Cannon Fire Arc

Chapter 976: Chapter 22 Marshal’s Justice_2

Vanya: “Shoveling manure is shoveling manure, but that manure-shoveling friend of yours is now a Colonel!”

Filippov chuckled.

Vanya picked up a cup of coffee and poured it into the hostess’s potted plant: “May it grow faster!”

Then he opened his flask, poured its contents into the coffee cup, and handed it to Filippov.

Filippov took a sip; it was pure Antean vodka.

“Good heavens,” he said, “if you could speak Prosenese, you could sell this to Father Stas and make yourself a fortune!”

Vanya: “Of course! After all, the local taverns only serve beer that’s like horse piss. Here, have some too.”

Saying this, Vanya picked up another cup, poured the coffee into the potted plant, filled it with vodka, and handed it to the staff officer.

The group shared a few sips like this, and then Filippov plopped onto the sofa, pulled out his harmonica, and started playing a tune from the new collection of military songs he’d received just before the offensive.

Vanya cleared his throat and, following the harmonica’s melody, began to sing:

“Rest has been a luxury we’ve not known for so long,

Marching onward with no time to look back.

Turning around, half of Europa is already behind us~

Tomorrow comes the final battle~the cruelest battle~

But I wish to return to the Antean motherland~

To see the mother I’ve been parted from for years~

I long to return to the Antean homeland~

And see my long-missed hometown.”

The others joined in unison for the second verse:

“For three years, the Prosen devils haven’t given me a moment of peace!

For three years, our blood and sweat have turned into rivers.

I yearn to love a fine young lady,

One without the smell of gunpowder on her.

I desire to touch my homeland’s soil,

Earth free of those cold, buried mines…”

Just as the group was singing together, the phone rang.

Filippov set down his harmonica and grabbed his pistol, turning back warily to watch the hostess, who was about to pick up the phone.

The hostess asked: “Should I answer it?”

Filippov thought for a moment and nodded: “Answer it.”

The hostess picked up the phone and answered in Prosenese: “William residence, who is this? City Defense Command? Hello, Commander. What? You’re asking if there are Anteans here? Of course, there are. What are they doing? They’re singing, Commander. I don’t understand the words, but it sounds like a sorrowful song.”

After a brief pause, the hostess asked curiously: “Are you the Prosen City Defense Commander or the Antean City Defense Commander?”

Filippov thought to himself that for a Prosen, famed for their rigidity, this hostess surprisingly had a sense of humor.

The hostess then put down the phone and turned to Filippov: “He angrily hung up. Seems like it was the Prosen City Defense Commander.”

Filippov: “The City Defense Commander himself calling to verify just how far we’ve advanced! This means the Prosens’ command and communication system has completely fallen apart. Davarish, no time to rest anymore—one final push and we’ll take Prosen!”

As his words trailed off, a messenger burst through the door, shouting: “Marshal Rocossov is marching down the street toward us!”

Filippov was startled: “What?!”

“Marshal Rocossov is riding down the street toward us!”

Filippov immediately straightened his uniform and dashed downstairs.

He had just reached the street when he saw Marshal Rocossov galloping down the street on a white horse.

“Filippov!” The Marshal slightly tightened his reins, stopping in front of Filippov. “What’s this? Taking it easy already? Keep advancing, Davarish!”

“Yes, sir!”

The Marshal spurred his horse onward, followed by a procession of vehicles trailing behind him.

Filippov caught sight of Vasily amongst them, who was wildly signaling to him: “Hurry up, catch up! You don’t want to miss the decisive end of the war, do you?”

Filippov cursed silently to himself: Like hell I want to miss it!

He climbed into his jeep and urged the driver: “Drive, quickly! We can’t move slower than that manure shoveler up ahead!”

————

Podoliskov’s *Revenge for the Heroic Brother* tank turned out of a street corner and onto a wide avenue.

Northward, he saw a familiar-looking gate.

“That’s it, the Bodenburg Gate we saw photos of before the offensive!” Podoliskov exclaimed excitedly, “Beyond it lies the Royal Palace, and next to it is the Parliament Building. In front of the gate stands a statue of the Plathen Emperor, erected the year he conquered Europa!”

The gunner said enthusiastically: “Perfect! Let’s fire a shell at that statue and save Stas’s Davarish the trouble of tearing it down manually!”

Podoliskov laughed: “Do it! Load the concrete-penetrating shell!”

Just then, the infantry accompanying the tank began a commotion behind them:

“Is that the Marshal?”

“It can’t be, right?”

“If it’s fake, wouldn’t there be a whole group? But that’s just one man! With a whole convoy following behind.”

Podoliskov turned his head in confusion and saw a lone rider on a white horse charging ahead.

His jaw dropped in astonishment.

The name *Revenge for the Heroic Brother* had been given by none other than the Marshal.

Even from this distance, Podoliskov could clearly recognize that it was the Marshal on horseback!

And that white horse—only Bucephalus, the Marshal’s steed, could possess such as a regal aura.

Podoliskov raised his right hand in salute: “Marshal Davarish, I salute you!”

Marshal Rocossov rode past the tank and shouted: “Podoliskov! I remember you and your brother! Let’s go—time to avenge them and take down the culprit! Forward!”

“Yes, sir!” Podoliskov grabbed the mic: “Forward!”

Gunner: “Aren’t we blowing up the statue?”

Podoliskov: “No need! It’s just a stone sculpture—smash it down with the tank! Rocossov Mark II tanks are meant for action, not just show!”

The tank rumbled forward, forcing its way into the Marshal’s convoy, shoving the entire procession of vehicles to the back.

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!