Arc of Fire

On July 28th, 915, the retreat of the First Mobile Group Army had been underway for almost six hours.

Wang Zhong was still in the converted warehouse that served as command headquarters, watching staff officers burn documents they planned not to take with them.

Because it was uncertain whether the enemy would be deceived, Wang Zhong chose to stay behind to lead the rearguard troops, while Popov went to the local church to oversee the evacuation of the townspeople.

If all the locals were evacuated, the enemy would have no civilians to hire for manual labor, which would slow their advance, so Popov’s work was important too.

As for Pavlov, he was currently directing staff officers to burn things, and once that was done, he would take the Army Group’s staff clerks and leave under the cover of night.

Wang Zhong, with his hands on his hips, found it boring after watching for a long time, and turned to ask Vasily, "This trick of yours, will it work?"

Vasily blinked and said, "How’s that? You’ve prepared rearguard troops, if it doesn’t work, you can hold them off, right?"

Wang Zhong scratched his cheek, "That’s true, but the casualties would be high. You know our Group Army, full of veterans and high school students—it really hurts to see them go. Especially all those high school students I went to great lengths to recruit, I hope as many of them as possible survive to become the core of our fighting force!"

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So Vasily started to explain his arrangements.

Fifteen minutes later, Wang Zhong cursed, "Your arrangement is good, but you could have let me know, why bother putting on a show just for my approval?"

Vasily said, "I wasn’t sure if you would agree to burn the fake attack plans. It seemed too risky, and if the Prosen intelligence officers didn’t have enough imagination, wouldn’t that be bad?"

Wang Zhong blinked, "True, they can be really rigid when it comes to that, I’ve seen it myself."

Vasily, "So you see, making preparations for the rearguard was the right call!"

As Wang Zhong was about to respond, Nelly came over with a tray, "Eat something, the cooking team has already left, there won’t be hot meals later on."

Wang Zhong sniffed, "Walnut jam?"

"Yes, the locals brought out all their hidden goodies, they don’t want to leave them for the Prosens, so breakfast this morning was especially rich," said Nelly.

Wang Zhong picked up a piece of bread, broke it in two, handed one half to Vasily, and plunged the other half into the walnut jam, stirring it around until the bread was soaked with jam, dripping onto the tray.

He bit down contentedly, the rich flavor of walnut jam spreading through his mouth.

If only the bread didn’t taste so much like hardwood.

Ah, he didn’t dare to think how delicious the walnut jam would be dipped in fried dough sticks, such a pity.

Wang Zhong crunched on the bread, reaching for a slice of pickled cucumber to toss into his mouth. In that moment, he truly felt like he had become one of the Russians—no, an Antean.

As he thought this, the weight of the Kazarlian soil in the iron box at his waist felt especially pronounced.

With this retreat, he would be even further from the black soil of Kazarlia.

Although Wang Zhong knew they’d come back to fight, he couldn’t help feeling wistful.

When he returned to Kazarlia, he’d have to visit the graves of His Royal Highness the Crown Prince and his own father, bringing the best wine. Sadly, at present, he didn’t know where the Prosens had buried them.

When the time came to liberate Kazarlia, they would surely capture many Prosen prisoners, then they could interrogate them fiercely.

Wang Zhong thought silently about this and inadvertently finished even the unbuttered part of the bread.

Nelly held up a cup of milk, "Drink some milk, eating dry bread is bad for your stomach."

Only then did Wang Zhong snap out of his reverie, taking the milk and gulping it down in one go.

At that moment, Monk Peter dodged past two groups of staff moving boxes, squeezing into the warehouse.

Seeing Wang Zhong, he shouted from afar, "General! Reconnaissance planes! Reconnaissance planes are coming!"

Wang Zhong, "Got it! Don’t worry, this time we’re not afraid of reconnaissance planes!"

He added quietly after shouting, "Provided the enemy takes the bait."

Vasily, while eating, said, "I think they’ll bite; if not, they would already be making artillery preparations against our positions."

Monk Peter shouted again, "Then I’m retreating! Damn it, when will we ever stop retreating?"

As he spoke these words, Wang Zhong felt many in the room look up.

Indeed, when would they ever stop retreating?

Everybody wanted to know the answer.

So Wang Zhong summoned all his energy and shouted, "End of this year! I promise you all, we will start counterattacking by the end of this year! From the end of this year onwards, we will not retreat!"

Having heard this, Monk Peter stood there staring at Wang Zhong for a few seconds, then raised his hand high, thumb up, "Saint Andrew bless you, General!"

With that, the monk turned and swaggered away, following the others moving boxes out of the warehouse.

Vasily, "Can we really stop retreating by the end of the year?"

Wang Zhong: "I can do it, trust me."

Prosen reconnaissance plane number 510.

