Cannon Fire Arc - Chapter 766 - 23 Entering the City
Chapter 766: Chapter 23 Entering the City
The artillery barrage ended, and the assault officially began.
Sergeant Semyon led his infantry squad through the edge of the Loktov building complex when he spotted the wreckage of a BT7 tank.
The wreckage was emblazoned with a slogan: Those who fought here in the past will drive you all back.
As the sergeant approached the tank, animals hiding inside fled in panic, giving him a scare.
At that moment, a door nearby opened, and a gray-haired uncle poked his head out, “I am a guide with the guerrilla fighters. Where is your attack target? I’ll lead the way!”
The sergeant immediately took out his map, “Fellow countryman, we are ordered to advance straight to the city center, eliminating any Prosens we encounter along the way.”
…
“That’s easy! We’ve already connected the buildings on both sides of the street and then blocked them with furniture. The Prosens don’t know! I’ll take you around their fire blockade for a surprise attack!”
“That’s excellent!” Sergeant Semyon was very excited, “Let’s go. Oh, what does the slogan on this tank mean?”
“You don’t know?” The local looked perplexed.
Sergeant: “I don’t.”
“In the past, the forces led by Marshal Rocosov resisted the Prosens right here, fighting for three days and nights (although not really that long)! This tank was personally commanded by Rocosov. If you go further down this street, there’s another tank parked there. The Prosens ordered us to scrape off the tactical number on the tank…”
“Scraped off?” The sergeant looked puzzled.
“Because that tank was personally commanded by Rocossov! The number is 422! We all know it! So the Prosens come with their yellow dogs to wipe it off once, and we paint it back on at night!”
Sergeant Semyon looked genuinely interested. Before he could speak, his subordinate spoke up first, “Let’s go take a look at that tank! Maybe we can catch some of the marshal’s courage and good luck!”
“No! We have a mission to carry out! Lead the way, uncle!”
“Alright, this way!”
Sergeant Semyon led his squad and followed the uncle into the house.
As soon as the uncle entered the house, he went straight to the chest of drawers by the wall, pushed it aside to reveal a hole behind it, “Come on! All furniture covered with red cloth can be pushed away; they’re all holes!”
The group moved through one hole after another, pushing forward.
Upon entering a house, a woman’s voice suddenly came through, “There are Prosens in the building ahead! Be careful!”
Sergeant Semyon stopped and looked for the source of the voice and then saw an old lady with a headscarf peering out from the stairs to the second floor.
Sergeant: “You should come down; it’s dangerous upstairs!”
“It’s okay, I’ve to see what the shelling has done to my house, and then I found that the Prosens had entered next door. They set up a machine gun inside a window, invisible from the outside.”
Sergeant Semyon: “We’ll handle it!”
Guide uncle: “The enemy hasn’t discovered this side and probably hasn’t found the holes in the wall. We can catch them by surprise!”
“Good!”
Old lady: “It’s that cupboard!”
Sergeant Semyon and a few of his stout men quietly carried the cupboard away.
The moment the wall hole was exposed, they could hear the Prosens talking on the other side.
It seemed they were completely unaware that Ante soldiers had reached next door.
Sergeant Semyon used hand signals to order the veteran among his men.
The veteran immediately took out an offensive hand grenade, pulled the pin, clenching the primer ready to go.
This grenade was a popular reproduction of the Federation model among the soldiers.
Semyon took a deep breath and kicked the wooden panel on the other side of the wall.
At the same time, the veteran let go of the primer.
The cupboard on the other side fell over with a crash as the veteran threw the hand grenade.
The Prosen soldiers on the other side, vigilant over the main road, had no idea there was trouble behind them; they turned back with bewildered faces to see what was happening.
Sergeant Semyon locked eyes with the enemy and immediately opened fire, but was pulled away by one of his men.
The grenade exploded, shrapnel and stones sprayed through the hole, along with pieces of the cupboard.
“Thanks!” Sergeant Semyon, holding his submachine gun, took the lead and crawled through the hole.
The Prosens from the second floor were coming down to inspect the situation. The sergeant faced one head-on, reacting quickly, and fired his Papasha.
The Prosen was hit multiple times and fell to the floor, then rolled down the stairs.
The veteran crawled through the hole and threw two more grenades that had been warmed up.
The explosion occurred immediately.
Someone upstairs screamed in agony, crying out words that, to Semyon’s surprise, he understood.
Then the guide uncle shouted, “The floor is made of wood! You can shoot through it!”
Sergeant Semyon immediately fired at the floor, and the enemy quickly retaliated by firing downwards.
The sergeant was hit in the thigh and immediately knelt down but fired back against the enemy’s trajectory.
The veteran charged up the stairs with speedy steps, gun at the ready.
The sound of the Papasha’s gunfire came from the second floor. Soon, all went quiet upstairs.
Everything happened too fast, and the new soldiers in Sergeant Semyon’s squad were still bewildered.
