Cannon Fire Arc

Chapter 969: Chapter 19 Don Quixote

Guard First Heavy Breakthrough Artillery Division’s position, 14 kilometers from the center of Plowsonia City.

This was originally a residential area, but a few days ago, the Tu-4 bombers dropped napalm, igniting a raging fire that consumed the entire neighborhood of wooden and brick houses, turning it into a “white field.”

The 400 heavy artillery pieces and ammunition trucks of the Guard First Heavy Breakthrough Artillery Division were densely arranged across this empty space.

These cannons, the smallest caliber being 152 millimeters, were more than half made up of the 203-millimeter B4 heavy howitzers, often referred to now as “Rocossov’s Hammer.”

It was said that a captured Gustav Train Gun had also been brought to the front, but deploying that monstrosity was too troublesome, so the proposal to use it was rejected by the Front Army Artillery Headquarters.

The Division Commander of Guard First, upon receiving orders, left the artillery command vehicle and headed to the division’s oldest B4 heavy howitzer, climbing onto its treads.

“Davarish!” The Commander placed his hand on the cannon’s barrel, stroking the last letter of the red word painted on its body. “This is the first cannon named Rocossov’s Hammer! It once roared against the enemy in Loktov’s cityscape!”

The Commander paused, his gaze sweeping across the faces of his subordinates.

The artillery unit had far more veterans compared to the infantry, and many had medals hanging on their chests.

“It broke down three times and was repaired three times! Just like many of us, it has fought through the entirety of this war!

“It roared against the Prosens in Loktov, it roared in Orachi against the Prosens! In Shepetovka, in Abawahan! Now, it roars here, in the heart of the Prosen Empire, in the urban area of the capital Plowsonia, against our enemy!

“Davarish! This is the sound of victory! The thunder of revenge! The light of dawn! The trumpet leading to triumph!

“High-Explosive Shell, load!”

The artillerymen swiftly moved into action, lifting shells from the small carts onto the loader.

Painted on the shell was the phrase “For Ante’s Mother’s Revenge.”

Two burly gunners joined forces to use the ramrod and push the shell into the barrel, followed by the propellant bag.

Other cannons began loading as well, and phrases were painted on all the shells.

“For Zoya” “For Liliya” “For my father” “For Orachi”…

Steel for revenge was loaded into the barrels.

The Commander issued firing parameters, and the artillerymen started to rotate cranks, causing the barrels to slowly elevate.

All 400 cannons “raised their heads” together.

The Commander waited until the barrels were aligned for firing, then turned to look at the nearby supply station.

In the crowded supply station were Rocossov Type II tanks, with the tank at the front hoisting a Red Flag, its turret adorned with a mannequin resembling Rocossov Marshal. Loudspeakers were affixed to both sides of the turret.

The speakers almost covered the words painted on the turret: Revenge for the Heroic Brother.

Beside this tank, its accompanying vehicle had the words “Onward West” painted over its turret.

This small zone served as the artillery position, the supply station, and the staging ground for the tank units preparing to advance further.

Now Ante’s entire army was surging forward, as if afraid Plowsonia might grow legs and run away.

The Commander shouted: “Tank operators, comrades, how about some music?”

The tank commander glanced at the Colonel standing beside the tank, who nodded and gestured.

Soon, the solemn melody of “The Holy War” echoed across the square.

The Commander turned back: “Fire!”

The roar of cannons shook the earth, and the blast waves lifted snow from the ground into the air.

Amidst the earth-shaking tumult, the artillerymen shouted slogans as they loaded new rounds.

Suddenly, a shrill whistle of rocket artillery erupted not far away, like a chorus of hundreds of banshees.

————

Vasily raised his head, watching the shells trace arcs in the sky.

“How beautiful,” the musician murmured in awe, “the curves of this artillery fire.”

“Colonel, comrade.” Podoliskov saluted Vasily, “We’re ready to depart.”

The commander of Onward West also ran over: “We’re ready too, Sukabule, this time you won’t get all the glory for yourself!”

Vasily saluted them both: “Advance, Davarish!”

————

Prosen Royal Palace Bunker, 300 meters from the center of Plowsonia City.

The Emperor held a meeting in the grand office, joined by the Imperial Propaganda Minister, the head of the Imperial Ministry’s Special Service, the Imperial Finance Minister, and several civil officials.

Key military generals were also present in the room—except for the elderly Celtic Marshal, who had a seat due to his age and bad leg, all others stood.

Even Grand Duke Meyer had to stand, his massive frame taking up considerable space, making the large office feel somewhat cramped.

Emperor: “I will not evacuate the Empire’s capital! Never! When we approached Ante’s capital, their emperor didn’t evacuate either!”

Imperial Propaganda Minister: “But their Tsar went mad and was executed by his own people.”

The Emperor paused, staring at the Propaganda Minister.

The Minister did not flinch, meeting the Emperor’s gaze directly.

“You mean to say I should’ve died in that assassination attempt, so you could parade my corpse before the Allied Forces, begging for favor? Is that what you mean?”

Propaganda Minister: “I did not mean that. But I want to remind you, since the 9th Army Group could stage a mutiny…”

“That’s treason!” the Emperor interrupted sharply, “The 9th Army Group betrayed the people of Prosen! All their families must be purged! How far has that been carried out? Slaughtered yet?”

The head of the Imperial Ministry answered: “We’re working on it, but the situation is exceedingly chaotic right now. The rebels have even burned down the National Archives, making it very difficult to identify the traitors’ families…”

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