The observer shouted loudly, "The Anteans on the ground are retreating! Just like the intelligence we received! Damn, it really looks like they’re retreating!"

Because they are indeed retreating.

The pilot’s voice came from the intercom: "The enemy hasn’t even burned tires to create black smoke. If they were truly retreating, how could they do such a thing?"

"Yeah, that sly Rocossov," agreed the observer. "I think we can send a telegram to confirm with headquarters now. The Anteans are really deceiving us, the attack will probably start soon!"

Telegraph operator: "Shall I send the telegram?"

"Send it!" said the pilot, "This time we’ll make Rocossov regret it!"

At that moment, Schultz was personally inspecting the defense works.

"This tank shelter is well dug, but the firing field will be obstructed by grass after the tank enters," Schultz looked towards the great prairies of the east, "We’ll have to burn all the grass. Organize a team to create firebreaks, and when the wind is favorable, set it on fire! We’re not attacking anyway, and there’s no use holding onto so much fuel."

"Yes, General!" responded the commander of the Armored Grenadier Corps immediately.

Schultz continued to walk along the defense line.

The Armored Grenadiers, bare to the waist, were feverishly swinging their Sapper Shovels, digging tank shelters, foxholes, and filling sandbags with earth.

Schultz commanded as he walked, "Put your backs into it! Give Rocossov a bloody nose! Let him know that we Prosens are the masters of defense! Show him what an Empire’s iron wall really looks like!"

Inside the Empire of Prosen, at the Eagle’s Nest.

Giles, looking at the freshly updated map, said, "Something doesn’t feel right, Your Majesty. The enemy’s flank has collapsed too quickly, not like they’ve been reinforced. If Rocossov was to attack, he would definitely reinforce to block our right hook."

The Emperor, hands crossed on his chest, replied, "It is indeed strange... but could it be that everything reported to us thus far is an elaborate ruse? We even gave a proper burial to that close confidant of Rocossov’s after analyzing the body."

Giles: "Last year, in a village in Kazarlia, Rocossov claimed to have buried many Booby Traps. To this day, our logistics and transport personnel stationed in that village are still on edge.

"He’s very good at deception."

The Emperor: "If it were only the documents on that confidant, I might be skeptical. But Kratt’s bureau also mentioned Rocossov might attack."

Giles: "Kratt’s bureau also provided intelligence that could lead us to believe Rocossov wouldn’t attack."

"Of course, contradictory intelligence is common. In such times, it is up to us to make a judgment," the Emperor gazed at the map, "Rocossov’s goal is to tie us down, covering the retreat of the Bolsk Front Army to Mount Raoul. That goal has not been achieved, or at least not fully. There’s still a heavy concentration of Bolsk enemy troops and some units 60 kilometers from Mount Raoul’s pass. No, he wouldn’t retreat."

Giles: "But now... our Army Group on the Southern Front also doesn’t have the strength to completely annihilate these units. The supply lines are too long, and they’re all on grasslands with poor infrastructure.

"The grasslands of Nan’ant are different from those of Kazarlia. Kazarlia is filled with villages, with infrastructure inferior to ours but still much better than that of Nan’ant. Kazarlia has many local laborers that can be hired... whereas in Nan’ant, the enemy can evacuate all the residents!"

The Emperor clicked his tongue, paced back and forth in the map room a few times, and said, "Let the Air Force give it their best shot. Maybe they can finish off the remnants fleeing toward the pass. Even if they can’t finish them off, it doesn’t matter; that area is all mountainous, without resources, much less industry, and no oil.

"Our main objective is still to push east, all the way to Abawahan! To achieve this, we must block Rocossov’s counterattack!"

Giles nodded solemnly.

Several days passed.

Rocossov never attacked.

July 31st, Yeisk.

Schultz entered a house, heading straight for the kitchen, and opened the cover of the stove.n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

Inside were still smoldering logs.

At that time, a messenger entered the room, reporting loudly, "General, all the houses have been checked, all stoves have fires, the enemy clearly left not long ago! We also found traces of feeding horses in the Stables, likely left by enemy Cavalry Troops!"

Schultz took a deep breath, "Rocossov left Cavalry behind to light stoves every day and create smoke to deceive us! Damn it, I’m going out to see what’s happening with the ’tanks’ outside!"

Twenty minutes later, Schultz broke off a clump of dried mud from a "tank," revealing the gray paint of a Prosen Tank underneath.

"What the hell?" he cursed, suddenly becoming hysterical, snatched the rifle from a guard, and started smashing the outside of the tank with the butt of the gun.

The mud was dried out and brittle due to the heat and lack of water; it shattered on impact.

Thus the Prosen black cross and tactical numbers were all revealed.

It was a destroyed Prosen Tank.

"Rocossov aahhh!" Schultz howled to the sky, "One day, I swear I’ll kill you!"