The sergeant sat down against the wall, inspecting his wound, “Damn it! Let’s see where these damn guys hit me!”
Blood had already soaked the sergeant’s pants. He used his dagger to cut open his pants, and the wound on the inner side of his thigh suddenly spurted out a gush of fresh blood.
Guide Uncle: “He’s hit the blood vessel on the inner thigh! Quickly, use a rope to tie up the base of the thigh! Make it tight—so tight that the blood can’t get through! I’ve dealt with this kind of wound before!”
The rookies sprang into action then.
The old woman rushed upstairs, and within a few seconds, clattered back down, thrusting a belt into the hands of a rookie: “Use the belt! It’s my son’s belt! This is a good belt! It’ll definitely work!”
Without a word, the rookie wrapped the belt around the sergeant’s thigh and pulled it tight.
Blood immediately soaked the belt, seeping into the leather.
The old woman watched all this, leaning back against the wall with a sigh: “It’s a good belt, made from leather I specially had a leatherworker cut. It’s good leather!”
————
Filippov, carrying a submachine gun, took the battalion headquarters’ jeep to the perimeter of the chemical plant.
The remains of the Prosen tanks that had been destroyed outside the chemical plant’s walls were still there.
All these tanks had been hit by incendiary bottles, burned out with no salvage value.
Filippov, looking at the remains of these tanks, softened his stern expression slightly and said to the guard, “Half of these tanks were burnt by me, and the other half by my buddy at the time—sadly, he didn’t survive.”
Guard: “There were no rocket launchers back then, right? You burned them with incendiary bottles?”
“Yeah.”
The Prosens who had been defending the chemical plant had surrendered and were now sitting in the empty cargo stacks beside the plant.
“Stop the car!”
The driver braked immediately.
Filippov jumped out of the car, submachine gun in hand, walking toward the captives.
The soldier guarding the prisoners saluted him: “Brigadier Davarish, a total of 201 captives, disarmed and waiting for the Judge to take over.”
Filippov: “Who told them to wait here?”
Guard: “Uh… the battalion commander had them wait here.”
Filippov: “Anywhere else would be fine, just not here. Have them moved.”
At that moment, the Priest responsible for translations ran over: “Comrade Brigadier, what’s the reason for this? You must give us a cause! The Church strictly forbids the slaughter of prisoners because—”
“I’m not slaughtering them; I’m just asking them to move.”
Priest: “I want a reason!”
Filippov took a deep breath: “Back then, right here, Marshal Rocossov—then a Brigadier—personally presided over a memorial ceremony for the fallen warriors! This place is very important, not where Prosen captives should be!”
“Let them move!”
Priest: “This…”
Filippov: “My friend, my sister’s husband, all lay to rest here! I won’t allow Prosen captives to sit where they lay!”
“Yes.”
The Priest immediately turned and ran towards the captives, saying in Prosenese, “We need to move to a different place!”
The Prosens looked at each other in bewilderment.
Suddenly a Prosen shouted, “We have already surrendered!”
Priest: “Yes, and you will be treated according to the Geneva Conventions! We just need to move to a different place, this is where martyrs rest.”
After a few seconds of silence, a Constitutional Guard stood up: “Not here, I’ll take you to where they rest.”
Priest: “What?”
Constitutional Guard: “I’ll take you to where they rest.”
————
In the wheat field outside the factory, the Constitutional Guard pointed at the dark soil ahead and said, “This is the spot, start digging. I have nightmares about this every night; it’s time for me to be relieved.”
Filippov nodded to the Engineers.
The Engineer platoon commander took the shovel himself, and upon sticking it into the soil, it hit something.
He didn’t immediately pry the object out but gently put down the shovel and used his hands to brush away the soil, revealing a round metal object.
Engineer platoon commander: “Sukabule! This guy is trying to lead us into a minefield to blow us up!”
Filippov: “Keep your cool; it could be a pickle jar lid.”
“What?” The Engineer platoon commander took another careful look at the object, then bravely lifted it out—it indeed turned out to be a pickle jar lid, “How did this get buried here?”
Filippov: “It’s a long story, but keep digging. Let’s see what’s actually inside.”
The Engineer platoon commander resumed work and soon unearthed something new.
It was human remains.
As all the Engineers joined in the digging, a multitude of remains were exposed to the light of day.
In layers upon layers.
Constitutional Guard: “We rounded up guerrilla fighters, resistance members, and Ante Soldiers who surrendered to us, and drove them here to clear the mines because it was hard to distinguish the real from the fake mines here, including those that could blow away half an Engineer platoon. So—after the mines here were nearly cleared, we made them dig here, and then—”
The translating Priest, furious, charged over and slapped the Constitutional Guard to the ground: “Bastards! You bastards!”
Filippov: “Priest, you’re out of line.”
Priest: “I know.”
Filippov: “Every criminal will face justice, Priest.”
