Cannon Fire Arc

Chapter 911: Chapter 26: Becoming a Drop in the Tide of Freedom_2

General Hawke cursed, pondered for a few seconds, then sighed, “Retreat, set up the defensive line five kilometers outside the city, and gather the troops.”

“Yes.”

After the deputy officer and the Chief of Staff turned to implement the orders, the General came to the window, watching the burning city: “How did things turn out this way?”

But he quickly smiled again: “Good thing we set many houses on fire for illumination during the night operation, let the Anteans inherit a scorched land.”

At this moment, the deputy officer returned, softly asking: “How do we explain to His Majesty the Emperor now?”

General Hawke’s smile froze.

Just then, the red phone on his desk rang.

The General promptly unplugged the line from the phone.

The phone went silent.

————

The Prosen Emperor pulled the handset away, checked it in confusion, then put it back to his ear, but still heard no sound.

He hung up the phone, looking at the still drowsy generals.

“You guys! Can’t you drink some coffee before coming over?”

Celtic Marshal: “I am already very old, Your Majesty, coffee no longer keeps me awake. For urgent late-night meetings like this, you can let my deputy officer, General Gustav, come.”

Generally speaking, a deputy officer would not have a general’s rank, only receiving a gold adjutant’s sash. But the Celtic Marshal is different; he commands the entire High Command, which is very stressful, so his deputy officer also has quite a few permissions to assist in managing the High Command, making a Colonel’s rank somewhat unsuited.

Thus, the Celtic Marshal’s deputy officer is a general, without wearing the adjutant’s sash.

The Emperor looked at the Marshal: “If coffee doesn’t work, you might try the stimulant we just developed for the assault squad. I’ve been using it, it allows me to focus for long periods and remain spirited.”

The Celtic Marshal appeared troubled; he knew the main components of those stimulants and honestly didn’t want to use them himself, as he still wished to live a little longer.

The Emperor: “I called General Hawke in the occupied Melania, but the phone suddenly disconnected. Our empire’s intelligence department has only gotten scant information about what’s happening in the Melania capital. We don’t know what’s happening.

“Admiral Steiner, however, reported on their situation; their army group’s left flank was breached by Rocossov. As to how the breakthrough happened, no one knows. According to the High Command’s calculations, Rocossov should be out of supplies! How did he break through our line without supplies? With bayonets?”

General Moochi: “Suvorov said, ‘Shooting is for cowards, bayonets are for heroes.’ Maybe the bayonet really decided the outcome.”

“Damn it!” the Emperor cursed, “How could that be? But if we don’t think that way, we’d have to believe Rocossov’s troops flew over, which would be even more terrifying.”

The Emperor paused: “Bayonet! Huh, bayonet!”

Celtic Marshal: “It could also be a new weapon. Anteans have been researching mysterious forces. Based on our investigation, the fog they relied on to occupy Yeisk two years ago was deliberately generated by the Anteans.”

Duke Redweizi of Rabowell immediately said: “The Krat Bureau also mentioned that the Anteans developed a brainwashing broadcast tower, using which they can complete brainwashing and turn our soldiers into theirs!”

“That’s absurd!” the Emperor slammed his hand on the table.

Duke Redweizi: “However, the characteristic of Krat Bureau’s intelligence is that we might discover someday it’s valuable true intelligence.”

Though those were all coincident hits, like a blind cat stumbling upon a dead rat. It’s just that this particular blind cat set up ten thousand rat traps, always catching at least one or two actual rats.

The Emperor was silent for a long while before saying: “Deploy three newly completed divisions to the Eastern Front.”

Celtic Marshal: “Won’t the Western Front only receive the aid of one division then?”

“The Allied Forces are so inept that supplementing with one division should suffice.” The Emperor waved his fist, “Counterattack! Launch a counteroffensive while Rocossov’s foothold is still unstable! He must be exhausted right now, making it the best time for us to capture him alive!”

