Cannon Fire Arc

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On August 8th, at 08:30, at Shepetovka, the headquarters of the 151st Provisional Infantry Division.

Wang Zhong was originally planning to head out when he passed by Nelly packing up the dining table, possessed by some devilish impulse, he stopped and scooped up a dollop of sour cream with his finger and popped it into his mouth.

Nelly: "What are you doing? You're acting like a little kid! Can't you use a spoon?"

"Alright, alright, I'll use a spoon."

Wang Zhong took the spoon Nelly handed him and scooped up a heaping spoonful of sour cream into his mouth.

Sour cream is such a strange thing, at first, it seems so odd to eat, and even odder to put into soup. But after you've tried it once, you can't help but go for it again, the second time thinking, "It's so strange, I need to savor it more."

And then, you just can't stop, you need to have some with everything.

Especially here at Ante's, where meals are those calorically dense things with lots of fat, you can't do without sour cream to cut through the greasiness.

It's like eating pig trotters with noodles, after a bite of the big trotter, you need some sour pickles to refresh the palate.

I feel like I'm going to turn into the shape of sour cream.

After finishing, Wang Zhong handed the spoon back to Nelly, with a reminder: "The division's train leaves at half-past ten, watch the time and don't be late. You are my clerk."

"Mhm." After Nelly spoke, she grabbed Wang Zhong who was about to leave. "Wait, you haven't wiped the hand you used to scrape the sour cream, give it here!"

Nelly then carefully wiped Wang Zhong's hand clean with a napkin before letting him go.

Wang Zhong: "You're almost like my mom."

Nelly, incensed, said: "I am not that old!"

That's what she takes offense to!

Wang Zhong turned and left the room.

No sooner had he descended the stairs than he saw a group of people wearing Labor Camp armbands streaming into the division headquarters' yard.

The newly assembled headquarters guard platoon was blocking them, Grigori stood alertly at the door of the building where Wang Zhong stayed, cradling a submachine gun.

The workers were fervent:

"Let us see the General!"

"Yes, let us see the General!"

Wang Zhong: "What do you want with me?"

The restless crowd paused, their gaze turning to him en masse.

"It's the General!"

"That's not right, isn't the General supposed to be six meters tall?"

What kind of genetic specimen would that be?

Wang Zhong: "I apologize for not being six meters tall and for disappointing you all. I'm just an ordinary person, but I've also killed two Prussian generals!"

The crowd grew agitated again, speculating about how the remaining five Prussian generals died.

Wang Zhong couldn't stand it anymore; at this rate, he was going to become Saint Andrew's Champion Warrior. He interrupted their discussions: "What do you want? Did you just come to see what I look like?"

The workers calmed down, and all eyes shifted in unison to an old worker.

The old man stepped forward and said, "We are workers from the Shepetovka Textile Factory, we heard that your flag was torn up in the last battle, so we worked overnight to make a new one!

"Radilov, bring it here!"

The crowd parted to make way, and a very robust worker carried a fiery red banner over to Wang Zhong, flicking it open fully in front of him with a twist of his arm.

It was Wang Zhong's red flag, only a thousand times more exquisite, and at the base of the flag, there was a line of gold lettering: Donated by the Workers of the Shepetovka Textile Factory.

The old worker continued, "We used all night to perfect this red color. The young people at the factory, God knows where they heard it from, were saying that your flag was dyed red with the blood of martyred heroes, and they wanted to use their own blood. But I thought that wouldn't do, blood turns black, so we used this blood red shade. What do you think?"

Someone from the crowd shouted: "Bolutkin is our best dyer, General, please accept it!"

Wang Zhong, looking at the red flag, the sunlight filtering through the fabric and falling across his face, said;

"Grigori!" he ordered, "Take the flag, and you'll be the flag bearer. Where I go, you follow."

The workers cheered.

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Argesukov, the Rokossovsky Estate.

When Mikhail entered the duke's bedroom, the duke was comparing clothes against himself.

Mikhail hurried over and took the clothes: "Let me do it! We shouldn't have let go of all the maids so quickly."

"It's nothing, I do have hands! You worry too much. Now tell me, what's the situation?"

"The Crown Prince is set to lead the troops out today; it's your old unit."

"Hmm," old Rokossov chuckled, "My old unit is the most resolute, and even Major General Skorobo knows this. This is just as well. What's the direction of the attack?"

Mikhail answered: "The attack is towards Shepetovka. First, it can delay the enemy armor from flanking, and second, it can cover our forces escaping through the breach."

Old Rokossov added: "Third, the Crown Prince might just break through if he's lucky. Quite a gamble they're taking. Where's the planned deployment area?"

"Kabusk Village."

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"Okay, we'll head straight for Kabusk, we should make it in time. Choose a driver with no family ties to take me there."

