Arc of Fire

Wang Zhong bellowed, “Hold on, I’m figuring out a solution right now!”

At this time, he still thought that the enemy had simply switched their direction of attack. For such a scenario, he had already prepared a plan: to move the T34s to the hillock’s side edge of the forest to form a crossfire.

No sooner had he hung up the phone than the ringtone chimed in again. He could only pick up the receiver once more. “I am Rocossov, speak!”

“This is the second battalion of the 5th Bieshensk Regiment. We have a large number of tanks maneuvering on the eastern side of our position!”

The position of the second battalion of the 5th Bieshensk Regiment was to the east of the city, mainly responsible for guarding the artillery positions. They were also a reserve force, ready to be mobilized to the northern forest for a slaughter if necessary.

Wang Zhong didn’t ask for details; instead, he chose to overview the situation himself.

What he saw was that there were also at least a battalion of tanks maneuvering on the east side of Orachi.

Where did all these tanks come from?

At that moment, in the northern forest, flares soared into the sky.

Those were signals shot by the sentries at the first and second ambush positions, indicating that the enemy had infiltrated the forest.

The enemy was charging in from all directions!

Wang Zhong reassured them, “Don’t panic! Lower the B4 heavy artillery for direct fire! I’ll think of something!”

Before he could hang up that call, another telephone rang, and Pavlov picked up the receiver, “Division headquarters, speak! What?”

Wang Zhong dropped his handset and snatched Pavlov’s, “I am Rocossov, speak!”

The voice of Brother Peter came from the other end, “Stukas! The roaring sound of Stukas! I’m not sure how many, at least 30 aircraft!”

Wang Zhong was stunned for a moment, then instinctively responded, “Hold on! I’m thinking of a solution!”

Brother Peter retorted, “I don’t even have a gun, what’s there to hold? General, you have to hang in there. In such a situation, if you can’t hold on, morale will collapse in an instant, like an avalanche.”

Thanks to Brother Peter’s words, Wang Zhong’s mind cooled slightly.

Indeed, if he panicked, it would quickly spread throughout the troops, and even a defensible situation would become untenable.

He had to remain calm and composed, making the best use of everything he had at hand.

“Thank you, Monk. Thank you,” he said.

“You’re welcome,” Brother Peter replied.

Wang Zhong set down the handset.

The phone rang again, but Wang Zhong did not pick it up, instead, he left the spot for Pavlov to take over.

Turning around, he noticed Nelly standing worriedly at the doorway. Wang Zhong’s brief loss of composure had not yet spread to the troops, but it had already shaken Nelly considerably. ŖÄＮỗʙЕʂ

Nelly asked, “Is the situation very bad?”

Wang Zhong gave a faint smile, “We’ve been through worse than this. Get me coffee, make it strong.”

Nelly nodded and turned to leave.

Looking over the map on the desk, Wang Zhong quickly made a decision.

“Order the heavy artillery regiment to cover the forest. Infantry are soft targets and are especially afraid of heavy artillery. The remaining T34s should move to the flank of Hill 153 as originally planned to relieve the high ground first.”

Pavlov nodded, picking up the phone to begin issuing the orders.

Popov asked, “Aren’t you going to personally lead the tanks?”

Wang Zhong replied, “With so many enemies, a single tank can’t change much now. That’s one thing. Secondly, although I am not inside Tank 422, the red flag is still hanging there. The soldiers will be as inspired by seeing the flag as they would be by seeing me.”

After Pavlov issued the orders and returned, he asked Wang Zhong, “What about the Stukas? They should be almost here.”

Wang Zhong replied, “We can only rely on the Divine Arrows now. Hopefully, the Prosen Air Force is still as afraid of death as ever.”

————

On Hill 153.

The soldiers of the Anti-tank Artillery Battalion were rushing to their gun positions with 45mm anti-tank shells.

During the enemy’s fire preparation, people and ammunition hid behind the counter-slope gun shelters. Now that the enemy started their assault, it was time to occupy the position at once.

Although Hill 153 was called a high ground, its entire slope was very gentle. The anti-tank gun positions were set up on the smooth gradient, with only the trenches housing infantry in front for protection.

The Prussians, believing in their absolute superiority, did not use smoke bombs but chose to let the firepower of their tanks take full effect.

At this very moment, the enemy’s assault wave was fast approaching the foot of the high ground.

Following the order to open fire, the anti-tank guns began to shoot.

Pre-determined firing data ensured that the first volley from eight anti-tank guns resulted in eight hits.

Only three tanks stopped, with their crews jumping out to take cover on the spot.

The remaining five continued to advance, apparently the shells had not penetrated them, and they had not spotted the position of the anti-tank guns.

As the second round of firing from the anti-tank guns began, it could no longer be called a volley; every gun crew received orders to fire the shells as quickly as possible.

Lieutenant Maximov was in command of a 45mm anti-tank gun. His crew consisted of twenty men, eight of whom were responsible for transporting the shells from the rear gun shelters to the front line, three to manage the horses, with the rest located near the gun crew.

Maximov was in charge of designating targets and calling out the firing data. Gunner Karamazov was responsible for the aiming, and the rest were loaders, each holding a 45mm armor-piercing shell.

