Yarvik on the eastern bank of the Suhaya Weili River is the easternmost large city in the entire Suhayaveli basin. Beyond it lies the vast grasslands, where villages are scarce.
Stretching for three hundred kilometers is all grassland. Originally, the church had plans to dig a canal connecting the Suhaya Weili River with the Valdai Hills River, but it was found during feasibility studies that construction on the grasslands was too difficult.
At that time, Ante did not possess the capability to guarantee such a construction project.
Thus, the church chose to quietly develop for 20 years, and only when Ante was able to produce 20,000 tanks to arm 96 tank divisions did the church revisit the dusty canal plans.
However, before the preliminary preparations could be completed, the war broke out, and the canal plans had to be shelved in their entirety.
So Yarvik became the last major transportation hub and settlement on the edge of the grasslands, and also the supply center for the Suhayaveli Front Army.
If this place were captured, the Front Army would quickly run out of ammunition and food.
Originally, the industrial areas on both sides of the Suhaya Weili River supplied ample ammunition for the hundreds of thousands of people in a Front Army, but most of the factories were evacuated last year, leaving nothing but empty shells on both banks.
So ammunition could only be supplied by the railway.
On the morning of July 11th, Prosen bombers bombarded Yarvik’s railway station and train dispatching yard in an attempt to wreck the Suhayaveli Front Army’s logistical support.
The Front Army Air Force performed a valiant interception, but still, several bombs successfully hit the dispatching yard, causing a massive fire.
By 10 o’clock at noon, the fire was under control.
At that point, the station master emerged from the telegraph office and found the platform foreman, “Prepare to receive the train.”
The foreman looked puzzled, “We’ve been receiving trains all along. We’ve had 12 military trains arrive just this morning, and the workers have been very diligently transporting supplies, unaffected by the fire.”
“This is different!” the station master was tense, “Different! I only just found out, the train that’s coming soon is an advance team for a new Army Group!”
The foreman was overjoyed, “Well, that’s good news! They can unload the train themselves, and I can arrange for our exhausted workers to take a break.”
“No!” the station master raised his voice by an octave, “No! Do you know who is arriving on that train?”
The foreman hesitated before guessing, “His Majesty the Tsar?”
“Almost! It’s General Rokossovsky!”
The foreman was stunned, “Eh? That Rokossovsky?”
The station master glared at him, “Which other Rokossovsky could it be? When you mention Rokossovsky now, there’s only one Rokossovsky!”
The foreman: “So the rumors from yesterday are true? The front lines really did collapse? Otherwise, they wouldn’t have called Rokossovsky to save the day.”
The station master said, “Never mind what’s happening at the front, just get the workers energized.”
“Don’t worry about that, I’ll show you,” said the foreman, turning to shout to the resting workers, “Guys, General Rokossovsky’s train will be arriving soon!”
The workers, who were just casually chatting and passing the time, all turned their heads to look upon hearing this.
“Is it that Rokossovsky who killed 41 Prosen generals?”
“That’s right!”
“I heard he held a blood-red flag in one hand and a machete in the other, chopping up five Prosen tanks?”
“I heard it was seven!”
The foreman confirmed, “Yes, that Rokossovsky!”
So the workers all stood up, no longer resting.
“Finally, someone who can fight has arrived. I worried over nothing yesterday!”
“Yeah, I was about to ride to the grasslands with my wife and kids yesterday! The Prosen wouldn’t possibly chase us into the grasslands, right?”
Villages were truly scarce on the grasslands. During the civil war, bands of the Sanctified faction hid out there, and even after the war ended, several attempts to eradicate them failed—they couldn’t be completely wiped out because the area was just too large and the population too sparse. The bandits, armed with a few hundred rifles, roamed about, living off hunting.
Later it was the church that began supplying villages on the grassland with smoked sausage, caviar, and sparkling wine, while also buying meat and milk produced by the villagers’ cows at high prices. When the bandits’ former villagers saw their homes thriving, they stopped being outlaws and returned.
Then the bands got smaller and smaller until they finally disappeared.
The locals, who had mostly heard this story from older generations, saw fleeing into the grasslands as an option.
Of course, whether it really was a viable option was another matter.
“Forget it, do you even know how to hunt? Don’t end up starving to death and becoming wolf fodder!”
