Cannon Fire Arc-Chapter 863 - 10 For Those Who Fell Before Victory_2

"It won't be long before the resistance organization is forced to launch a large-scale uprising, prepare your troops for annihilation, General,"

General Hawk: "Isn't it most important to stop the Anteans' breakthrough now?"

"Yes, the Anteans' breakthrough! Even if you hand over all the troops at your disposal to the Southern Army Group, do you think you can stop Rocossov?" The Great Commander pointed at the map, "In these few days alone, we have confirmed 71 first-class numbers! This is an unprecedented offensive!"

General Hawk: "The Antean army is a tactical unit on the same level as our divisions—"

"And that's terrifying!" the Great Commander interrupted Hawk, "71 divisions! At least 20 of them are the elite with cloaks! This massive army is now surging towards the Baltic Sea, and there is only one way to stop them! That is to have the damned Melianians rise up, forcing Rocossov to give up his northward march for international face, and charge towards the plains of Melania!"

General Hawk repeatedly shook his head: "No, I do not accept this as martial art, I don't acknowledge it."

Great Commander: "Do you have a better idea?"

General Hawk was silent for a few seconds, then said to the Great Commander, "We were unaware of your plans. I will destroy all written records of this meeting."

The Great Commander slightly smiled: "That's right."

————

The perspective returns to Henry.

Sitting on a tank, looking at the countless corpses in the square, he was momentarily dazed and didn't even respond to Podoliskov's question.

The nightmare he had countless times reappeared before his eyes.

In that dream, his father pushed a Prosens soldier to protect his mother, resulting in a bullet piercing his father's chest.

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As his mother tried to help his father, she too was hit by a bullet.

Both of them were riddled with bullets by the Prosens in the street, falling together, surrounded by thousands and thousands of Melianians.

Laughing, the Prosens approached them, jabbing their rifle bayonets, stepping on his father's shoulder with their military boots as they pulled out the bayonet.

The sound of the bayonet being pulled out of the flesh was particularly harsh: Puz.

Henry felt his breathing become difficult, and then a large hand grabbed his shoulder, shaking him vigorously, and a rough voice pierced through the nightmare: "Sukabule! Are you cursed? We still have so many Pulosen Ghosts waiting for us to kill!"

Hearing "We still have Pulosen Ghosts waiting for us to kill," Henry snapped out of the dream. It was then that he realized the one speaking to him was Podoliskov.

The tank commander asked loudly, "What's wrong with you?"

"I saw the scene where my parents were slaughtered by the Prosens."

"Ah? You saw it with your own eyes? How did you survive?"

"No, I didn't witness it firsthand, but this nightmare has haunted me for years. In the dream, I can even see where the bullet holes are on them, where the enemy's bayonet stabbed in, where their foot stepped on when pulling out the bayonet," Henry said softly.

Podoliskov spoke into the microphone, "Misha, your booze? Our infantry brother might need a swig."

After he finished speaking, the tank Loader poked his head out of the turret with a flask in hand.

"Here you go!"

Henry took the flask, took a swig, and cringed, "What kind of alcohol is this?"

"The stuff from the military supply isn't strong enough, so we sourced some stronger stuff," Misha said with a smile, "Perfect for a time like this, right?"

Henry sniffed the contents of the flask, "Am I really not at risk of dying by drinking this thing?"

"You're worried about life-threatening risks on the battlefield?" Podoliskov exclaimed in surprise.

Seems he has a point.

Henry downed a large gulp of the strong liquor, dispelling the nightmares and melancholy.

"Sukabule! Today we're going to wipe out all the ghosts in the city!"

————

July 19th, Saint Andrew Regional Army, Headquarters moving convoy.

Vice Admiral Pyotr Konstantinovich Rocossov sat in a Jeep, his plump body jolting non-stop with each bump.

"How do you say 'butter' in Melania Language?" he suddenly asked.

His Deputy Officer quickly flipped through the Melania Language and Antenese comparative dictionary in his hand and soon replied, "Butter, it's the same as in Antenese."

Pyotr laughed, "Same as us, huh? That way, once we're in Melania, we can ask for butter from the locals without worrying they won't understand! And 'meat'?"

The Deputy Officer flipped through a few pages and answered, "Also called meat, it's the same, chicken meat, pork, beef, lamb – all the same."

Pyotr was even more pleased, "What about bread?"

"The same, it's called leba! Big leba!"

"The languages of the two nations are so similar, no need to learn anymore," Pyotr waved his hand.

By now, the troops marching outside the window began cheering at the sight of the Jeep.

Pyotr: "Damn it, do I look that much like my brother?"

Deputy Officer: "Very much, before departure, even the common folks at Saint Andrew Fort mistook you, right?"

Pyotr: "What a pity, I'm not my brother. If it were my brother commanding the battle on the northern front, he probably would have broken the siege by now. I can only fight desperately, feed more civilians, help them survive."

Deputy Officer: "General Kashuk, being your brother's direct descendant, broke the siege in half a year."

"My brother would have been faster!" Pyotr said with pride, "Back when he was studying, my father would sigh and say, 'Your brother is so smart, and yet he spends all his time with that good-for-nothing crown prince.' But as soon as the war started, amidst a pile of grim battle reports, there was a victory report, and it was my brother who had won!"

Deputy Officer: "It was said that he managed to hold Upper Penie because you managed to send a KV tank there."