Arc of Gunfire

September 7, 30 kilometers away from the Vistula River, over the front line.

Wang Zhong took the wireless phone and pressed the number he saw on the plug-in and shouted loudly: "Please answer the first battalion of the 229th Regiment. Please answer the first battalion of the 229th Regiment."

"I am from the first battalion, please speak."

Wang Zhong: "How are you doing?"

The radius of the bird's eye view was only so small, and Pei 3 was flying too fast, so there was no time to see it clearly, so Wang Zhong asked.

"Our losses are not bad. We have lost more than a hundred people, but there is not much ammunition left. The priest is organizing people to clean up the battlefield. But the enemy does not have much ammunition left. The enemy soldiers who died early still have one or two left. There is only one magazine left, and the enemy soldiers who fought only have ammunition left on their guns.”

One battalion lost more than 100 men, and the battalion was not fully equipped when attacking - the entire assault group did not have a fully equipped battalion.

In other words, at least 30% of the troops were lost, and the ammunition was almost exhausted——

Wang Zhong: "Stick where you are, ammunition and supplies will be here soon."

"Yes, Comrade Yuan——Special Commissioner!"

After all, the enemy can hear the radio. Although Wang Zhong changes the communication frequency every day, the frequency list of some troops may be captured by the enemy, so Wang Zhong assumes that the enemy can hear it and stipulates that everyone on the radio must call him special correspondent.

After finishing communicating with the 229th Regiment, he called the number of the next unit. After receiving the response, he asked as usual: "How are you doing?"

"Comrade Commissioner, we still have some ammunition, but all the anti-tank weapons are gone. Now we are collecting bottles everywhere to make Molotov cocktails. The local people have donated all the kerosene for lighting lamps to make Molotov cocktails for us!"

From Wang Zhong's bird's-eye view, the person who reported to him was not the battalion commander, but a captain. It is estimated that the battalion commander and deputy battalion commander were sacrificed, and perhaps the priest accompanying the army was also sacrificed.

Wang Zhong: "Hold on, the supplies will be delivered soon."

The supply plan formulated by Pavlov gathered all the trucks he could collect so far to transport supplies from the rear depots to the front line.

Because the trucks were all concentrated to supply the Vistula Battle Cluster, millions of civilians and horse-drawn carriages and donkey carts were mobilized in the rear to be responsible for the supply of other troops - civilian laborers and horse-drawn carriages were mainly responsible for the "last journey" from the train station to the specific troops. .

This means that the secular church has a high mobilization ability, otherwise even if Pavlov had three heads and six arms, he would not be able to solve the supply problem.

Emilia's voice came through the internal line: "It seems that most of the troops have successfully arrived at the planned location."

Wang Zhong: "That's right, my command is good."

In the past few days, Wang Zhong has been patrolling the war zone, telling the troops below the location of the enemy troops in real time, and even personally throwing smoke grenades to guide the attack. It was not easy for the troops to advance at a speed of 20 kilometers per day.

The Pulosen people's will to resist was quite strong. Without Wang Zhong's guidance, some solid bunkers and strategically placed bunkers would have likely blocked the troops for a day or two.

However, with Wang Zhong's guidance, these bunkers and bunkers were either blown up from the back with explosive charges, or were simply jumped over and handed over to the armored forces that followed.

In this way, the Proson troops were cut into pieces by the interspersed offensive, and then the small Proson troops deployed at key positions were defeated by the armored forces one by one.

As for the Proson troops who were not in key positions, they were surrounded by second-line troops and could not be attacked.

Wang Zhong has already discovered that the Proson troops he faces seem unable to fight an offensive battle. Although his light infantry does not have heavy equipment, the Prosons are no less generous. Some Proson divisions only have 105 or even 75 mm weapons. There are no infantry guns, not even Prosen's signature 150 mm heavy infantry gun.

These troops have little problem in resisting in the stronghold. They can hold on for a while and allow them to attack. Even Ant's second-line troops and militia cannot attack them.

After walking more than 100 kilometers, the casualties per kilometer advanced were much smaller than before the capture of Agsukov last year.

Unfortunately, the distance of more than 100 kilometers is a bit long, and the troops are almost reaching their limit.

After the replenishment was completed, Wang Zhong was a little doubtful whether the troops with such heavy losses could continue to advance. After all, the enemy still has hundreds of thousands of troops suppressing Melania's uprising.

Most of these hundreds of thousands of people are fully equipped, and Melania's rebel army cannot be expected to consume them.

Maybe we should wait for a new force to be mobilized from the rear——

At this time, Wang Zhong saw an acquaintance from a bird's eye view. It was a unit transferred from Yegorov's department. What Wang Zhong saw was the third battalion of this unit, and Filipov, who played the drum, was supposed to command the first battalion.

I don't know if he is okay.

————

Filipov watched as his men took down the corpses hanging from the street lamps one by one and lined them up on the sidewalk.

