, so most Ante Warriors were resigned to their fate and didn’t worry about it.

Nelly sprang up and ran along the frozen-hard trenches, shouting as she went, "The enemy is coming! Get ready!"

As if in response to her cries, the ground began to tremble, and the roar of tanks could be heard from the distance.

Nelly saw a green recruit trembling mightily, so she went up and patted his shoulder, "Don’t be afraid. Look at me, I’ve been on the frontline since day one, and I’m still alive."

The recruit’s eyes widened, looking at the dirty bandage over Nelly’s right eye, "You… Your eye is already…"

"Probably can’t be saved, but I’m still alive, while all the attacking enemies are dead," she said.

The recruit nodded and gripped his Papasha more tightly.

Nelly continued on, boosting morale like a seasoned non-commissioned officer.

Just then, someone shouted, "Look! The Prosen’s uniforms seem a bit different!"

Nelly furrowed her brow, found a steel helmet to step on, and peered out from atop it.

After a few seconds, she pulled out a scope she had captured from an enemy sniper, pressed it to her remaining eye, and looked into the distance.

Through the magnified view of the scope, Nelly could see that the enemy’s uniform was indeed different from the common Prosen military attire.

But Nelly did not recognize this uniform. Her knowledge of the Prosen military was not very detailed—even though she had always been by General Rocossov’s side.

At that moment, an officer came along the trench, shouting as he walked, "These are the Moravian servant troops, composed of second-class citizens of the Empire of Prosen! Take a good look, if we are defeated, we will be the ones wearing such uniforms, driven onto the battlefield to die."

After a moment’s thought, Nelly called out loudly, "We wiped out the Prosen! They have no infantry left to accompany them, and can only use the servant army!"

The officer inspecting the area was stunned, and after a short pause, he also shouted, "We wiped out the Prosen Infantry! They are forced to send up their servant army!"

A few shouts later, he continued, "We scared off the Prosen Infantry, they refused to fight! Only the servant army could be sent up!"

Within seconds, the entire position was echoing, "We scared off the Prosen Infantry and forced them to field their servant army!"

The truth didn’t matter, what mattered was that the Prosens had indeed fielded their servant army.

The entire beachhead was boiling with fervor.

"The genuine Prosen Infantry couldn’t take us down, and now they send up their servants thinking they can win?"

"Though the enemy appears numerous, they are but a disorganized mob!"

"Let’s mop them up!"

At that moment, the new attackers crossed the 500-meter mark.

The anti-tank gun units that had crossed the river only yesterday opened fire, hitting several tanks almost in the blink of an eye.

Although tanks were the ones hit, some of the servant army’s skirmishers even dropped to the ground!

It seemed that the morale and courage of this servant army were vastly inferior to that of the regular Prosen troops.

The Prosen’s tank units retaliated, as precise as ever. Soon the exposed gun positions were bombarded to smithereens.

Nelly no longer encouraged the troops but instead hunkered down on her firing position, picking off Prosen tank commanders who were bold enough to stick their heads out to look for the position of the anti-tank guns with her Mosin-Nagant.

She had noticed that although the observation capabilities of the Prosen tanks were much better than the T34’s, as long as Prosen commanders did not poke their heads out, it was still very difficult to spot a well-camouflaged anti-tank gun position.

The key was not to let the Prosen commanders look around.

Nelly aimed at a commander who had completely retracted into the turret, showing only half his head and eyes.

After pulling the trigger, the bullet hit the edge of the turret and then ricocheted off, grazing over the top of the commander’s head and breaking the headset’s crosspiece.

The commander, terrified, dived into the tank, not daring to reach out to close the hatch.

Nelly worked the bolt and turned the gun’s muzzle towards another tank.

This commander had exposed his entire head, observing through binoculars.

When Nelly squeezed the trigger, the commander fell backwards, a bullet hole above his left eye bleeding profusely, and his right hand dangling outside the turret, still holding half of the broken binoculars.

Nelly worked the bolt, and the still-smoking cartridge case flew out of the chamber, tracing an arc in front of Nelly’s sole eye.

Nelly kept firing.

At that moment the enemy crossed the 300-meter mark.

The machine guns were about to open fire.

The enemy commanders had all retracted into the safety of their turrets—nobody in their right mind would expose themselves at this range.

Nelly then shifted her target to the Moravian servant army.

She quickly noticed that if a sergeant was sniped, the squad he led would hit the deck.

Nelly’s single shots effectively served the purpose of a machine gun!

Take out one sergeant, and a squad would lie flat on the ground for dozens of seconds, even minutes, afraid to move.

Afterward, an officer waving a pistol would come over, pulling each soldier up from the ground and urging them forward.

If Nelly took the officer down too, that whole line might just stay flat on the ground, immobile.

The trouble was, there were too many Moravians. They formed surprisingly dense formations, and the sergeants seemed endless as if they couldn’t be completely killed off.

The tanks crossed the 200-meter marker.

