Arc of Fire

Major Shrifen frowned, watching the defeated soldiers retreating from the white smoke that hadn’t entirely dispersed yet, his brows twisted like hemp ropes.

The Prosen Army’s tanks were all equipped with radios, so he had just listened to the entire radio communication of the last four tank crews.

"The enemy is behind us! Behind us!”

"We’re surrounding it!”

"It’s gone!”

"Tank 187! Tank 187, do you copy?”

"All units be advised, we are the only ones left!”

…And then there was no more information. Obviously, all the Panzer IV tanks accompanying the attack had been taken out.

It sounded like an enemy tank had circled around to launch a surprise attack?

At this moment, over the radio, Shrifen’s top ace Hoffman said, “Major, let’s launch another attack! I want to take on the enemy’s ace!”

"No,” Shrifen coldly refused, “The Panzer III is not suited for supporting infantry combat, it’s 50mm high-explosive shells are too weak, not very effective against the brick and stone structures of the village.”

"But…”

"Do you want to be hit by the enemy’s Molotov cocktails?”

The attacking Armored Second Platoon had already reported heavy use of Molotov cocktails by the enemy; every building with more than two floors in the village was dangerous for the tanks.

No, if the accompanying infantry were cut off by enemy fire, any building would pose a danger to the tanks.

The Shrifen Combat Group was originally assigned two Panzer IV tank platoons, but had lost half of them during several days of offensive operations—most due to mechanical failures that led to their temporary abandonment.

The double-row suspensions that the Empire’s military department took pride in had a multitude of issues during the Carolingian campaign, and the terrible road conditions of the Ante Empire only magnified the defects of the double-row suspensions.

Just now, the Shrifen Combat Group had lost all of its Panzer IV tanks, leaving only the Panzer III tanks, which were designed to counter enemy tanks.

Besides that, the casualties among the infantry and half-track vehicles were also worrying. The Shrifen Combat Group’s objective was to quickly pass through regions with no or light enemy defenses and disrupt their deployment.

However, Major Shrifen was not planning on abandoning the offensive. He turned his head towards the artillery staff officer, “How many high-explosive shells do we have left for the onboard mortars?”

"Ten rounds per gun, Your Excellency,” the staff officer replied with utmost respect.

Shrifen curled his lips, “And the smoke bombs?”

"Only two rounds left for each mortar.”

After pondering for a few seconds, Shrifen asked, “How soon can the 351st Armored Grenadier Corps behind us arrive?”

The chief of staff shrugged, “Depends on the traffic jam. If it’s not too bad, they’ll be up by the afternoon. In fact, the troops that passed through at midnight, many thought they were the 351st Armored Grenadier Corps.”

The 351st Armored Grenadier Corps was also a reinforcement for the Shrifen Combat Group, but Shrifen had left them behind for the sake of a speedier assault because of their slightly slower motorization.

The 351st Corps was equipped with the Model 18, 75mm infantry guns, whose high-explosive shells could effectively compensate for the lack of infantry tanks.

Also, these were howitzers capable of indirect fire, which could be used to cover the area with fire ahead of time, destroying the enemy’s manpower and defenses.

Additionally, the 351st Corps had combat engineers, whose flamethrowers and demolition charges would give the enemy a tough time.

After brief contemplation, Shrifen made his decision, “Rally the routed troops, understand the situation inside, including the enemy’s defensive arrangements and firepower. Conscript volunteers from the defeated troops to act as the vanguard in the next offensive.”

Over the radio, Hoffman asked with a tone of regret, “Are we not attacking anymore?”

"Of course we will continue the attack, but we’ll wait until we’re more confident. At least until the supply trucks come up and resupply the mortars with ammunition,” Shrifen replied.

Finishing his statement, Shrifen placated Hoffman, “Don’t rush, the enemy’s ace will surely be handed over to you to deal with.”

Having finished, he shut off the radio’s transmission capability and muttered, “Damn it, Peniye isn’t even an important village. Why is there such determined resistance?”

The Chief of Staff said, “Maybe it’s a noble’s hometown, so they’re covering the movement of their assets? Inferior races erupt with combat power, isn’t that just the case?”

Shrifen snorted, “However, I have to admit, the enemy’s commander is doing a good job, he must have learned a thing or two from interacting with our forces.”

Before the Prosen Empire tore up the non-aggression pact, there was quite a bit of interaction between the nobles of both countries, including on a military level.

After the Ante Empire’s defeat in the winter war, they even sent some military interns to Prosen to learn.

Maybe the one commanding the defense of Peniye is one of those interns.

Shrifen thought with full confidence.

When Ludmila ran to the entrance of the hospital, she bumped into Hymn Monk Sufang Batu Wendusu.

Both stopped in their tracks and looked at each other.

Sufang said, “Uh, are you here to see him?”

"You too?”

"I… I’ve received new hymns, so I came to report to the supreme commander.”

Ludmila said, “Oh. Then let’s go in together. Do you know which bed he’s in?”

"He’s a commander, must be in the best bed, right?”

Saying this, Sufang took the lead into the hospital, only to be greeted by the strong smell of blood, causing her to frown deeply.

At a bed near the door, an amputation surgery was underway. The bald doctor yelled, “Hold on! There’s no anesthesia left! Clench your teeth! Otherwise, you may bite off your tongue!”

Then came a muffled scream, what with the person’s teeth clenched, it sounded as if it were coming through a layer of cloth.

Sufang glanced at the bucket next to the operating table, which was filled with severed hands and feet.

She covered her mouth, struggling not to throw up.

At that moment, a burly nurse appeared before Sufang, “What are you two ladies here for? You don’t look like you need bandages with your limbs intact.”

Having seen death on the front line, Ludmila was much calmer than Sufang and replied loudly, “We’re looking for Count Rocossov!”

"Over there!” The nurse pointed to a door on the side.

Sufang ran as if escaping, only to see another nurse inside the door, gathering blood-soaked gauze that had lost all its original color and looked as if it had been mixed in mud—the mud, however, was red.

Without lifting her head, the nurse said, “The Count is inside.”

Sufang nodded and dashed through the inner door.

Count Rocossov (that is, Wang Zhong) lay in a bed by the window, with the field hospital’s director standing beside him.

Ludmila rushed to ask, “How is he?”

The director replied, “Stress combined with a fever caused him to sweat too much, leading to severe dehydration and shock. We’re rehydrating him with IV fluids and have used some antipyretics, he’s not in any great danger.”

Both girls let out a sigh of relief, then exchanged a glance.

Suddenly remembering her mission, Sufang hastily asked, “When will he wake up? I’ve got the latest broadcast from the Argesukov choir.”

The director answered, “His injuries are not serious, but with a high fever, how long he remains unconscious depends on the person. I can’t tell you. Is it very important news?”

Sufang spread her hands, “This… It’s just a broadcast of exemplary battles, telling everyone that the enemy is not invincible…”

"We already know that,” Ludmila interrupted Sufang, went to the Count’s bedside, and gently stroked his hair, “He has already shown us in practice.”