Arc of Fire

Chapter 626: Chapter 68: Winning Over Hearts is Supreme

Abawahan city district, the 36th Psychological Warfare Station.

Originally a school, its main academic building had been converted into the defense support point for the 168th Infantry Division during the fierce thirty-day battle that had just passed. The Prosens had fiercely attacked for seven days but failed to capture it.

The entire school’s playground was covered with the bodies of Prosen Soldiers, but now they were completely buried under heavy snow.

Now, loudspeakers had been installed on the roof of the academic building and were currently broadcasting the famous Prosen song “Erika.”

From somewhere came the sound of gunfire, bullets hitting the loudspeakers, emitting a sharp ringing sound.

However, this did not stop the melody of “Erika” from floating out of the speakers.

Inside the building, the psychological warfare team’s broadcaster looked nervously outside, “Is that gunfire?”

The Military Bishop from the 168th Division said, “It is gunfire. The enemy has taken control of the maintenance workers’ dormitories, which happen to be in line of fire to the rooftop speakers.”

"Because the Front Army has ordered us to maintain a defensive posture in the city, waiting for the enemy to exhaust their will to resist, and to avoid unnecessary casualties,” the Bishop patted the broadcaster’s shoulder, “So it’s up to you now.”

The male broadcaster who was the female broadcaster’s partner asked, “Bishop Dawasili, I heard that your division is going to become part of the Guards?”

"That’s what they say,” the Bishop replied with a smile, “Actually, every division that has held out in the city until now is likely to be promoted to Guards. The Front Army Headquarters approved twenty-eight Antean hero titles for us, twenty-eight! I was worried that someone might get upset for not receiving the title of Venus, but now, whether we can even gather twenty-eight people from those who are still alive is another question.”

"That many?” the male broadcaster looked envious, “It’s a pity, I guess I’ll never get it in this position.”

Suddenly, the Bishop’s expression turned serious: “No, Broadcaster Davarish, once you understand what we’ve been through these past twenty days, you won’t think that. You’d wish to be as far from the front line as possible.”

The male broadcaster looked embarrassed, while the female broadcaster discreetly kicked him under the table.

Bishop: “Start broadcasting.”

The female broadcaster immediately picked up the script, turned down the music, and read into the microphone, “Brothers of the Prosen Soldiers, brothers of the Prosen Soldiers! You have worked hard! While you are starving at the frontline, battling the cold and diseases, the Emperor of Prosen and the nobles, are feasting lavishly in their comfortable and warm palaces.

"Your fathers, frozen to death on the streets of Plowsonia, while the Emperor’s propagandists still embellish the peace, claiming that the increased death from freezing is because life is better, too many people celebrating with alcohol, passed out on the streets!

"Prosen Soldiers, while you battle bloodily, the generals hide in safe fortresses behind the lines

Outside, another gunshot was heard, the female broadcaster trembled but continued to read from the script.

The Military Bishop turned his head and whispered softly, “Is it still the loudspeaker they’re shooting at? Get a sniper to take this person out.”

Aide: “It’s not the loudspeaker, not sure what they hit.”

The Bishop raised an eyebrow, glanced at the still broadcasting pair, and lowered his voice, “Keep monitoring, position the snipers well, and the moment you see someone targeting our speakers, shoot to kill immediately.”

"Yes.”

Major Richard raised his head upon hearing the gunfire, but their shelter had been entirely sealed off, abandoning all defensive duties, solely for the purpose of keeping warm.

Thus, he didn’t even have a place to look outside.

Even so, Major Richard was so cold he wore all his clothes and wrapped himself in a marching blanket.

He could no longer hold a pen, so he hadn’t written to his wife in two days.

What use was writing anyway? He probably wouldn’t be able to get the letter out while alive.

Then, a series of Papasha gunshots were heard outside.

No one in the fortress moved, since moving would consume energy, leading to even more cold. Everyone lay like hibernating bears, wrapped in blankets, huddled together.

The NCO next to Major said, “Could it be that our men who went to fetch food got ambushed?”

"So what if that’s the case?” the Major retorted, “Do you think there will be any food at the supply center?”

The NCO did not respond.

Major Richard tightened his blanket around him, curling up.

Meanwhile, at the other end of the large room, someone got up, “I’m freezing, I’m going to start a fire.”

"There’s nothing left to burn!” someone advised.

"Burn my blanket!” the person who wanted to start the fire shouted, “Just to warm up a bit, then we can huddle around the fire, it could keep us warm for an hour!”

"You’re crazy! What will you do without a blanket?”

"I don’t care! I’d rather be dead! Isn’t this a living hell? When I die, you can burn me too! Burn me!”

Major Richard coldly watched the squabble from the other side.