The heavy machine guns opened fire.

Simultaneously, the Moravians began their charge.

Countless Moravians were cut down by machine gun fire, but even more charged towards the position, as if fueled by stimulants, screaming as they rushed forward.

The Papasha on the position opened fire.

The Moravians seemed numbed as they watched their comrades fall in swathes to the Papasha, yet they continued to charge forward.

This was nothing like the tactics of the Prosen Army; the Prosens would lie down, leap forward, and advance to grenade-throwing distance.

The Moravians were simply using their lives to deplete the Ante Warriors’ bullets.

And they had succeeded to some extent, with about one-tenth of the Moravians breaking into the trenches, where brutal hand-to-hand combat began.

Nelly shot a Moravian who had gotten too close to her face, then pulled out her Sapper Shovel from her back and, with one swing, chopped off the wrist of another charging Moravian, causing him to scream before she cleaved his head off with another swing.

The edge of Nelly’s Sapper Shovel had been sharpened to be as lethal as a blade.

She dispatched another Moravian with it, then rolled past his body and dealt a fatal blow to the back of the head of another Moravian, who was grappling with her comrade.

Then she kicked away the body of the Moravian and pulled her comrade to his feet—it was the new recruit she had just encouraged.

Nelly: "Don’t use your bayonet; a Sapper Shovel is much more useful in the trenches. A hammer works too."

"Hammer—hammer?" The recruit was still dazed.

Nelly: "Grab those Incendiary Bottles, follow me, we’re going to blow up some tanks."

"Oh, okay." The recruit quickly picked up a few Incendiary Bottles from the ground and followed the agile Nelly through the trenches.

Just a few steps in, he was shot.

Kneeling in the trench, he tried to call out to Nelly but couldn’t make a sound; blood gushed from his throat whenever he opened his mouth. All he could do was watch Nelly’s figure disappearing down the trench.

He fell forward, his face buried in the earth.

The battle on the beachhead continued until noon.

"The enemy is retreating!"

The words penetrated Nelly’s ears just as she was stepping on an enemy’s chest, pulling her Sapper Shovel from his throat.

The spattering blood covered her legs and muddied the black skirt of her maid’s uniform.

Scattered cheers of "Hurrah" erupted across the position, unclear whether they celebrated yet another victory or simply their own survival.

Nelly didn’t shout. She turned her head, pondering what seemed like she had forgotten something.

But in the end, she couldn’t remember what she had forgotten.

She looked up at the warm sun of winter, cursing the damn sun for keeping the temperature high enough to prevent cold from freezing the enemy.

Suddenly, she saw a flock of migratory birds flying in a V-formation across the sky.

It was nearly November; could it be that migratory birds were only now beginning to move?

The warrior beside Nelly was about to greet her, but as she looked up, he followed her gaze, and soon everyone on the field was looking up.

"Is that a flock of geese?" someone asked.

"No, it could be cranes; I’ve seen them before, a very beautiful bird, delicious, too."

Watching the flock, Nelly felt an inexplicable urge to cry.

Wang Zhong stood outside Headquarters, looking up at the sky: "Why isn’t there a blizzard yet? Come on, General Winter, give us some strength."

At that moment, he saw a line of migratory birds appear in the clear sky.

A solitary crane against the clouds above on a clear day?

But was it time for poetry amidst this azure expanse?

Then, Wang Zhong suddenly remembered a famous Soviet song from another time and space called "Zhuravli" (The Cranes). He had memorized it because he liked the lyrics so much.

Sometimes I feel like those soldiers who never returned from the bloody battlefields

Aren’t lying in our soil.

They’ve turned into flying cranes.

They come from far-off times of war and fly over, giving their cries there.

That’s why we often gaze silently, in remembrance, looking into the distance.

Tired flocks of cranes fly in the sky, soaring through the dusk, amidst the dull haze.

There’s a small gap in that formation; perhaps it’s the spot left for me.

After he recited it silently, Yakov’s voice reached his ears: "What a beautiful poem! They say you’re an ignorant libertine, General, but I knew it was slander!"

Wang Zhong turned to see Yakov feverishly writing something.

Continue your adventure at

"I’ve written it down!" Yakov said excitedly, "I’ll make sure this poem gets published!"

Wang Zhong: "Whatever you want. I was just moved to say it."

Looking up at the cranes once more, he repeated to himself,

Sometimes I feel like those soldiers who never returned from the bloody battlefields...

Just then, Pavlov emerged from the Headquarters: "Alright, stop standing around, let’s move to the new Headquarters. Artillery fire from the Prosen might land here any minute."

Wang Zhong: "Understood, let’s go, Vasily—no, Yakov."

"You always get it wrong when you’re deep in thought!" Yakov complained, "I’ve been your Deputy Officer for half a year now, and I might be for even longer!"

Wang Zhong smiled and patted Yakov on the shoulder.

Yakov: "By the way, if I have a child, would you be the godfather?"

"Of course, Yakov, of course."

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!