Cannon Fire Arc

Chapter 765: Chapter 22 On top of the high mound, listening to the group leader talking about the past

Outside Lokotov City, beside a destroyed railway track.

Filippov stood on the earthen slope observing the distant Lokotov City through his binoculars.

“Captain,” his bodyguard spoke up, “this is where you first saw combat, isn’t it?”

Filippov nodded, “Yes, I was a lieutenant back then. Three thousand of us from the school were conscripted and reassigned to Marshal Rocosov’s combat group.”

The bodyguard excitedly said, “Knowing that you were going to fight under Marshal Rocosov, you all must have been thrilled.”

Filippov continued to watch the enemy and responded nonchalantly, “He wasn’t that famous at the time, even though the battle reports claimed he wiped out dozens or even hundreds of Prosen tanks. Back then, if someone could hold off the Prosens for a day or even a few hours, the reports would say they wiped out dozens or hundreds of Prosen tanks.”

The bodyguard exclaimed in surprise, “Really? Doesn’t that cause misjudgments?”

“Misjudgments? The front line doesn’t lie; everyone knew we were being driven back. Focusing on heroes was just a way to boost morale, which was at rock bottom at the time,” Filippov explained.

The bodyguard continued to inquire, “But… what was the actual situation like? I read combat reports that said the marshal personally slew many enemies—”

Filippov put down his binoculars, “I don’t know, perhaps my friend Vasily would. He was captured by the marshal to eavesdrop on enemy communications because he understood Prosenese. I was just an infantryman then, stationed at a chemical plant that served as our main position. Look over there!”

Saying so, Filippov gave way and pulled the bodyguard to the highest point of the mound, shoving the binoculars into his hands and pointing in the distance, “Look! That’s the chemical plant, or maybe it was a cement factory, I forget. The group headquarters was in a concrete building; Commander Yegorov and Marshal Rocosov were both there directing the battle. And that building peeking out there, that’s some school in Lokotov, where the command group’s headquarters was located.”

The bodyguard, peering through the binoculars, asked, “Chief of Staff—that is, Comrade Chief of Staff Pavlov from the Front Army was in the school, overseeing the big picture, right?”

“That’s right. We set up minefields outside, and Vasily had a bad idea to make fake mines using lids from pickled cucumber cans, burying them mixed with real mines. It actually held back the Prosen vanguard for a day.”

“Pickled cucumbers?” the bodyguard was astonished.

“Pickled cucumber cans. Because of his one bad idea, we had pickles for many days, pickles for every meal! Since then, I’ve hated pickles. Even if my mouth is bone dry and I want something refreshing, I absolutely will not eat pickles!”

“And the marshal ate pickles too?” the bodyguard asked, “Or did his maid…”

“Back then, the marshal didn’t have a maid, so he also ate pickles every day, but I feel like the marshal quite liked them. However, Chief of Staff Pavlov didn’t have a good face for Vasily, made him clean latrines all day.”

The bodyguard said, “Vasily, is he the arranger? The one who arranged the music for ‘The Holy War’?”

“Yes, that’s him. And I just happened to write the lyrics.”

The bodyguard, surprised, put down the binoculars and stared at Filippov, “Captain?”

Filippov patted his shoulder, “Kid, you didn’t look at the small print under the song title, did you?”

The bodyguard scratched his head.

Filippov went on, “At the time, I spent most of my time building fortifications, endlessly filling and moving sandbags. Vasily, on the other hand, followed the marshal everywhere, he even went on reconnaissance missions with him.”

“The marshal himself went on reconnaissance missions?” the bodyguard’s eyes widened.

“He wasn’t a marshal then, just Brigadier Rocosov. He personally scouted to assess buildings and villages that could be used by the Prosens, calculated their coordinates one by one, and then shelled those villages at night, sending the sleeping enemy skyward.”

“But wasn’t that dangerous? Captain, your coming here to scout has the staff and the military chaplain panicked; could General Pavlov tolerate that?”

Filippov laughed heartily, “Of course, it was dangerous! How could it not be? According to Vasily, when they were scouting, they encountered a Prosen motorized recon unit, fought an ambush, and then the marshal had him write a note, tricking the Prosens into thinking the village was full of booby traps.”

The bodyguard also laughed, “The Prosens must have been well fooled!”

“Of course! They’re already rigid by nature, match them up against the likes of the marshal and Vasily, and they were completely outplayed.”

————

To the west of Lokotov, in Kalinovka Village, the vanguard of the Guards 10th Cavalry Regiment had just entered when they spotted a sign written in Prosenese by the side of the road.

The leading cavalry platoon commander shouted, “Halt! Priest! Hurry to the back of the line and call for the military chaplain!”

The cavalry that had been trotting came to an abrupt halt on the road, and then the warriors spontaneously dispersed to prevent an enemy machine gun surprise attack.

