Arc of Fire

Chapter 701: Chapter 39 “Persistence Only

Lieutenant Ilyich heard someone shouting over the radio, “The General is drawing fire for us! Charge and destroy the enemy’s new tanks!”

The words seemed to ignite everyone’s fighting spirit, and Lieutenant Ilyich felt the tank beneath him charge even more fiercely.

The infantrymen sitting behind the turret couldn’t hear the radio, but they could see the tank adorned with the Red Flag being surrounded.

"Hurry!” the Master Sergeant leading Ilyich’s vehicle urged as he patted his shoulder insistently, “Quick! Get closer so we can use the rocket launcher to open them up like cans!”

Ilyich ordered through the microphone, “Charge at the enemy, our main gun can’t penetrate the armor of the enemy’s new tank at this distance! Get closer and fire! While the General is drawing their attention!”

Infantry Master Sergeant: “Once we get closer, we can also use the rocket launcher. It’s labeled to penetrate 80 to 100 mm thick armor. A direct hit will definitely breach it!”

Ilyich: “The infantry brothers also want to help, so let’s charge directly within 100 meters of the enemy’s new tank! Take advantage of them focusing on surrounding the General!”

Lieutenant Ilyich had completely forgotten his earlier doubt that it might not be the General himself, and his tone became hurried.

The driver replied, “This is already top speed. To go faster would depend on the terrain. Entering easier terrain could make us faster! Beyond that, it’s out of my hands!”

Lieutenant Ilyich clenched his teeth, constantly muttering as he looked ahead, “Hurry up, hurry up!”

He occasionally glanced at the surrounded heavy tank whose enemies were closing in, trying to get close enough for a concentrated shot to penetrate its sturdy armor.

The heavy tank had stopped, apparently its tracks had been broken, but the turret was still slowly rotating, not jammed.

It fired, and almost in the instant its muzzle flashed, an enemy’s new tank turned into a torch, the rising fireball even rivaling the sun in the sky.

On top of the heavy tank’s turret, someone was operating an anti-aircraft machine gun, bullets continuously striking the approaching Prosen Tanks.

Could it be General Rocossovsky himself?

Lieutenant Ilyich’s heart was in his throat. If the General himself were to fall here, what would become of the war? What would become of Ante without its star of victory?

No, Lieutenant Ilyich suddenly remembered the Military Chaplain telling him about the content in the booklet issued by the General, stating that Prosen’s defeat and Ante’s victory are inevitable, not swayed by human will.

So, even without General Rocossovsky, Ante should still be able to win.

But—

Lieutenant Ilyich didn’t want things to unfold that way. If General Rokossovsky were alive, things would surely be simpler.

They must charge and take out those bastards surrounding the General!

He gripped the microphone tightly and said to the driver, “If we still can’t penetrate the enemy, just ram them, let the infantry use the rocket launcher at point-blank range!”

The Gunner chimed in, “Not just rockets! Did you forget I brought a bottle of vodka? I’ve already prepared the wick; just light it, and it’s a Molotov cocktail! So long as we get close enough, taking out the tank will be easy!”

The mechanic added, “I still have an incendiary grenade!”

The driver exclaimed, “Stop arguing! I really can’t go any faster! It’s already in top gear! If only the ground under the tracks would suddenly turn into a highway!”

While the tank operators were arguing, the Infantry Master Sergeant patted Ilyich’s shoulder, “Steady! I’m firing the rocket!”

"Ah? Isn’t it too far?” Lieutenant Ilyich hadn’t finished speaking when the Sergeant had already fired.

The pungent smell of gunpowder made Ilyich frown. He quickly followed the rocket’s trajectory, only to see it hit its target—the shot actually hit!

Sergeant: “Sukabule, hit!”

Ilyich turned his head in shock, wanting to tell him not to waste the precious rocket launcher.

"The enemy’s bailing out!” shouted the Gunner, pulling Ilyich’s attention back to the target. Indeed, the Prosen Tankers were jumping out of their tank.

Ilyich hastily operated the anti-aircraft machine gun to strafe the enemy, while the Gunner’s complaints came through the headset, “Sukabule, why don’t they issue us shells with warheads like this! I could hit the enemy tank from 1500 meters! Isn’t that more reliable than a rocket that only works from a hundred meters?”

Because the T34W is a smoothbore gun, using concentrated explosive warheads is incredibly unpredictable, completely dependent on luck.

But at this moment, no one in Ilyich’s crew knew this.

Lieutenant Ilyich shouted, “Stop complaining, turn the turret left 15 degrees, I see another enemy tank on its side facing us at a distance!”

Lieutenant Ilyich had spotted the target on the far side of the enemy formation; it was attempting to flank the immobilized Red Flag heavy tank, thus exposing its vulnerable side.

Lieutenant Ilyich: “Didn’t you say you could reliably hit targets within 1500 meters? Time to back up your claims!”

Gunner: “I’m aimed! Ready for a sudden stop!”

