Wang Zhong: “Thank you for the concern, Duke. Although we did request support in our telegram, we never expected to encounter the relief troops so soon.”
“We didn’t expect it either. We were planning on fighting a night battle against the enemy, but unexpectedly, they stayed away from the highway encampments all along the way. As we marched, we set up defensive positions along the roadside, and that’s how we managed to rush over here.” Skudzheski scratched his head, “Why didn’t the enemy encamp by the roadside?”
Wang Zhong, feigning innocence, said, “Indeed, why is that?”
But he quickly recalled his recent worries and added, “We still have a large number of troops lagging behind, including the common folk from Orachi who can’t move quickly. Once daylight breaks, they will be annihilated by the enemies on either side of the road.”
Skudzheski laughed, “Don’t worry, we’ll help you. As long as we rush the enemy into a dizzy state, they won’t have the chance to attack your people. We didn’t provoke the enemy earlier to meet up with you as quickly as possible, but now we can finally clean up those Prosen bastards to our heart’s content. I’ve been holding back for too long.”
After saying this, he saluted Wang Zhong, “Please head to Shepetovka as quickly as possible. We’re about to strike at the enemy and cause as much chaos in their ranks as we can.”
Wang Zhong returned the salute, “Good luck to you.”
Skudzheski: “I prefer to hear ‘Saint Andrew be with you’.”
Wang Zhong: “Saint Andrew be with you.”
Skudzheski gave Wang Zhong a grin, climbed onto his own tank, and ordered through the radio: “All units, off the road, make way for the 151st Division’s troops and the Orachi civilians, the first battalion to follow me off the road to the left, the second battalion to the right, and so on!”
“We’re about to give the enemy a heavy blow, rejoice!”
After the order was given, the first battalion of the 10th Tank Army’s BT tanks uniformly veered off the road and charged toward the enemy encampment in the distance.
The second battalion turned off the road to the right — from Wang Zhong’s perspective, to the left — and charged at the enemies there.
Wang Zhong: “Pass the order, the remaining tanks are to guide the advance, engage any enemy units that obstruct, and ensure the safety of the infantry and civilians!”
The messenger rode off on his horse, and Wang Zhong said to the driver of tank 422, “Beliyakov, leave the road, drive onto the side mud.”
The command was immediately executed, and tank 422 left the road.
The tanks following behind quickly surpassed it, and the commander who was also the gunner saluted Wang Zhong and tank 422 while passing by.
Ludmila, puzzled, asked, “Why are we stopping by the roadside?”
Wang Zhong responds, “I want to see my troops, to see what a mess my hard-earned forces are in now.”
Ludmila gently stroked Wang Zhong’s head: “Don’t blame yourself too much, you’ve fought well. We faced down at least three enemy tank divisions, held out for three days, and even managed to break out. Isn’t that enough to be proud of?”
Wang Zhong: “Until Prosenia falls, I have nothing to be proud of. Or rather, it is only when we achieve a decisive victory in this war that it will be time to take pride.”
Ludmila looked at Wang Zhong’s profile and said nothing.
At that moment, five T34 tanks moved past Wang Zhong, followed by a mixed convoy of trucks carrying wounded soldiers, women, and children, and marching infantry troops passing in front of Wang Zhong.
Watching the troops, Wang Zhong suddenly felt a sense of discontent.
When he arrived in Orachi, he was full of confidence, planning to hold out here for a week.
Back then, he had strong forces at his disposal, an impromptu infantry division, plus logistics and laborers that totaled twenty thousand, far exceeding the normal complement of an Ante infantry division’s eight thousand combatants.
In addition, he had so much technical weaponry at his disposal, from artillery to T34 tanks, he had everything.
Now, it had come to this: only six tanks remained of the technical weaponry, the soldiers had suffered massive casualties, and it felt like they had returned to the pre-liberation days.
Of course, he had anticipated the heavy losses when he took up positions in Orachi. What truly irked him was not being able to hold out as long as he had planned.
The enemy had been held at bay for only two days before they decisively bypassed Orachi.
Wang Zhong stood on the tank turret, watching the troops of the 151st Division pass by.
Every face was weary, every person wounded, with spots of blood seeping through the white bandages, everyone—they had abandoned the city they planned to defend for seven days, lost almost all their technical weapons, suffered terrible casualties, and lost contact with their Military Bishop and many of their monks.
What truly constitutes a defeat? Surely this counted as one!
As Wang Zhong pondered this, he suddenly spotted Brother Peter among the marching infantry.
The monk, carrying a Mosin-Nagant, swaggered down the road, nibbling on a carrot as he walked.
Wang Zhong shouted, “Brother Peter!”
The monk, truly gifted with sharp hearing, heard Wang Zhong despite the cacophony of gunfire created by the 10th Army, even without acoustic reinforcement.
Brother Peter looked up and waved at Wang Zhong.