The military chaplain, riding his horse quickly, came up and loudly asked, “What’s the matter?”

The platoon commander pointed at the sign, “What does this sign say?”

The chaplain put on his glasses, squinted, and looked for a second, “11 booby traps left in this village, occupation strictly prohibited.”

At that moment, an old man pushed the door open and came out: “Don’t be nervous. Marshal Rocosov laid booby traps here back in the day, and the Prosens haven’t dared to stay in the village since then. They just pass through.

“The guerrilla fighters have been using this as a storage base. Didn’t you have a guerrilla guide with you?”

The platoon commander replied, “The guerrilla comrades have been sacrificed. Could you point us to where the liaison of the village guerrilla fighters lives?”

The old man sized up the cavalry carefully, and after a few seconds, said, “That would be me. Come with me. Food and water are ready, as well as the collected intelligence on the Prosenese garrison situation – all stored in the basement of the old telephone exchange.”

The company commander dismounted from his horse and handed over the reins to the guard, “Take me there.”

The old man gestured for them to follow.

Suddenly, the company commander seemed to remember something and asked, “So there really still are 11 booby traps?”

“We don’t know. Most people fled when the Prosenese arrived, and only gradually came back afterward. Then that sign went up at the entrance to the village. Two years have passed, and no one’s been blown up by a booby trap,” the old man replied.

————

Guard: “What else interesting happened? Much more fun than what’s written in the newspapers! You all made it back in one piece, right?”

“No,” Filippov’s expression darkened, “Over half of us were sacrificed here, including a good friend shared by me and Vasily, many good friends of ours.”

The smile froze on the guard’s face.

Filippov: “You know? The general – the Marshal – remembers every single person who has sacrificed under his command. On the evening we first repelled the Prosenese, next to the chemical plant, the Marshal wrote down their names in a notebook, one by one.

“I don’t know if the Marshal still remembers now, since hundreds to thousands of soldiers from the Front Army are dying every day, but back then, the Marshal really did write down the names of our fellow warriors.

“I remember a plane flying overhead that day, declaring to us that the Prosen Air Force was still fighting.”

The guard’s ears twitched. He looked up and then pointed to the sky, “It’s true even now!”

Filippov looked up and saw dense white trails drawn across the sky by some heavy bomber group’s PE-8s.

He smiled: “Indeed.”

At that moment, a few people dressed as priests approached Filippov.

“Commander Davarish, the railway repairs are complete. You can notify the armored train to pass through,” they said.

Filippov saluted everyone, “Good work. I’ll inform the armored train behind us to move forward.”

The priests nodded but did not leave.

Filippov: “What’s the matter?”

The leading priest spoke, “Many of us have been sacrificed in Lokotov, this important rail hub. The struggle has always been fierce. Once you enter the city, please do not spare those wearing dog tags – I mean the crescent-shaped metal on their chests –”

“We know,” Filippov interrupted, “Constitutional Guards and the Asgard Knights who are captured will all be handed over to the Judge, especially those who have committed atrocities in their garrisons. There will be a public tribunal. The traitors too will all be held accountable!”

The priests all showed relief, and the one leading them sighed to the sky: “Finally! We can finally settle the score with them!”

As he finished speaking, a whistle sounded in the distance.

The armored train slowly approached along the tracks, with sandbags piled on the fully armed carriages and a large number of infantry waving to the locals who have repaired the road.

“Thank you!”

The captain hanging by the train’s cockpit saluted Filippov and shouted, “We’re moving forward first!”

Filippov: “Good luck to you!”

Just then, there came a howling sound from the sky, followed by the sound of exploding shells from distant Lokotov City.

The local priests asked anxiously, “Has it started?”

“Yes,” Filippov couldn’t help but confirm, “Have all the people in the city been evacuated?”

“They’ve been evacuated. Those left behind are guerrilla fighters and volunteer guides ready to lead the way for you. Those who couldn’t get out are all in tunnels; we’ve connected the sewers into an underground kingdom. Feel free to bombard!”

Filippov nodded and took back his binoculars from the guard to observe the effects of the bombardment.

The guard asked: “Other than fighting, do you have any other deep impressions of the city, Commander?”

Filippov was silent for a few seconds and then said, “Yes, at that time, one of us had fallen for a girl from the laundry or cooking squad. He picked many starflowers to make a bouquet for her. We all yearned for such a wartime romance.

“Because at that time, we didn’t know what war was really like. I also believed ‘a warrior lying in the snow, is like lying on velvet.’ We thought war was a combination of courage, passion, and romance.”

Guard: “And… in the end?”

Filippov fell silent, looking at the city in the distance where fireballs kept rising.

Guard: “I understand. Such a pity.”

Filippov patted his shoulder, “Don’t be so downcast, it’s nearly over!”