Cannon Fire Arc - Chapter 767 - 24: The Song Rings Out in Loktov Once Again
Chapter 767: Chapter 24: The Song Rings Out in Loktov Once Again
Yegorov put down the binoculars and looked at his watch, “The attack started just 12 hours ago, and the gunfire has already become sparse.”
His chief of staff was also outside the city, looked at the setting sun, and mentioned, “It’s a pity that night is falling soon, the days are getting shorter in autumn.”
Yegorov reassured, “Don’t worry, the night is to our advantage, we have the help of the local parish. The Prosens will have a worse time at night, trust me!”
“Before dawn tomorrow, we must end this battle!”
At that moment, a communications staff officer, holding a telephone set, ran over, “Phone from the Guards Eighth Army Group.”
Yegorov speculated, “It must be Eugene.”
…
He took the receiver, “This is Yegorov. Is that you, Eugene?”
Eugene’s voice came through the receiver, “How is it going?”
Yegorov set up his stance, “Why are you concerned about Loktov now! You’re still being a mine manager up in the mines, mobilizing the youth!”
Eugene retorted, “I’ve still got people under me who are old soldiers from Loktov, and I have two of them in my headquarters! How can I not ask? Besides, we need to coordinate our operations. If you can’t handle it, my right flank will be in danger!”
Yegorov then spoke earnestly, “Rest assured, before dawn tomorrow, the organized resistance of the enemy will definitely be annihilated, and we’ll enter the phase of mopping up dispersed forces, which won’t affect my army group’s offensive.”
“Alright, wish you a pleasant journey home—your home is in Loktov, right?”
“No, you got it wrong,” Yegorov paused, then added, “And my family is all gone, I’m the only bachelor left.”
After a few seconds of silence, Eugene responded, “Don’t give up hope, maybe there are still survivors. Besides, you still have Doctor Kaja, don’t you?”
Yegorov: “Kaja… we’re just temporary companions until we find any surviving relatives.”
Admiral Eugene said, “She would be heartbroken to hear that. Damn, things really have changed; we have started to use the lines for idle chatter.”
Yegorov also chuckled, “If we continue, the Tribunal will be after us for occupying military lines. Let’s leave it here, wish you a successful offensive.”
Eugene: “Likewise, good luck taking Loktov.”
After finishing, Eugene hung up the phone.
Yegorov handed the receiver back to the communications officer, joking: “That miner sounds completely like a military man. At Orachi, the fortification he commanded to be dug gave the Prosens a rough time!”
Chief of Staff remarked, “You mentioned that when we were outside Orachi.”
“Did I say that? Well, maybe I did.”
Yegorov again raised the binoculars, observing Loktov with the fading daylight.
Suddenly, he declared, “I can’t wait any longer! I’m going in now!”
The Chief of Staff’s eyes widened, “No! You can’t go!”
Yegorov waved dismissively, “Go complain to the Division Commander! I will only listen if the Division Commander tells me not to go. Nobody else matters!”
————
Filippov’s Jeep drove into the schoolyard.
“Take down those Prosen flags!” he instructed the guard.
The guard turned and shouted at the truck following behind, “Send two men to take down the Prosen flags!”
“I’ll go!”
A lean young warrior raised his hand, jumped off the truck, and ran towards the school building.
Filippov stood on the Jeep, observing the inside of the school, which had been converted into a Prosen Headquarters, “These Prosens really know how to choose.”
A guard pointed at the rooftop of the building, “Commander, look!”
Filippov turned and saw the thin monkey-like warrior at the rooftop, cutting the Prosen flag’s rope with a dagger, and throwing it down.
“Hold on!” a Church propaganda officer running along with the battalion headquarters rushed over, “Wait, we haven’t set up the camera yet! Do it again!”
Filippov: “What do you mean? Are we supposed to hoist the flag again and drop it a second time?”
“No need to hoist, I understand the soldiers’ reluctance to raise the enemy’s flag. Just take the flag back up and throw it again,” the propaganda officer explained, “Then we’ll shoot a film.”
Filippov: “Alright, take the flag up and throw it down again.”
The soldier picked at random had a face as if a fly had flown into his mouth: “Commander… that flag… I feel unlucky just touching it.”
Filippov reassured him, “Don’t worry, when you’re awarded the Red Flag, I’ll let you carry it first.”
The warrior immediately smiled, “Deal, no backing out!”
After Filippov nodded, the warrior dashed off, shoved the soldiers who were stepping on the Prosen flag, took the flag, and ran into the building, “The commander said to throw it again for a movie!”
The young warrior didn’t understand the difference between a movie and a documentary.
Moments later, the Prosen flag once again fell from the top of the school building.
The propaganda officer exclaimed, “Good, good! We got that shot! Add some effort, choose two strong ones, grab both ends of the flag, and tear it apart!”
Filippov announced, “Alright, you heard him, who’s coming?”
“I will!” Several dozens of hands went up.
Then everyone looked at each other.
The First Battalion Commander, appearing out of nowhere, suggested, “I think, it should be someone with a Gold Star who does the tearing.”
As he spoke, he adjusted his uniform and deliberately patted the Gold Star Medal on his chest.
Propaganda officer disagreed, “No, a Gold Star would seem too deliberate. I prefer picking a few younger ones, less decorated, it better represents the ordinary warrior’s hatred toward Prosen. What do you think, Commander?”