Melania’s survivors are claiming their bodies one by one.

He could vaguely hear the sound of sobbing. Filipov turned his head and looked, but he couldn't find the person crying.

Filipov muttered: "Maybe the earth is weeping."

Suddenly, Private Valery ran out holding a Plossen flag high: "Look, there is a Plossen flag!"

Sergeant Misha scolded: "Unlucky thing, come on, give me a horn."

Then the two of them tore the flag in half, one on the left and the other on the right.

Misha threw the torn flag to the ground. As if he was still angry, he stepped on it and stamped on it crazily. He stepped on it many times and finally ended up with a mouthful of phlegm.

Other soldiers came over one by one and spit on the flag.

Filipov thought, if the priests were still here, what would they do in this situation?

There were no priests in his battalion anymore, all of them died on the way to the attack.

Because of the heavy loss of officers, Filippov had to do his old job and command the troops as a company commander.

Just as Filippov was racking his brains to think, the melody of the cello suddenly came from the back of his head.

He turned his head and saw a gray-haired grandfather sitting among the ruins and corpses, playing the cello.

The cello was perfectly maintained, forming a sharp contrast with the devastation around it.

A soldier said in poor Melania language: "Grandpa, you still have the mood to play the cello at this time."

The old man said in pure Ant language: "If there is no music to say goodbye, wouldn't it be more desolate?"

As he said that, the old man played a sad melody.

Filippov listened for a few seconds and asked, "The rainy season in Castamere?"

"Is it inappropriate?" the old man asked back, "Now it's raining in everyone's heart, and not a soul to hear."

Filippov nodded, took out the harmonica from his pocket, and planned to match the cello's mournful cry.

At this moment, someone held up a walkie-talkie (made in China) and shouted to Filippov, "I heard the third and second battalions talking to the special envoy one after another! It should be our turn soon!"

Filippov put away the harmonica, ran over to take the walkie-talkie, and just heard the conversation between Marshal Rokossov and the commander of the second battalion, Makarov.

Marshal Rokossov: "How are you?"

"We are fine, but we have no ammunition. We are collecting the enemy's ammunition, but the enemy is also very poor, General! I think as long as we can immediately replenish 20 magazines and four grenades for each of us, we can deal with all the enemies!"

Marshal: "I can't do it. Stop and wait for supplies. Over."

While Filippov was concentrating on the conversation on the walkie-talkie, Misha shouted loudly: "Okay, gather, maybe there will be a combat mission."

"Fight? There are no enemies nearby, and the local people also said that the enemies have all run away!" said a corporal.

Misha: "Stop talking nonsense! Gather! Look to the right - all together! Look forward!"

The old man playing the cello stopped: "Are you talking about the marshal? Which marshal is it?"

"Marshal Rokossov! We have many marshals here, but if we omit the names and only say one marshal, it must be Marshal Rokossov. It could also be Marshal Suvorov, but he has been dead for more than a hundred years!"

The old man looked suspicious: "Will Marshal Rokossov come to the front in person?"

"Yes, he has been commanding us on the plane. If the marshal orders 'Mortar fire at coordinates 4-2-4', then we will fire, and we will definitely find the enemy's body on the coordinate grid later."

"The marshal is the star of victory, a saint. He gets the enemy's position from Saint Andrew and then guides us to destroy the enemy!"

The soldiers who just gathered talked at once.

Misha: "Enough! Gather! Count!"

The soldiers reported one by one and stopped at 75.

There were only 75 soldiers left in the battalion's spearhead company with intact hands and feet.

Misha: "76! Okay, all the company is here. At ease!"

The soldiers relaxed, and one soldier immediately said to the old man: "I saw it with my own eyes. The marshal's plane dropped a cloud of smoke to cover our attack. When I passed through the smoke, I saw it. It was an angel. There were scriptures of St. Andrew nailed on his armor and six silver nails on his head!"

Misha: "You are here again!"

"Really! The angel can shoot with a thread cutter in one hand and a long sword in the other! He rushed forward while firing and cut down all the enemies!"

Misha: "The enemy was stunned by our explosive packs. Okay, stop talking. I can hear the marshal's engine."

The roar of the Pe 3 engine came from the air.

Everyone looked up, but the buildings on both sides of the street blocked the view, leaving only a ray of sky.

Suddenly, a red Pe 3 passed through the gap.

"It's the marshal! No, special commissioner!"

The soldiers cheered to the sky.

Filippov took the walkie-talkie: "Special Commissioner Davarishi, I see you! Special Commissioner Davarishi, I see you!"

The walkie-talkie responded: "How is your battalion?"

Filippov: "The loss of officers is great, I can only command the sharp knife company in person, but we can still fight! Special Commissioner Davarishi, give the order, we can still move forward!"

"Stay where you are and wait for supplies. Don't worry. There are only the last 30 kilometers left. Melania's rebels can hold on."