Wang Zhong said nothing at the moment, but then he saw a truck wobbling its way forward, driven by none other than Yeca Neiko, the vice knight.
The monk looked extremely tired, like he could fall asleep on the steering wheel at any moment, and it was only when he saw the tank by the roadside that he suddenly snapped to attention and saluted Wang Zhong energetically.
The vice knight’s truck was packed with the wounded and women; Wang Zhong only glimpsed the typically irritable Ekaterina’s face squeezed to the outer edge, looking indignant.
When Ekaterina saw Wang Zhong, she immediately pouted to display her dissatisfaction.
Suddenly, Nelly asked, “Why is that little one pouting?”
Wang Zhong looked at Nelly, thinking you have the nerve to make fun of someone for being short?
After the vice knight’s truck passed by, there came the procession of the division’s female workers, including the field laundry and cooking squads.
The girls, carrying their “household items” from washing tubs and scrubbing boards to field kitchen pots, had everything you could think of.
Although they looked exhausted, they were spirited.
Following them was the squad of the Guardian Army, there weren’t many members of the Guardian Army following Wang Zhong’s main forces; no one knew where the rest of the Guardian Army and Popov had gone.
Behind the Guardian Army, were troops not wearing the guards’ cloaks, probably a battalion of the Fifth Beshensk Regiment. As they walked, they spoke and laughed loudly, stopping only when they saw Wang Zhong and Tank No. 422, looking at Wang Zhong, who was peeking out from the tank, with admiring eyes.
Ludmila noticed this and asked, “Aren’t you going to say something? Everyone is looking at you with such trust—with such admiration.”
Wang Zhong shook his head, “What can I say? I thought I had lost this battle, but now everyone is looking at me as if I’m a victor. What else could I possibly say?”
He didn’t realize he had repeated “What else could I possibly say?” again.
No sooner had Wang Zhong finished speaking than Ludmila embraced him in her arms.
While stroking Wang Zhong’s hair, Ludmila softly said, “You’ve already done so well, that’s why everyone is looking at you like that. Take it easy. In the future, we’ll achieve a genuine victory, instead of leaving the city we defended in such a sorry state like now.”
Wang Zhong indulged in the feeling of his face buried in the warmth of affection.
After some time had passed, Ludmila let go, creating some distance, and gave Wang Zhong a glance, breaking into a smile: “That’s better. A tough War General can’t afford to show the kind of melancholic eyes you had just now.”
Wang Zhong was quiet for a few seconds, then thanked the girl.
At this moment, the sky to the east gradually revealed the pale light of dawn; perhaps it was the effect of the morning light, but Wang Zhong’s perception of the whole scene changed.
He found that everyone’s eyes brimmed with fighting spirit, as if they were ready to plunge into battle again, to fight the enemy to the last bullet and the last breath.
These expressions didn’t belong to a defeated army.
He hadn’t noticed this before, probably because it was dark at night.
Just then, Wang Zhong spotted Vasily and Filippov in the ranks, who had also successfully broken through the encirclement.
So, Wang Zhong called out to Vasily, “Son of the music professor, sing us a song!”
Upon hearing the words “Son of the music professor,” Vasily made a face as if he had swallowed a fly, but when he saw that it was Wang Zhong sitting atop Tank No. 422 speaking, he immediately changed to an expression as if he had swallowed the fly and declared it tasty.
Vasily: “Filippov! The drums!”
Filippov: “Are you sure? I’m already so tired!”
Vasily: “Major General Rocossov wants to hear music! Go on and play!”
When Wang Zhong heard this, he shouted, “War comes and goes, but only music endures forever! Filippov, it’s at times like these that we need music!”
Filippov took out his folding campaign drum and started to beat the rhythm.
Vasily led off with the same old song, “Tanya Tanyusha.”
The cheerful tune seemed to quicken the pace of the column’s march.
The two passed by Tank No. 422 as they proceeded.
By then the sun had fully risen, its light landing on the tank and on Wang Zhong’s shoulders.
Before the now distant Vasily could sing another song, a woman from the labor camp in the ranks began to sing.
“My dear ones, at the front.”
Ludmila furrowed her brow, “That’s a song from the civil war…”
More women from the labor camp joined in the chorus:
“No one is as sad as he.
“While loading cannon shells,
“He thinks of me…
“Here comes a letter, stamped with an official seal!
“It says my beloved,
“Has died on the battlefield.
“Ah, my dearest…
“Lying beside a wild bush!
“His sideburns, that golden hair,
“Tangled by the wind into a messy heap!
“His eyes, those affectionate eyes,
“Pecked into hollows by crows!”
Wang Zhong pursed his lips, the melody of the folksong was ordinary, and the lyrics were nothing but plain speech, yet the sorrow expressed within deeply gripped his heart.
Strangely enough, despite the sadness, not a single person marching along the road seemed afraid.
On the contrary, the sad singing only made their steps seem all the more resolute.
Like a surging tide of iron.