Filippov, who was still touching his Gold Star, got startled by the question, “What? Oh? I think it’s fine.”
Propaganda officer: “Then it’s settled.”
Filippov whispered to the guard, “What did he just ask me?”
“He asked whether to let warriors with fewer medals tear the flag.”
Filippov uttered “Oh”, at which point, two young warriors were selected, holding the Prosen flag that had been thrown down from the rooftop twice.
Church personnel held the camera, focusing on the two men.
Propaganda officer declared, “I’ll count to three, and you tear this flag apart, absolutely no fumbling, it must be done in one go! This is very important! Otherwise, we’ll have to get a new flag to tear.”
Filippov reassured, “Don’t worry, there may not be many living Prosens left in the city, but there are plenty of flags!”
The propaganda officer nodded at him, then turned his gaze back to the young warriors holding the flag, raised his right hand, “One! Two! Three! Tear!”
Both warriors yanked hard, splitting the Prosen flag in two.
Due to the excessive force, both warriors fell down.
The public relations officer gasped, asking the photographer, “Isn’t this too deliberate? And isn’t it a bad sign that our warrior fell?”
The photographer replied, “I can splice it together, don’t worry.”
The public relations officer asked, “Really?”
“Yes, as long as you understand the basic principles of video editing, you can splice anyway you like.”
“Okay, I’m counting on you!”
The two warriors who were tearing the flags had already gotten up. Hearing the officer, they asked pitifully, “Are we not tearing anymore? We haven’t torn enough!”
The public relations officer said, “These flags are precious historical artifacts, and we need to select one in good condition to send to Yeburg! For every Prosen Division we defeat, one flag must be preserved in Yeburg!”
All the warriors showed joy at these words.
“Great, when we get old, we can take our grandchildren to visit and point to the flags saying, ‘That’s what Grandpa captured.’”
“Already thinking about grandchildren? Does the laundry squad’s Donya know you plan to have sons with her?”
“I actually think the nurse from the medical team, Cynthia, is nice.”
“Hmph, I’m different from you. When this is over, I’m marrying a clean woman who has never been on the battlefield.”
…
Filippov glanced at the discussing warriors, got down from the Jeep, and walked on the grassy training field.
Suddenly, the casual chat around him changed.
“I think the laundry squad’s Natalia is great! I want to make her a bouquet!”
“Come on, look at the time and place. Now, you can only pick Venus’ looking glasses. Your bouquet is going to be tiny, just like your little brother!”
“Sukabule! Let’s go to the toilet and compare!”
“Hold on, Vasily is still choosing manure. We’ll compare in a bit!”
Filippov turned his head to see just his subordinates chatting.
Someone noticed his gaze and shouted, “The battalion commander is watching us! Stop now!”
And then the chatter ceased, the warriors staring straight at Filippov.
Filippov waved his hand, “Relax, don’t mind.”
Having said that, he looked again at the grass-covered training field.
The Prosen people hadn’t used this area, so the grass had grown knee-high.
Filippov suddenly felt inspired, took out a notebook and a pen, flipped it open, and wrote on the title page:
After two springs, summers, autumns, and winters,
Many have forgotten me,
Many have left me behind.
I returned to my hometown, temples graying,
Comrades scattered to the corners of the earth, only the medal on my chest accompanies me.
I walk on the overgrown paths, wandering through tall grasses.
I breathe deep of the land’s air,
The taste long forgotten.
—
A guard looked over his shoulder and read out the text, “The taste long forgotten— isn’t that just the smell of grass? Oh, and the stink bugs! I smell them!”
Filippov was about to write the next line, but the words of the guard killed his poetic inspiration.
He put away the notebook, about to speak, when a Jeep sped into the yard.
The Jeep bore a Red Flag.
Yegorov’s voice boomed from afar, “Sukabule, how did the Prosen turn into Headquarters? Take down those obstructive Prosen symbols!”
The vehicle stopped, and the bear-like Army Group Commander jumped down, then saw Filippov: “Oh, it’s your unit that captured this place.”
Filippov saluted, “I’m familiar with the terrain, so the Division Commander chose my battalion to lead the attack.”
“Good, a wise choice.” Yegorov shook hands, surveyed the entire field, and suddenly said, “I remember, when you first arrived two years ago, you lined up right here.”
Filippov replied, “Yes.”
Yegorov pursed his lips, silent for a few seconds, then suddenly asked, “Do you still remember the song you sang back then? That song that was popular among the youth.”
“I remember.”
Yegorov said, “Good, sing it! Sing for those who can’t return here!”
Filippov said, “That was a summer song, and it’s autumn now, you see, you’re even wearing long sleeves.”
“Don’t mind the details,” Yegorov waved his hand, “Sing!”
Filippov cleared his throat and sang loudly:
“I remember a little town from another province
“Serene, peaceful and sorrowful
“With a church, a station, and a tree-lined path
“Sometimes in the crowd, I could catch a glimpse
“Of that familiar, dear silhouette.
“She wore a blue sunhat
“Clad in a blue short jacket
“Dark skirt, the figure of a young girl
“Ah, my fleeting love!
“Tanya! Tanusha! My Takiyanne!
“Do you still remember that fiery summer
“I cannot forget those days
“Those days of fiery love!”
Amid the soft glow of the setting sun, the Venus shone brightly on Filippov’s chest.
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