“Fire!” Maximov shouted.

The muzzle of the gun spouted flames and recoiled, ejecting the still smoking shell casing onto the ground.

The floor was already littered with seven or eight shell casings, all emitting smoke.

After a stray shell hit his head, Karamazov yelled, “Load!” and then toppled backward, falling among the smoldering casings.

Seeing this, Maximov immediately rushed behind the gun mantlet to take the gunner’s place.

At the same time, the loader stuffed a shell into the breech and swiftly completed the locking mechanism.

Maximov rotated the traverse wheel, aligning the cannon with the targeted driver’s viewing slit and then violently pulled the firing lanyard.

The cannon roared as the spent casing was ejected from the breech, and the armor-piercing shell struck the observation window with a flash of white light.

The tank did not stop moving, but its crew burst out of the hatches and jumped to the ground on both sides of the tank.

“Good!” Maximov shouted, “Load another round!”

Another shell was loaded into the gun.

Maximov pressed his eye to the sight, searching for the next target. He saw a Panzer IV and aimed the reticle at the driver’s viewing port—what worked for the Panzer III should work for the Panzer IV too.

Maximov fired, and then realized he had forgotten to adjust the gun sight’s range scale.

Due to the incorrect range setting, the shell flew high, striking the tank turret’s mantlet and leaving a significant dent but failing to penetrate.

“Load!” Maximov shouted, simultaneously adjusting the range scale based on the target.

By the time he had adjusted it, the tank had already stopped and was turning toward his direction.

—Damn!

That was all Maximov had time to think before everything went black.

When he regained consciousness, all he could see was the clear blue sky.

He got up to find the cannon toppled over on the ground, its mantlet completely gone.

The assistant gunner lay atop the cannon’s trail and other loaders were scattered on the ground.

Clearly, a direct hit from the enemy’s short 75 howitzer had wiped out Maximov’s gun crew.

Dazed, Maximov looked around and noticed another gun crew not far away. Thinking at least he could go there and serve as a loader, he stood up and staggered toward the position.

Suddenly, someone grabbed him from behind and tackled him to the ground, then rolled him into a communication trench between gun positions.

“Are you mad! Just walking over there, you wouldn’t have had enough lives to spend!” the man who had saved Maximov yelled.

Judging by the uniform, the rescuer was an infantry lieutenant, albeit with a somewhat youthful face.

The Fifth Beshensk Regiment rarely had such young faces; most were robust men in their thirties.

Maximov was about to thank the lieutenant when he heard a shout from a nearby position: “Bring the ammunition quick! We’ve run out of shells!”

Maximov peered out of the trench and saw two gunners, carrying an ammo box, just as they crested the top of Hill 153 and dashed toward the calling gun position.

In the blink of an eye, a high-explosive shell landed between the two men, blowing them to the ground.

The ammo box they were carrying split open, revealing the yellow shells inside.

Maximov mustered his strength, rushed out of the trench towards the busted ammo box.

“Damn, won’t you listen!” the lieutenant popped his head out and, seeing Maximov going for the shells, pulled out a captured Prosen smoke bomb from his belt, pulled the pin, and threw it behind Maximov.

The white smoke spread quickly behind Maximov.

He didn’t care about that; he just picked up the broken box, shoved the fallen shells back in, and carried the box back toward the gun position.

“Ammo’s coming!” he yelled as he ran.

The gun commander of that cannon exclaimed, “Maximov? Your gun…”

He glanced at the neighboring gun site and abruptly cut himself off.

“Maximov, you’ve come at the perfect time! Load quickly!”

Maximov: “I’ll get more ammo! Wait for me!”

With that, he turned and dashed into the smoke, sprinting over the crest of the hill and then running towards the ammo storage dugout.

Five minutes later, Maximov, carrying an ammunition box, returned to the front of the high ground, only to find that the position he had just left had been obliterated, likely by a short 75 howitzer blast.

Maximov blankly stared at the place where the gun position used to be for a few seconds, then suddenly remembered the most important thing now was to hold back the attack.

So he rushed over to the cannon, gave it a cursory check to ensure it could fire.

Then, he saw the sight was gone.

Without a word, Maximov removed the scope and its related support components, forcibly punching a hole in the gun shield.

He aimed through this hole and loaded the shell himself.

“Die, Prussians!” Maximov fired.

As expected, aiming through the hole in the gun shield yielded no positive results—this shell passed by the enemy tank’s head.

Maximov reloaded himself, then continued to aim through the “hole.”

This time the “precise” shot hit the tank’s tracks, stopping the Panzer IV.

Maximov continued to load.

But the enemy’s tank forces had already begun to ascend the slope.

A Panzer IV with the tactical number 2316 turned its barrel and aimed at Maximov.

Just then, an armor-piercing shell fired from the side struck tank 2316!

Unlike the poor destructive effect of the 45 mm armor-piercing shells, this side shot set tank 2316 ablaze immediately.

Maximov turned to the direction from which the armor-piercing shell had come, and saw a stroke of red through the trees.

It was General Rokossovsky’s red flag! General Rokossovsky had arrived!

They were saved!

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