The small stove in front of him had been devoid of any sparks; the fuel had run out yesterday.

At that moment, a Master Sergeant stood up and roared, “Stop arguing! Isn’t it even colder to argue in this freezing weather? If you truly want to survive, just surrender! The Anteans must be well-fed and warm!”

The quarreling few quieted down.

Not sure if it was psychological, but the Antean broadcast outside seemed louder, as if it had penetrated the thick walls of the room.

"Prosen Soldiers, brothers, you are not fed enough, nor are you kept warm, while the generals in the rear are engorged. The fruits of your fighting are all swallowed by them, leaving none for your families, your brothers, and sisters.

"Even your sisters have to sell themselves to feed themselves!”

The Master Sergeant pointed in the direction of the coming sounds, “Go surrender! They surely have prepared hot meals to welcome you! Go!”

The few who had been arguing glanced at each other.

Suddenly, the one who initially wanted to burn his blanket turned and walked outside.

The Master Sergeant pulled out his gun, “For deserters and those who surrender during battle, according to Prosen military law, must be executed on the spot!”

The soldier stopped, looked back, then firmly continued toward the door.

The Master Sergeant pulled the trigger, but the gun, frozen, failed to fire. In his frustration while trying to fix the gun, the soldier opened the door, and a blast of icy air, even mixed with snowflakes, rushed into the fortress.

Everyone shivered from the cold.

After the deserter left without closing the door, a continuous stream of cold air poured in.

Seeing this, several soldiers who had just dissuaded him immediately headed for the door, stumbling out.

"Wait!” the Master Sergeant shouted, “You bunch of bastards!”

"Enough,” Major Richard rebuked, “Close the door; those who didn’t run away are already freezing. From now on, whoever wants to run, just run. But once you get to the Anteans, you’ll have to be interrogated by their judge first, those people are very cruel, and you’ll wish you were dead.”

Everyone quieted down.

The Master Sergeant was the first to snap back to reality, waving his hand and shouting, “Quick, close the door! Close the door!”

Several soldiers by the door stood up and together, they closed the massive door.

However, the already low temperature was not going to rise quickly, forcing Major Richard to curl up even tighter.

May 5th Street, the front-line cooking station.

In fact, the so-called front-line cooking station, besides providing hot food to the soldiers, also serves an important role in psychological warfare.

The cooking station cooked only highly aromatic foods, heavily seasoned, and when it was windy, the delicious smell could be detected across the street.

That day, not long after the pot started boiling, several Prosen Soldiers emerged from an alley, lifting their weapons and white underwear, walking towards the cooking station.

The station had a Prosenese translator who shouted loud, “Are you here to surrender?”

"Do you have hot meals?” they asked.

"Yes, meat soup, beet soup, both available and plenty of meat!”

"We are here to surrender!” the Prosens finally admitted.

"Raise your hands high and walk slowly! Place your guns beside that old tree! Yes, walk slowly! Our soldiers need to search you to prevent any hidden grenades! Alright, come over, the soup is here!”

As the Prosen Soldiers entered the trench and took the bowls of soup, they devoured it greedily, eating so fast that they started coughing.

The translator patted their backs while advising, “Slow down! You’ve been hungry for too long; eating too fast can cause a reaction in your body; you might even die! You’ve all decided to surrender; it would be a loss to die over this now.”

But no Prosen Soldiers heeded his words, they all ate ferociously like taking revenge.

Finally full, the old soldier leading them told the translator, “Stop with those broadcasts; we’ve heard enough of them back home. You should set up more cooking stations, people will come over when they get desperate! Now that I’ve eaten, let the judge judge me!”

The translator replied, “You won’t see the judge; only officers are sent to the judge. The little intelligence you have, we already know it, has no value for questioning!”

The old soldier widened his eyes, “Not going to question us?”

"Yes, only officers are questioned because they might have intelligence.”

The old soldier looked back the way they had come and asked, “Then can I go back and tell my comrades about this? Many of them want to come, but the officers scare us saying we’ll be questioned by the judge, and skinned.”

"You can go back,” the translator said without hesitation, “Our general has already ordered it; go back if you want, but you can’t take weapons back, to prevent you from using them against us when you return.”

The old soldier hesitated, “Can’t take weapons back, huh? Holding weapons could still say we’re patrolling, going back without weapons… Now weapons can no longer be picked up, the heavy snow has buried all the previous corpses and weapons!”

The translator said, “Then you decide, the prisoner of war camp lies on the East Bank, you’ll be well-fed and warm there, surely surviving the winter.”

The old soldier thought for a moment, sighed, “I’d rather not go back, poor my brothers, still have to continue to fight.”

The translator said, “Alright, then I will arrange someone to ferry you across the river.”

"Please arrange someone,” the old soldier said.

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