Ilyich: “Seven-second hard stop, stop!”

The tank braked, and the Master Sergeant standing on the cooling grate was slammed against the turret top by inertia, “Sukabule! Give us a heads-up first!”

Infantrymen on the grate were also tossed around, with some falling off.

As the tank’s main gun swayed up and down like on a skiff, it finally stabilized and the Gunner fired.

The armor-piercing shell flew over the majority of the enemy formation and hit the side of the distant enemy tank.

The enemy stopped, but no one bailed out.

Ilyich made a snap decision: “Fire another round! Don’t rush to start up yet; it’s perfect, the infantry brothers who were thrown off need to climb back up! Fire another round!”

Loader: “Armor-piercing shell, good!”

Gunner immediately fired, and this time he adjusted his aim. Through Ilyich’s telescope, the shell hit the side of the turret, clearly penetrating it.

Ilyich immediately took out his notebook and wrote: “The enemy’s new tank turret side can be consistently penetrated at a distance of 600 meters.”

While writing, he shouted on the radio: “I just confirmed that the enemy’s new tank’s turret side can be pierced by our main gun at a distance of 600 meters! Whoever survives must remember to report this to headquarters!”

This was a precious experience that might save countless lives of tank operators.

The radio immediately responded: “Six hundred meters, got it!”

"I just penetrated one too, at a distance of 200 meters!”

"Don’t be so pessimistic, the enemy is almost finished! We’re going to win!”

—-

The commander of the 52nd Armored Battalion of Prosen put down his binoculars, then tore off his Iron Cross.

A battalion commander with his whole unit nearly wiped out did not deserve to wear this Iron Cross.

He picked up the handset: “Tanks, advance!”

"Commander, the new tanks are almost all lost, sending up our command tank is useless!” said the driver.

At the same time, the deputy commander rushed over from the radio vehicle: “Commander! We should retreat! There are tank operators who have escaped; we should bring them back, they are valuable assets to the Empire! Dying now would be pointless!”

The commander looked at the battlefield filled with thick smoke and fierce fire, looked at the burning new tanks, and sighed deeply, closing his eyes.

A few seconds later, he said, “You’re right, let’s retreat.”

—-

July 4th, 1830 hours, Prosen Southern Army Group Headquarters.

Marshal Geron got into the armored command vehicle, preparing to head to the new headquarters, when suddenly he heard the sound of tank engines and gearbox noise outside.

He frowned and asked his deputy officer: “Weren’t the tanks assigned to headquarters supposed to move last?”

Among the headquarters’ guard forces, there was a small armored platoon with several old Panzer IVs.

The deputy officer replied: “I don’t know, should I go check?”

Before Marshal Geron could respond, the noisy sound of the gearbox ceased, and the engine roar also diminished a lot, indicating that the tanks had stopped.

Marshal Geron glanced at his deputy officer, just as his orderly came up with a tray full of food into the armored command vehicle: “Marshal, your dinner. Once we get to the new location, we might not be able to have such a rich meal for a while.”

"Put it on the table,” the Marshal said as he placed his cigar, still lit, on the edge of the ashtray, ready to cut the cigar head to extinguish it after dinner.

But before he could pick up the cigar cutter, he heard a guard outside shouting: “You cannot board without permission! Wait a moment!”

Following the guard’s yell, Division Commander Schmidt from the 19th Armored Division of the Third Armored Army burst into the command vehicle.

The Marshal remained composed: “What’s the matter, Major General?”

"Reporting to you, Marshal, one of my divisions is completely finished.”

Marshal Geron wasn’t particularly surprised, observing Division Commander Schmidt who seemed to have been fighting on the front lines alongside his soldiers until the very end.

The Marshal scrutinized him repeatedly, then lowered his gaze.

The Division Commander continued: “But I will not forget my duty, Marshal.”

After saying this, he saluted Marshal Geron and turned to leave the armored command vehicle.

Marshal Geron turned around, picked up the cigar from the ashtray that hadn’t been extinguished yet, and took a deep puff with a grave expression.

He had just exhaled a puff of smoke when a gunshot sounded outside.

The Marshal spun around: “What happened?”

The deputy officer immediately went to the door of the command vehicle, leaned on the door frame to look outside, and then replied: “General Schmidt has killed himself.”

Marshal Geron hurriedly looked out the window and saw General Schmidt’s body near his tank surrounded by Headquarters staff.

Marshal Geron: “Meaningless.”

He walked around inside the command vehicle with his cigar, murmuring: “What is there left to say to the soldiers at this point? Only to keep going, just keep going.”

Deputy Officer: “I’ll draft the orders immediately.”

The Marshal nodded.

Then he looked at the rich feast on the table, sighed deeply: “Take this away, I can’t eat now.”

Orderly: “You should eat something; you’ve barely eaten anything today.”

"How can I eat? Rocossov is nearly draining our armored forces dry! Take it away!” Marshal Geron barked angrily.

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