Cannon Fire Arc

Chapter 909: Chapter 25: Becoming a Storm That Never Looks Back (9K)_5

Pavlov shouted at their backs, “If you go now, it’ll be midnight when you arrive!”

“Isn’t that perfect timing? It’s when the Dark Night Witches perform best.” The journalist replied without turning his head.

Watching the two journalists leave, Pavlov glanced at Popov, “What a mess! When he gets back, I’m going to complain properly.”

Popov: “Why did he suddenly decide to lead the troops himself and start the attack?”

Pavlov: “I guess it’s because of Helman’s speech.”

“Now that you mention it… that’s quite possible. Our commander is passionate indeed.”

————

At one in the morning, General Hawke suddenly heard the sound of artillery.

“It’s from the east!”

As he spoke, the General raised his hand to the receiver.

The moment the phone rang, he picked up the receiver: “This is Hawke, what’s happening?”

“The enemy has arrived! Our artillery position was hit directly by the enemy in the dark! We don’t know how they did it! I repeat, our artillery position was hit directly in the dark! I swear we didn’t expose our position!”

“Don’t panic!” The General said solemnly, “Is Rocossov personally commanding the tanks?”

“I don’t know, Rocossov’s tanks had their headlights on. The observation post reported seeing tank columns before being destroyed. Some say they saw our tanks! It’s completely dark now, we don’t know what’s happening!”

“How can you not know what’s going on?” General Hawke questioned.

The voice on the other end replied, “The enemy is using bayonets extensively, mostly engaging in close combat. With the darkness, we don’t know how many enemies there are or how many tanks.

“However, everyone heard the enemy playing Helman’s speech.”

General Hawke frowned: “A speech?”

“Yes, they’ve been broadcasting it on shortwave since morning! You didn’t know?”

Cupping one end of the receiver for a moment, the General said to his deputy officer: “Turn on the radio, tune to the Melania National Broadcasting station.”

The deputy officer complied, and suddenly a speech in Melanianese filled the headquarters:

“This is my will: Do not lay down your arms, do not lay down stones, do not forget your martyrs, do not abandon your dreams, this is your right.

“We will stay here, stay on our land, stay in our hearts, stay in the future of our children. I urge all of you to take care of Melania, this land I love to death, this dream I carry on my shoulders, just like a mountain that does not bow.”

General: “Damn it, why haven’t we taken the broadcast station yet?”

Deputy Officer: “They say the Grizzlies ran out of ammunition and are resupplying, so they temporarily stopped the attack.”

General: “Tell them to attack, attack through the night! No, the priority now is to regain the bridge over the Vistula River, block the Anteans on the other side of the Vistula! Order all troops to halt their rest and begin the attack immediately!”

Chief of Staff: “The moonlight is too dim tonight, it’s too dark to see anything.”

General Hawke: “No light? Can’t you set the buildings on fire? Isn’t that basic adaptation?”

————

Vistula River Bridge.

Just after one, the Prosens suddenly launched another attack, with gunfire erupting.

The barricade on the bridge approach was already riddled with holes, the sand in the sandbags almost leaking out completely.

The brick building serving as a support point on the south side of the bridge had its walls facing the bridge completely demolished, even the load-bearing columns were riddled with bullet holes.

Yet the guerrillas’ machine guns kept roaring, pouring a rain of bullets on the Prosens.

Suddenly, the sound of machine-gun fire stopped abruptly.

The guerrilla commander on the barricade shouted loudly: “What’s going on?”

“No bullets left!” The machine gunner replied.

The commander was about to speak when a guerrilla fighter beside him cried out in terror: “The enemy is coming!”

Before the words were out, Prosen soldiers, bayonets in hand, climbed over the breastwork made of sandbags.

The commander was pierced by a bayonet, but with his last ounce of strength, he raised his pistol and fired continuously.

The Prosen soldiers and the commander fell together.

Hand-to-hand combat erupted on the bridge approach, and the guerrillas soon fell into a disadvantage.

The flag of the Melania Resistance Army stuck in the barricade was pulled up by the Prosens and thrown down the side of the bridge approach.

Just then, a young girl rushed out from the shadows, picked up the fallen flag, stuck it on her back, and started climbing the maintenance steel ladder on the bridge approach.

Someone exclaimed: “Helena! Helena is climbing the ladder!”

Seeing this, several young men rushed out, climbing up the steel frames of the bridge approach.

Helena reached the top of the ladder, she raised the flag high, charging towards the barricade.

The young men who climbed up with her also followed, guns in hand, even the wounded on the ground started moving, struggling to stand.

It was then the Prosen machine gun opened fire.

Helena was hit in the waist; when the bullet pierced her slender waist, it left a mist of blood spraying.

The machine-gun fire then hit others in succession, cutting them down like a scythe.

It was at this moment that Helman’s voice rang out:

“If I fall, do not fall with me; instead, take that flag from my hand that never touched the ground. Build a bridge with my blood for our descendants to rise from the ashes.

“When the storm comes again and I am no longer among you, please acknowledge that I am the first drop of water in the wave of freedom!”

The surviving guerrilla fighters searched for the source of the voice.

Then they saw the light.

The light from the tank’s headlights pierced the darkness like blazing torches.

“This is my will: Do not lay down your arms, do not lay down stones, do not forget your martyrs, do not abandon your dreams, this is your right.

“We will stay here, stay on our land, stay in our hearts, stay in the future of our children. I urge all of you to take care of Melania, this land I love to death, this dream I carry on my shoulders, just like a mountain that does not bow.”

The heavy tank advanced onto the bridge approach, the red flag fluttering from the tank’s antenna.

Helman’s voice broadcasted from the tank’s speakers: “Melania will never perish, long live the motherland!”

Countless Ante warriors emerged from the darkness, holding bayonet-fixed rifles high.

The morale of the Prosen forces collapsed, retreating in panic.

The tank stormed onto the bridge, turning its gun barrel towards the west bank and fired a shot.

The anti-tank gun shell exploded instantly, blooming into brilliant fireworks on the west bank of the Vistula River.

The guerrilla fighters were left dumbfounded by the sudden turn of events, then the person on the tank turret shouted at them: “What are you waiting for? Advance, Davarish!”

————

Oscar, Division Commander of the 36th Armored Grenadier Division of the Asgard Knights, stared in astonishment at the tanks crossing the bridge.

“Where did they come from? Wasn’t it still thirty kilometers away?”

At this moment, the tank on the bridge turned its turret, aiming the gun barrel in Oscar’s direction.

Oscar lowered his binoculars, puzzled, looking around. His command post was away from most open flames, unlit, it shouldn’t be exposed, the gun barrel pointing this way must be coincidence.

As he thought this, the tank fired.

Oscar was stunned for a few seconds before realizing he was airborne.

He soared high into the sky, then slammed back to the ground.

Upon impact, his brain was already destroyed by the overpressure.

The notorious brigade commander of the 36th Grenadier Division met his end just like that.