“`
On August 12 at 1300 hours, at Argesukov, the Southwestern Front Army Headquarters.
The Front Army Chief of Staff and the Front Army Bishop sat in the map room of the significantly thinned-out headquarters staff, watching the staff officers burn documents.
“This morning’s telegram, Skorobo seems to have been treated as a traitor, and his whole family was arrested,” the Chief of Staff looked toward the Front Army Bishop. “Is there any different information on the church’s side?”
The Bishop clicked his tongue, “There’s a rumor that Skorobo himself was shot dead by Rokossovsky—the thin one.”
“In the Tribunal’s underground headquarters?” the Chief of Staff asked curiously.
“No, at the Summer Palace, in front of the current Crown Princess and many senior officers of the High Command.”
The Chief of Staff’s eyes widened, “Really? The telegram didn’t mention it at all. Could he really get away with such a deed?”
The Bishop spread his hands, “Not only has he gotten away with it, but he’s also scheduled to speak on behalf of all the soldiers at the state funeral and public memorial service on the 18th. It seems the Grand Patriarch plans to set up Rokossovsky as a brand-new role model to stand against the high-ranking generals and marshals of the High Command.”
The Chief of Staff actually smiled, “A sensible choice, an old noble, very close to the Royal Family, then ideologically in the same pants as the Secular faction, and can fight. The only Achilles heel of this choice now is Rokossovsky’s military ability.
“There are many officers who can command a brigade or a division, but when they start to command an Army Group, they will obviously hit the ceiling, and when it comes to commanding an army of the Front’s scale, it might turn mediocre.
“The military education Rokossovsky received goes up to commanding an army at most. According to the usual promotion path, he would need to study higher command courses at a military college for further promotion.
“This situation probably won’t allow him to go back to the forge…”
The Bishop took over, “Of course not, even if the church wanted him to go back, the High Command wouldn’t let him. The High Command is probably eager to see Rokossovsky disgrace himself, preferably losing several hundred thousand troops like General Skorobo.”
As the words fell, the Chief of Staff suddenly laughed, “Don’t be like this, we are not dead yet, don’t count yourself as dead first.”
The Front Army Bishop glanced at the map and also laughed, “Is there a difference from being dead now? Look at us, both discussing these beheading matters here.”
The two laughed heartily, drawing curious glances from the nearby staff officer burning documents.
At this moment a communications officer came in and saluted, “We’ve received a telegram from Duke Meishikin, reporting that the force of three divisions arrived at his positions this morning.”
The Chief of Staff snapped his fingers, “Good, another three divisions have broken out, orderly!”
His orderly appeared and stood at attention.
The Chief of Staff said, “I have a bottle of vodka in my office that’s been cherished for a long time. There’s no reason to let the Prussian bastards have it—bring it here!”
Moments later, the vodka arrived on the table, along with the glasses.
The Chief of Staff took a glass from the orderly, waved his hand, and said, “Don’t need you to serve, you better change into civilian clothes and run. Orderlies aren’t really soldiers, the Prussians won’t treat you as a prisoner of war.”
The orderly hesitated, then bowed and left.
The Chief of Staff placed the filled glass in front of the Front Army Bishop, “Come on, let’s drink.”
The Bishop picked up the glass and gulped it down.
As the Chief of Staff poured another, he said, “If we had listened to Rokossovsky’s suggestion at the beginning…”
“Don’t talk about it,” the Front Army Bishop cut him off. “At that time, it was impossible to give up Argesukov and retreat under any circumstance.”
“I didn’t say retreat. I mean, following his suggestion to set up defenses in the north, to dig in like he did, waiting for the enemy to attack. Perhaps the situation would have been better than this, maybe we could have even held the line.”
The Bishop sighed, “It’s really hard to say. These days we’ve fought the Prussians across various terrains. They tend to gain a handsome exchange ratio most of the time. Even when we are the defenders.
“This is not something that can be changed just by adding a few advanced weapons. With the quality of our soldiers, introducing new weapons might end up being used by the enemy as a bridal gown.”
The Chief of Staff said, “The Naval Infantry has achieved quite satisfactory results though.”
“Naval Infantry has high recruitment standards. Most of our soldiers have at most a tenth-grade education, while Naval Infantrymen are mostly high school graduates, plus their training time is also longer. We simply can’t compare,” the Bishop shook his head.
The Chief of Staff said, “Yet Rokossovsky has achieved a fairly good exchange ratio. If he survives, I really want to hear his experience sharing.”
The Front Army Bishop laughed, “Let’s talk about getting out first.”
He drank the vodka in one gulp and pushed the glass forward, “However, by the time we begin the breakout, it might be a week from now.”
The Chief of Staff nodded, “About right. By then, the units that can run would have almost all run out—or been crushed on the breakout road, and it would be time for us to lead the last of the troops out.”
At this moment, the staff officer burning documents came over to salute, “Reporting sir, all documents have been burned.”
