As soon as the tank brigade commander had finished speaking, another colonel spoke up, “The infantry lacks machine guns because they’re all mounted on tanks! There’s only so much production capacity for machine guns, and if they go to the tanks, there are fewer available for the infantry!”
“Moreover, the number of machine guns on tanks is unnecessarily high. In combat, that machine gun on the back of the turret is utterly useless! Originally, the BT7 has a two-man turret; during battle, they’re too busy to death, who has the time to operate the machine gun at the back of the turret!”
Wang Zhong couldn’t help but give a wry smile. He had commanded a T28 himself, which had a machine gun at the back of the turret intended for the commander to use, but Wang Zhong completely forgot about the existence of that machine gun.
Hilarious, who has time to turn around and fire the rear machine gun when you can’t even keep up with the action in front?
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The BT7 also had a machine gun on the back of its turret. When Wang Zhong stood at the back of the BT7 turret to command the tank, the only use of this machine gun was to occasionally punch him in the stomach.
By the way, at first Wang Zhong was still worried that this machine gun would misfire and kill him. Then the commander of the BT7 assured him not to worry because the machine gun wasn’t even loaded with ammunition; the ammo had been moved to save space.
Before he crossed over, Wang Zhong had read many memoirs of Soviet tankers. Either they forgot about the existence of this machine gun and never mentioned it, or they complained that it took up a lot of space in the turret and couldn’t be used.
Yet this rear-facing machine gun persisted. It was present in most tanks at the beginning of the war, as well as the mid-late IS1, and the late-IS2, until it was finally removed in the IS3 that only made it to the victory parade.
One couldn’t help but suspect that this machine gun at the back of the turret was a personal preference of some designer.
By the way, many years later there was a hugely humorous end to this story. In War Thunder, a war game made by Russians themselves, all the rear-facing machine guns were just rendered models and had no firing function whatsoever.
This design, like the initial removal of the tank commander in the BT series, became the laughingstock of Russian tank design.
Before Wang Zhong crossed over, he thought the troops probably had no objections. Now it seems that the troops had a lot of complaints; it’s unknown why the Ordnance Department didn’t adopt them.
Even adding a commander to the T3485 was only on the T3485 improvement model. The original version of the T3485 only added an observation tower for the gunner to enhance his vision when not operating the main gun.
Just reading the text description already sends one’s blood pressure through the roof.
Wang Zhong thought to himself that now he was here, he could take a gun, take out the stubborn designer who wouldn’t admit his mistakes, and replace him with a designer who would meet the demands of the troops.
While thinking about this, the tankers continued to have a heated discussion: “To be honest, I can’t understand the use of having two coaxial machine guns in the turret. One machine gun can complete most of the tasks. Is having an extra machine gun going to make the Prussians die more thoroughly? The turret space is already small; adding another machine gun just makes it more cramped.
It would be better to have space for more machine gun ammunition.”
Another said, “Yeah, removing the rear machine gun would allow us to carry a lot more ammo.”
“The maggots at the Ordnance Department don’t understand tanks at all! Even if they don’t understand, wouldn’t it be good to just copy the Prussian tanks? The Prussian tanks we’ve destroyed don’t have rear machine guns and have commanders, and their new models even have observation towers for them.”
It was then that a balding middle-aged man leaned in and spoke in a low voice, “Stop talking. The rear-firing machine gun and the elimination of the tank commander were the ideas of His Majesty the Tsar’s favorite, Valentin. He, just like General Skorobo, enjoys the Tsar’s deep trust, and even General Sergey doesn’t weigh as much in the Tsar’s presence as Valentin does.
“He oversaw the design of the B4 howitzer and the T35 heavy tank, both of which are very much loved by the Tsar.”
All the tank commanders present furrowed their brows.
Wang Zhong said, “It seems everyone is well aware of how terrible the T35 piece of junk is.”
“How could we not know? The tank school uses that piece of crap as a classroom vehicle because it’s big enough to hold more people for a lecture.” The brigade commander who had just spoken said, frowning.
Well, turns out there’s that connection.
Wang Zhong patted his chest, “The erroneous path of the Ordnance Department will be corrected by me. I’ll try to come up with a new tank with a commander and a radio based on my Parade T34 by next year.”
All the tank operators’ expressions brightened up, “Really?”
“I’ve been to the repair factory to see your tank, number 422. It’s really good.”
Wang Zhong’s vehicle actually returned to Ye Fort earlier than the others. At that time, these vehicles didn’t come off the train; they were sent directly to Ye Fort to return to the factory.
Wang Zhong confidently patted his chest, “For real. In fact, as part of a royal special project, I had Ye Fort’s Combined Machinery Factory start on a hundred Parade Tanks. Officially, they’re for the National Founding Day parade, but in reality, they’re prepared to be sent to the front lines for combat.
“My division only has one tank battalion; it definitely can’t handle all 100 tanks, so we can probably form two more battalions. Who gets the Parade Tanks is up to the royal family; I can pull some strings.”