Filippov looked at the corpses lined up on the street, then at the old man playing the cello, hesitated for a few seconds before answering: "Yes, I guarantee to complete the task."

Marshal Rokossov: "I know what you saw on the street, and I understand your anger. But now anger has no meaning except to increase casualties. Only the enemy will be happy."

"Yes, we will wait for reinforcements and supplies, over."

After speaking, he waited for a few seconds to make sure that the marshal started talking to other troops before handing the walkie-talkie to the signalman.

Misha: "What did the marshal say?"

Filipov: "The marshal told us to stay where we are and wait for supplies and reinforcements."

Misha: "We can still move forward!"

"Follow the order." Filippov replied.

"Yes."

Misha began to assign tasks and prepared to hold the city.

Filipov took out his harmonica, came to the old man's cello, and nodded.

The old man pulled the strings again - he had just stopped playing when he heard the soldiers recount the "miracle" of the marshal.

The sad melody once again echoed over the ruins.

A falcon flew high into the sky, flying towards the Vistula River.

The falcon flew across the land, past the retreating Plosin army, past the blockade outside the capital, through the streets filled with gunfire, and across the Vistula River.

It flew above the ruins where the open flames had not been completely extinguished, in the hail of bullets.

————

Hellman stuck his head out and saw a falcon flash past.

"Isn't this the national bird of Kosalia? Why is it here?" he muttered.

The guerrilla next to him was a professor from Melania National University. Hearing Heilmann's ton bag, he raised his head and said, "Falcons are also distributed in our country, and there are quite a lot of them. Seeing falcons now is a good sign, don't you think?" Who is the king of Kesalia now?"

Hellman smiled: "Rokossov - this is indeed a good sign. As long as we fight for one more day, Rokossov's troops will arrive!"

Professor: "One day!"

He stood up, exposed half of his body, and fired downwards.

Suddenly, a bullet hit the professor in the chest, sending him flying backwards and lying in a large font on the corridor.

Blood stained the carpet.

Hellman climbed over calmly and closed the professor's eyes.

He held the submachine gun and glanced at the soldiers in the corridor. The few remaining guerrillas were still firing.

Others were firing and shouting, as if the hussars from Melania's kingdom were shouting war cries.

Hellman just watched as the shell passed through the concrete wall and entered the corridor.

The shock wave of the explosion swept across the long corridor and turned into a strong wind by the time it reached Hellman.

Hellman's ears still hurt a little.

He knew that the final moment had arrived.

Hellman strode into the radio studio.

The moment the door was opened, a female announcer shouted hoarsely from inside: "This is Melania's capital, we are still fighting! We are still fighting! Who can help us!"

Hellman patted the female announcer on the shoulder, pushed her away gently but firmly, and then sat in her seat.

He skillfully turned on the recorder and said into the microphone:

“I am Heilman, the leader of the uprising, you may have never heard my name before, because I have to hide from the Plosen military police.

“But now, there’s no point in hiding.

"The Insurgent Committee betrayed us and they have fled from the fighting. We are holding on to the radio station, but the end has come.

“I am Hellman, and I am the voice of every Melania who dreams of freedom.

“My faith tells me that resistance is not just an optional path; it is a responsibility. I hope this fight becomes a new chapter in Melania’s fight, and that all resistance groups unite and become one Companions in the trenches, facing an enemy that never spares children, old men, rocks or trees.

"I leave no personal legacy. To every Melania who dreams of freedom, to every mother who carries her son on her shoulders, to every mother who sees her daughter being struck by an enemy bullet. Later, the father was writhing in pain and crying sadly.

“My final wish is to everyone listening to the radio, to always remember that resistance is not in vain.

"This is more than a bullet; it is a life with dignity and honor. Prison and siege made me realize that the battle is long and the road is difficult, but I also realized that a country that refuses to surrender You can create miracles with your own hands.

“Don’t expect the world to treat you fairly. Throughout my life, I’ve seen firsthand how the world silently watches our suffering. Don’t wait for justice; be justice incarnate. Keep Melania’s dream alive In your hearts. Turn every wound into a weapon and every tear into a source of hope.

“This is my will: do not lay down your weapons, do not lay down your stones, do not forget your martyrs, do not give up on your dreams, this is your right.

“We will stay here, in our land, in our hearts, in our children’s futures. I urge all of you to look after Melania, this land that I love to death, this The dream I carry on my shoulders is like a mountain that never bows its head.

“If I fall, do not fall with me; instead, take from my hands that flag that never fell to the ground. Build a bridge with my blood so that our descendants can rise from the ashes.

“When the storm comes again and I am no longer among you, please understand that I am the first drop of the wave of freedom and I live to see you complete this journey.

"Continue to be a thorn in their throats and be a storm that won't look back and we won't rest until the world knows we stand for justice. We are more than just a number in the news!"

Hellman raised his right hand: "Long live Melania! Long live the motherland!"