The Chief of Staff said, “Very well. You will join the 41st Infantry Army as planned and start the breakout.”
“Yes!” The staff officer saluted, but didn’t leave immediately.
“What’s wrong, not leaving?” the Bishop asked.
The officer said, “I… just want to wish you luck.”
The Chief of Staff raised his glass, “Likewise, good luck to you as well.”
The Front Army Bishop said, “I heard that when Rokossovsky and Kiriyenko said goodbye, the former said they’d meet in Ploseni and actually had beef stew with potatoes before breaking out. Now both of them are at Ye Fort.”
The Chief of Staff said, “We probably can’t get beef stew with potatoes now, but we can still say ‘See you in Ploseni!'”
“`
He turned to the staff officers who were reluctant to leave and said, “Farewell to Prosenia!”
The staff officers, deeply moved, echoed in unison, “Farewell to Prosenia!”
The bishop raised his glass and declared, “Farewell to Prosenia!”
Then, the two highest-ranking officers of the Front Army watched as the staff officers departed.
“If it weren’t for that order from His Majesty the Tsar, we could have let these young men follow the planes,” the chief of staff said. “Now, to prove they’re not deserting, they must charge out with the troops.”
The Front Army bishop said, “Fortunately, His Royal Highness the Crown Prince fought bravely to the end. At least now we don’t have to worry about the troops’ morale.”
Chief of Staff: “Although morale can’t make up for the gap in tactics and skills. I wonder how long it will take to reclaim Argesukov.”
“It’s probably going to take a long time,” said the bishop.
————
“Arise, the great nation, for a battle of life and death!”
In the music room on the second floor of “Ante Modern Music” magazine’s office, Marusin, the magazine’s featured male singer, sang with vigor.
“To obliterate the Prosen forces, to annihilate the vile band of criminals!
“Let the noblest wrath,
“Roll like waves!”
The magazine’s makeshift orchestra played an uplifting melody that was sad yet laced with anger, evoking a sense of sanctity similar to a hymn.
Just by listening to this song, one could envision countless Ante men, rushing to the battlefield without a second thought.
Marusin held the lyrics in his hand. He had seen the lyrics for only half an hour and had heard the tune even less, but he was already able to sing it quite perfectly.
This was not only because of his exceptional professional skills but also because the song resonated with him.
As Marusin sang, he felt a fiery rage welling up inside him.
Though he was not on the frontline, he felt as if he was there.
Let the noblest wrath,
Roll like waves!
Carry on the people’s war,
The Holy War!
This chorus had a completely different rhythm and melody from the main tune, which quickened significantly, like the rapid firing of artillery.
After finishing the song, an excited Marusin asked Oshanin, the editor-in-chief, “Are you really going to let me sing this? I just need to find a crowded place, and after singing it, I’ll be remembered.”
Oshanin, the editor-in-chief, replied, “Are you not willing? No, you will be. The selection meeting for the music to be used in the national funeral and public memorial service is about to start. Go up and sing it, accompanied by our little orchestra. The song itself is excellent enough that even we amateurs can bring out its power!”
At that moment, someone knocked on the door.
“Come in!”
No sooner had Oshanin finished speaking than the door to the music room opened, and Vladimir Bradsky, a special consultant for “Ante Modern Music” magazine and a professor at the Department of Music at Ye Fort University, entered.
“What was that music just now?” The professor, abandoning all decorum, called out, “Who wrote it?”
Oshanin, surprised, asked, “You heard it?”
“A large crowd has already gathered downstairs, all drawn by the music. What was that music? A new piece from the church? After all, it has a hymnal feel to it.”
Oshanin replied, “No, it was written by Aleksei Konstantinovich Rokossovsky.”
The professor frowned, “Him? Ah, wait a moment. The main melody does seem familiar; it’s the same as the melody that orchestra conductor was making fun of yesterday at the Musicians’ Club.”
Oshanin frowned, “The melody that was made fun of?”
“Yes, Rokossovsky scolded the orchestra conductor harshly yesterday, then hummed a melody. Irritated, the conductor returned to the club and told all of us who were playing bridge about it, and he hummed it too.
“But I’ve only heard it once just now, I can’t be sure. Show me the sheet music.”
Oshanin immediately took out the original score they had just copied and handed it to Professor Bradsky.
The professor scrutinized the music sheet and frowned, “Is this… Rokossovsky’s handwriting?”
“No, I also found it strange. The general is in Ye Fort, but looking at the postmark on this letter, it was only sent from Shostka this morning.”
“Shostka?” The professor’s brow contorted even more, “That’s quite a coincidence.”
“What’s the matter?” asked Oshanin.
“Nothing,” the professor shook his head, “Hurry up and rehearse. I think this song should be presented at the upcoming selection meeting. The entire country should hear this song on the day of the public memorial. It will greatly boost our morale.”