Arc of Fire

Chapter 713: Chapter 51: The Fire of Liberation (Supplement 44/84)

On July 9 at 0630, in front of the 63rd Infantry Army Group, the Prosen Army defensive positions.

Howling swept down from the sky, experienced Prosen veterans immediately sprinted into bomb shelters, while those too far to reach shelters sprawled in the trenches.

Following that, the earth began to shake, the blast waves from the explosions continuously plowed through the positions, overturning everything that could be flipped.

Former rookie Andreas, now a one-year veteran (having made his debut with the First Mobile Group Army), wore the insignia of an Exempt Soldier, exempt from various miscellaneous tasks.

Nevertheless, he still teamed up with old-timer Sergeant Kosolek, responsible for an MG42 machine gun in the heavy weapons squad.

This rare dual-vet machine gun unit huddled near the machine gun position in a bomb shelter, sharing cigarettes they had just got from the quartermaster.

Crammed in the same bomb shelter, the rookie Pyaje asked, “How can you be so calm?”

Andreas, nonchalantly replied, “Because we’ve seen scenes like this before, last summer we clashed with Rokossov’s troops in Yeisk, Nan’ant, and experienced his artillery then.”

Sergeant—now Sergeant—Kosolek sneered and exposed Andreas’ bluff, “Sergeant was still a greenhorn then, turned pale as death during the artillery fire, just like you, rookie.”

Andreas: “Don’t expose me, Sergeant.”

The rookie looking back and forth at the two seasoned soldiers, boldly asked, “Is it true what the training camp instructors say about the Anteans, that they are just a bunch of dumb brutes?”

The smoking duo paused and looked at the rookie.

Sergeant Kosolek: “They say that in the training camps? That’s terrible.”

Rookie: “What?”

Sergeant Andreas: “There are two types of Anteans, if they look young and nervous like you, holding a rifle that needs to be cocked…uh, what’s the enemy’s rifle called?”

"Mosin-Nagant,” Sergeant Kosolek said.

"Right, Mosin-Nagant, those indeed rely solely on brute courage. Just like you! Get it, like you! But if they are armed with a Papasha, wearing steel helmets, with resolute, scarred faces, then they are cunning and tenacious warriors.

"If they’re wearing green rain capes, holding some weird kind of submachine gun that looks like it’s being played when fired—Imperial Guard—ah, you won’t meet such types. You’d be dead before that happens.”

Rookie turned pale: “Are they that formidable?”

"Yeah, that formidable,” Kosolek finished harshly smoking.

Andreas then said, “Last year, we first faced Ante Infantry armed with such weapons amidst the thick fog conjured by an Ante Wizard. Most didn’t understand what was happening before they died.

"Don’t be fooled by officers like the quartermaster who refer to the Ante Imperial Guard as ‘cape roaches,’ as if they are weak. Actually, they just say that to embolden themselves.”

Rookie: “To embolden themselves?”

"Right, anyone who tells you the Anteans are just gray beasts winning by sheer numbers, let them come to the front and face those fearsome warriors.” Kosolek blew a ring of smoke. “They’ve been fighting for two years now.”

At that moment, a shell landed very close to the bomb shelter, collapsing it instantly, massive amounts of soil pressing down directly.

The two old soldiers had initially crouched at the entrance, rolling out the moment the shelter collapsed, but Andreas was too slow and got half-buried.

Sergeant Kosolek was stunned and lay on the ground for several seconds before getting up and forcefully dragged his old partner out.

Andreas screamed in pain, “My back is breaking! At least dig a bit before pulling!”

Kosolek suddenly spotted a sapper shovel not far off, blown over by the shell, and he fiercely started to dig.

Andreas screamed like a slaughtered pig, “Not so fast! Ah! Be careful you don’t sever that!”

"Quiet! I haven’t reached it! Yell when I do!”

After struggling for a while, Andreas was finally dug out, Kosolek dropped the shovel and collapsed in the trench.

Actually, they should have been adopting a bomb-protective posture at this moment; otherwise, an incoming shell blast could easily cause internal injuries.

Lately, it seemed the Anteans had altered the explosive formula in their shells, the overpressure brought by the shells became even more terrifying.

Andreas picked up the sapper shovel, turned around, and continued digging at the hole he had left. He hadn’t dug much before he unearthed a rookie’s hand.

Sergeant Kosolek: “Don’t bother, he suffocated long ago. Rookies with no experience think the deepest part of the shelter is the safest.”

"Damn it.” Andreas stuck the sapper shovel into the ground and slumped down.

Sergeant Kosolek, eyeing the hand sticking out of the soil, said, “Either take his ring and later give it to his wife or fiancée, or just bury the hand and ring together.”