————

At 0345 hours on September 8th, Wang Zhong’s tank rolled onto the square in front of the radio station.

Illuminated by headlights, the place was full of ruins—perhaps calling it ruins isn’t entirely accurate, for some wooden structures were only left with several columns, all else burned away.

The columns were charred and severed.

To sum it up in a word, the area surrounding the radio station had become “scorched earth”, with even the spotlights unable to penetrate the blackness.

The guide, a big man, seeing this scene, stood atop the tank crying, wiping his tears while muttering: “My home was here. I grew up here; as a child I even delivered mail for the postman to earn pocket change…”

No wonder he knew the roads so well; he used to run through every street as a “young mail expert.”

Wang Zhong patted his shoulder, picked up the microphone: “Rocossov calling the resistance forces inside the radio station! We are approaching from the east, do not open fire!”

After a brief silence, a response came through the headphones: “Is it really Rocossov?”

It seems the Melanians were still quite unused to Wang Zhong, the supreme commander leading the charge personally.

Wang Zhong: “Yes, I am Marshal Aleksei Konstantinovich Rokossovsky, watching over you from the tank.”

By this time, Rocossov had already, from an aerial view, spotted the guerrilla fighters defending the radio station.

Helman was still alive, though perhaps not in great condition, as Wang Zhong saw him lying on a stretcher, mostly motionless.

By now, the tank had pulled up under the radio station, and the marble columns in front of the station were almost hollowed by bullets, while the stairs were pocked from bombs.

The Antean soldiers advancing with the tank rushed up the steps, and embraced the guerrilla fighters coming out the doors.

Wang Zhong couldn’t quite understand what they were shouting, likely “You finally came” “Comrades, it’s been a while,” and so on.

Soon, the joyful crowd parted to the sides, and two soldiers carried Helman’s stretcher out.

Wang Zhong climbed out of the turret, tidied his uniform atop the tank, and leapt down to the ground, moving to meet this Melanian hero.

At this moment, the loudspeaker on the tank was still playing Helman’s speech.

Approaching Helman, years of combat experience told Wang Zhong that this elder’s time was nearing its end.

The old man opened his eyes: “I thought you’d arrive in the morning.”

Wang Zhong: “I heard your broadcast and rushed here immediately. As an Antean, I understand your feelings. I too once lost my country.”

Kazarlia was almost entirely occupied by Prosen, so it was as if he lost his country.

As for the Wang Zhong before crossing over, his motherland was very powerful, but the painful lesson of 150 years was carved in his heart. Even just before the turn of the millennium, his country’s sovereignty was trammeled.

Helman stared at Wang Zhong for a moment, said: “In your eyes, I see the same belief. I know you are my comrade.”

As he spoke, he raised his hand.

Wang Zhong quickly grasped it.

Helman’s hand was already cold and feeble.

Helman: “In my pocket—there’s a bullet.”

Wang Zhong quickly felt his pocket and indeed found a bullet.

Helman: “A bullet for an Antean standard pistol, use it to pierce the heart of the prime culprit for me.”

Wang Zhong: “We, as the righteous side, should adhere to procedural justice. However—I promise you, if the enemy resists arrest, I will fire this bullet into his skull.”

Helman smiled faintly and raised his right hand to grasp the hand Wang Zhong held the bullet with: “It’s a promise! Your Excellency Marshal!”

At that moment, the sun leapt fittingly over the horizon.

The sunlight first illuminated the battered roof of the radio station, then shone downwards, blessing all creation.

Helman turned his head, glanced at the rising sun, and sighed: “Truly—so warm.”

His hand fell weakly, dangling by the stretcher.

Wang Zhong put away the bullet, stepped forward to close Helman’s eyes, then removed his cap, held it in hand, and saluted him.

All around, whether Melanian or Antean, guerrilla or regular army, removed their hats to salute the warrior.

Wang Zhong: “He has become a drop in the wave of freedom. He has become part of the vast ocean.”

A falcon swept across the sky, soaring in Melania’s sunlight.

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