In reality, it was Princess Olga who had the final say.
Which basically meant that I, Wang Zhong, had the final say.
The officers all had a knowing look.
But clearly, their understanding might have a slight deviation from what Wang Zhong meant.
At that moment, the brigade commander who had spoken before suggested, “We finally heard some good news today. Let’s toast to celebrate!”
He turned to those present and called out loudly, “Gentlemen! Just now the general promised us that there would be more and better tanks for the tankers and more machine guns for the infantry! Let us raise our glasses to General Rokossovsky!”
All the officers picked up their wine glasses; those who didn’t have one quickly asked a waiter for one.
Soon, everyone held up their drinks.
Wang Zhong picked up a glass of red wine and looked at everyone, “Gentlemen! Today, it feels as if a big family has reunited. I’m so happy!”
He raised his glass.
“Hmm! Today I’m the happiest!”
“I estimate it will take five years to achieve victory. Let’s drink to our success five years from now, see you in Prosenia!”
Having said that, he downed his drink in one gulp.
The young, battle-experienced officers present all shouted in unison, “See you in Prosenia!”
After finishing his drink, Wang Zhong noticed the band appearing near the fountain; it turned out that the dinner party was just beginning, and what had taken place before was merely a time for idle chatter before everyone arrived.
The band began to play, and to his surprise, it was “The Holy War,” which Wang Zhong had only made public that day—a melody that sounded like a combination of a hymn and a march.
The small choir of just six started singing, “Arise, great nation, to fight to the death!”
The officers who had just finished their drinks all paused.
Those who had been on the battlefield felt a deeper connection to the song than most.
Everyone’s expression turned exceptionally solemn, perhaps recalling fallen comrades on the battlefield, or relatives lost in the occupied homeland whose fate they did not know.
The band made some creative adaptations, such as the heart-beat-like rhythm, achieved by plucking the strings of the double basses, which made the sound even heavier.
————
August 13, early morning. King’s Cross Station at St. Ye Katerina Fortress.
A train filled with new recruits was about to depart, with girls bidding farewell to their beloved young men.
The station band was playing “The Farewell of the Ante Women,” and everything seemed no different than usual.
That was until the musicians of the Ye Fort Philharmonic appeared with their “long guns and short cannons”—their instruments were their weapons.
All the musicians had dark circles under their eyes, clearly not having slept much the night before.
The deputy conductor Aleksandrobov approached the station military band and said to the conductor, “Alright, stop now, it’s our turn.”
The military band conductor, who was Aleksandro’s student, was puzzled: “Eh? Teacher, what’s going on? Are we putting on a public performance at the station?”
“No, not a performance—it’s to carry out your duty. Just listen.”
By then, all the Philharmonic musicians had taken their places. Aleksandro himself moved a box, stood on it, nodded to the lead musician, then to the choir, and lastly said to the announcer who was waiting, “Announce it!”
Taking a deep breath, the announcer proclaimed loudly, “Next, please listen to the song composed by General Rokossovsky and written by Warrant Officer Filippov, ‘The Holy War’!”
Aleksandro raised his right hand and lightly flicked his baton.
A profound and majestic melody filled the air.
The male basses in the choir started first: “Arise, great nation, to fight to the death!”
The young people who had just been whispering sweet nothings and kissing goodbye all stopped to watch the musicians.
The civilians sending off their children also paused to listen quietly to the musicians’ singing.
Even the railway workers at the station stopped to be part of the powerful music. A young driver said to the old one, “Everything’s almost ready; time to sound the whistle.”
“Shh, Alyosha. Let’s wait until the song’s over. There’ll be plenty of time for you to blow the whistle soon enough,” chided the old driver, holding up his index finger.
Just then, the station master came out of his office, listened for a few moments, then entered the broadcasting room next to his office and said to the technician, “Bring out the microphone. I want this song to be heard throughout the station immediately, and start recording now!”
The technician replied, “Station master, if we start recording now, we’ll only get half of it. You should have them sing it again and record the whole thing.”
“Right, right, hurry up with the microphone—get it set up! I want it broadcast throughout the station!”
A moment later, all the loudspeakers at the train station, including the large ones in front of the station, began playing “The Holy War.”
The throng of people in front of the station came to a standstill, looking up at the loudspeakers.
“Let the most noble rage roll like waves! Fight the people’s war, the holy war!”
The forceful lyrics, driven by the melody, ignited an endless fury and a continuous fighting spirit inside everyone.
Once the song was over, the whole station—not just the station, but the entire square—erupted in thunderous applause.
The overjoyed station master rushed over, taking Aleksandrobov’s hand, “Again! I want to record it and play it every day! They say ‘La Marseillaise’ is more powerful than an army corps; this song is the same!
“Sing it once more, Mr. Musician!”
Aleksandrobov replied, “Sure. Then bring the microphone here, get ready to record, and we’ll sing it again! No, we can sing it as many times as needed!”