Andreas looked over, hesitated briefly, but still removed the ring, pocketing it, muttering, “Who knows if we’ll even make it home.”

"But for the enemy, they are about to go home,” the sergeant looked up, listening to the ongoing explosions, “In my hometown, when thunder begins like this in spring, it means spring plowing is about to start, and a year of busyness has begun.”

Andreas shook his head, “I never want to hear this sound again in my life. I bet anytime there’s a thunderstorm in the future, I’ll have nightmares, only able to tremulously sit on the side of the bed and smoke. Heck, where are the cigarettes?”

Kosolek pulled out a cigarette and tossed one to Andreas.

Sergeant struck a match, they lit each other’s cigarettes.

The swirling smoke seemed to insulate them from the overwhelming tremors around.

Suddenly, Sergeant Kosolek said, “For those Anteans living in our occupied zones, this is the gunfire of liberation, they will remember it for the rest of their lives.”

Andreas didn’t respond, focused solely on smoking.

Prosen’s First Land Stuka Battalion, five minutes after the cessation of Ante Army artillery fire.

Amid whistles, Land Stukas rolled out of the shelters one by one to their pre-marked launch positions.

"Remember the firing parameters calculated in advance!” An officer rode past the half-track vehicle that was modified into a rocket launcher, continuously shouting, “Just fire according to the parameters, and you’ll precisely cover the Antean attack forces, thoroughly disrupting the enemy’s first wave of assault, causing massive casualties!”

Operators busied themselves adjusting the angles of the launch frames hanging on both sides of the sdkfz half-track vehicle.

Soon, a signal flare ascended, and the command to fire spread across the entire launch area.

Rockets, like gas cylinders, trailed flames as they shot up into the sky towards the “Antean attack forces.”

Someone burst into laughter, “Hahaha! The Anteans are in for it now! Maybe this morning’s attack will just crumble!”

Five minutes later, the Antean forces began their offensive from their positions.

After the earth-shattering explosions ceased, Sergeant Anton peeked out from the trench, looking at the chaotic ground ahead, “Holy cow, are the Prosens trying to blast the ground open so we can’t advance?”

Captain Sergey tapped his activating head, “Idiot! They’re planning to cover us! Luckily, General Rokossov changed the order of the attack, taking into account the enemy’s counter-artillery preparations!”

Before they knew it, a whistling sound came from above their heads.

Captain Sergey gazed up at the sky, “This is probably the secondary strike against the enemy artillery, and it’s going to kill all the Prosens fools who have foolishly entered the position.”

After listening to the whistling sound for a while, Captain Sergey seemed finally fed up and averted his gaze.

Anton asked, “So when do we attack?”

"Wait for the whistle.”

No sooner had he spoken, the whistle came from the west of the trench.

Captain Sergey also blew his whistle, waving his hand while he did so, signaling the soldiers crouched in the trench to stand up.

Then, the classic scene unfolded—the Military Chaplain dashed out of the trench vigorously, waving a small pistol, “Everyone, forward!”

After speaking, the Priest took the lead with the pistol.

Captain Sergey also jumped out of the trench, shouting at the Priest, “According to the Church’s orders, Priests can’t go first!”

The Priest retorted, “To hell with the orders! I’m going first!”

Behind them, rows of infantry emerged from the trench, carrying submachine guns and marching spiritedly.

The Priest waved grandly, “Filippov, start singing!”

"What song?”

"You’re local, sing some popular song from here!”

Filippov fell silent.

Captain Sergey looked back, “What’s wrong, Filippov? Sing!”

So, a weathered voice began, “I remember a small town, peaceful, quiet, and melancholic.”

No one noticed the singer had changed the words; “village” was replaced by “hometown.”

"There are churches, a station, and a tree-lined path

"In crowds, sometimes I catch sight

"Of that familiar, dear silhouette…

"She wears a blue sun hat

"Wearing a blue jacket

"Dark skirt, the figure of a young girl

"Oh, my fleeting love!”

In the chorus, everyone who knew the song sang together loudly:

"Tanya! Tanya! My Takiyanne!

"Do you still remember that fiery summer

"I can’t forget those times

"That time of fervent love!”

Two years ago, the young people sang this song here as they fought before they left their homes.

Today, two years later, the still young people were singing the same song, walking on the land of their hometown.

Sparrows flew up from the bushes, fluttering over the skirmish line, as if welcoming the returning warriors.

Many who had left home years ago might never return, and their dreamt-of “Tanya” may have already perished.

Everyone understood that everything in their memories might no longer exist, yet they couldn’t stop their leaping steps.

Above the advancing infantry column, the preparation of artillery continued.

You could hear the vengeful shells constantly exploding on the Prosen positions, like thunder heralding spring.

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