"Then it's only me..."

"No, you won't do. You're taking the plane out today."

Mikhail thought for a moment and said, "Then let's go with Stepan, two of his three sons are grown up, and the elderly in his house have passed away, which makes him suitable."

"Hmm." Old Rokossov nodded.

By this time, he had already put on his old military dress uniform and adorned himself with all his medals.

Looking at his reflection in the mirror, the old man snorted, "Like a toy doll. My medals could almost be bulletproof, I wonder which Prussian bastard will benefit from them. No, it won't do, I have to take the medals off. You take them to Alyosha, can't let the Prussian devils have them!"

So for the next twenty minutes, Mikhail, the old servant, helped the general take off all his medals.

Rokossov looked at himself in the mirror and said, "The first time I put on this uniform, I was as young as Alyosha, knew nothing, and all I thought about was flirting with girls at balls."

Mikhail: "The younger master is already capable of standing on his own."

"Yes. Now it's my turn as an old father to show him what a warrior's resolve is." The old man suddenly smacked his lips, "My mouth is a bit dry, get me some sour cream, is there any sour cream left?"

Mikhail: "Of course, there is, even if everything else was missing, we wouldn't run out of that. I'll go get it for you."

"And bring some waffles, too, and walnut jam if there's any."

"Got it."

After Mikhail left, the old Duke stood alone in front of the mirror, looking at his reflection.

"Humph, not too shabby, could charm a girl at the bar." He lightly adjusted his beard and put on the old-fashioned military cap.

After gazing at his reflection for a few seconds, he suddenly slapped his thigh, "Ah, I forgot my saber! After the civil war ended, the troops did away with sabers, so I forgot! Mikhail! Where is my saber?"

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Argesukov, Krugen Street, No. 43.

Mrs. Alexeyevna put a little pot of sour cream on the small tray in front of the wounded man, "Help yourself if you want to eat."

The wounded man said, "Old mother, stop bothering with us, the Prussians will kill you too if they find out you're hiding us!"

The old lady pushed up her glasses, glanced around the cellar and smiled faintly at the dozen or so seriously injured men hiding there, "Don't worry. They don't need a reason to kill an old woman like me. If one day I don't come down, you open the door over there."

The old lady pointed to the end of the cellar, "The pickled cabbage casks are already moved aside, even you should be able to open it easily.

"It's a tunnel prepared by the locals when they resisted Emperor Poli, there's also a large community of beggars underneath, and the Prussians couldn't get rid of them all.

"Just say you're guests of Mrs. Alexeyevna, they'll help you."

The wounded men looked at each other while the old lady walked up the cellar stairs and left.

Mrs. Alexeyevna came up to the surface and carefully camouflaged the entrance to the cellar before picking up the crutches and slowly moving towards the apartment door.

She walked out the door and stood on the desolate street of Argesukov.

Not long before, the street was full of pedestrians, and there were queues at the church store not far away to get sausages.

But now, the entire street was empty.

Mrs. Alexeyevna stood for a moment, decided to go back inside, when a military unit approached from a distance.

The soldiers marched in unison, singing military songs, their high spirits in sharp contrast to the desolate surroundings.

Mrs. Alexeyevna couldn't help but stop, maintaining the gesture of holding the doorknob as she watched the troops.

Her gaze was fixed on those young faces, like a mother looking at her children.

An entire regiment marched past No. 43 Krugen Street, and then the only tank appeared.

Mrs. Alexeyevna could not recognize the model of the tank, but she knew the huge flag fluttering on the antenna behind the tank.

A very young captain sat atop the tank turret, looking ahead with confidence.

When he saw Mrs. Alexeyevna, the young captain suddenly patted the tank hatch, "Stop!"

He shouted several times before the tank stopped, right in front of No. 43 Krugen Street.

Mrs. Alexeyevna took a few steps forward and said to the young captain, "I think I've seen you before, Captain."

The captain laughed, "Impossible, it's my father on the coin. Old lady, you better run, the enemy is coming!"

Mrs. Alexeyevna laughed, "I can't leave, I still have things to do, I'll wait for you to come back, child. May Saint Andrew bless you!"

The captain was confused, "What else do you have to do? Shall I have someone do it for you? You should really leave!"

Mrs. Alexeyevna shook her head repeatedly, "May Saint Andrew bless you!"

She took a few steps back and drew a triangle in front of herself.

The captain shrugged and ordered from within the tank, "Let's go! No, forward! Is that how you give the command?"

The person inside the tank replied, "That's right, Your Highness. Maybe you should come inside, it's windy out."

"No, no, no, I get a headache just a few minutes after I'm in there!" the captain said, continuing to sit atop the tank turret.

Mrs. Alexeyevna stood at the apartment door, watching the young man and his flag recede into the distance.

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