“Are there still wolves on the grasslands?”
While the workers were discussing among themselves, the foreman turned to the station master, “See, there’s no need to worry about their enthusiasm. Everyone wants to perform well in front of General Rokossovsky. After all, the church is nearly promoting him as a saint.”
The workers overheard this conversation and one immediately said, “Isn’t that just like a saint? They say General Rokossovsky eats the same food as the soldiers, and during retreats, he gave up his beautiful horse to a wounded soldier to ride. These are the kinds of things you only hear about in stories of saints!”
“Right, right! Look, even in the stories about Suvorov you don’t find such things, only in the stories of Saint Andrew!”
“And not in Kutuzov’s stories either! Kutuzov was just a noble lord!”
The foreman asked, “So, how should we greet our distinguished guest, the great saint, when he arrives?”
“Do we even need to ask?”
“If their train isn’t unloaded in thirty minutes, it would be our neglect!”
The foreman looked back at the station master, “See, no worries.”
Fueled by a collective fervor, soldiers of the station guard overheard the exchange.
The duty squad leader asked the Military Chaplain that day, “Did you know Rokossovsky was coming?”
“No idea. How could they tell us in advance? What if it reaches the Prussians? Then today’s target wouldn’t have been the dispatching yard. The enemy would surely be waiting to bomb Rokossovsky,” the Military Chaplain replied.
The squad leader clicked his tongue in agreement, “Right, you can’t release such news too soon.”
At that moment, a nearby sentry spoke up, “The airport ground crew mentioned yesterday that a strong attack squadron equipped with Federation fighter jets had arrived. It’s quite odd. Those fighter jets carry bombs nearly surpassing the payload of the IL-2s, and their engines are all air-cooled. I don’t quite understand what ‘air-cooled’ means, but the ground crew at the airport has never repaired such engines.”
The platoon leader said, “How do these fighter jets operate then? I know that aircraft have to be inspected once daily.”
The sentry, adopting the tone of someone telling stories in a tavern, said, “You don’t know about this, do you? That attack squadron brought their own ground crew. The Federation’s aircraft cockpits are spacious enough to squeeze in another person. So, they crammed in dozens of people that way, and the rest flew over on passenger planes.”
The platoon leader shook his head, “But that’s clearly not right. Why not just send more passenger planes?”
“It’s true, that’s what the airport ground crew said…”
Just then, the Priest coughed and interjected into the conversation, “Ivan, you went out drinking yesterday, didn’t you? Sneaking out over the wall behind the barracks, right?”
The sentry’s face turned pale all at once.
The kindly Priest inquired, “Who did you go with?”
Sentry Ivan replied resolutely, “I’d rather die than tell.”
The Priest said, “Do you think I don’t know? But if you don’t reveal them, you will have to take their punishment on yourself.”
Ivan wavered.
Just then, the bell rang, signaling that the train was about to arrive.
The switchmen had already inspected all the railway switches and stood with a green lamp next to the switchman’s hut.
The train whistle sounded from afar.
Putting aside the interrogation, the Priest turned his head like the others, looking in the direction of the whistle.
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The train appeared in the distance, gradually approaching the platform. Just before entering the station, the engine began braking, wheels sparking against the rails.
The slowly decelerating train slid into the platform: first, the track repair car, then the engine, followed by the coal car and the anti-aircraft artillery carriage.
Behind the anti-aircraft artillery came the closed freight cars, the first of which flew a red flag on top.
Excited by the sight of the flag, the workers exclaimed, “Look, there’s writing on it!”
The younger workers, many of whom were high school graduates, could read the words and recited, “A gift from the textile workers of Shepetovka, it’s from the workers of Shepetovka!”
“That must be the General’s car!”
“The General actually stays in a closed freight car too?”
“Look, is that the General?”
To ensure ventilation, the doors of the closed freight cars typically remained open during travel.
The doors of the car with the red flag were also open, crowded with a dense group of people. Half appeared to be officers, while the rest were soldiers.
Standing in the midst as a dividing line between the soldiers and officers was a young man with three stars on his epaulette.
“Three stars, that’s a Lieutenant General, the General himself!” shouted a worker.
“He’s really standing together with the ordinary soldiers!”
Unlike the workers, the on-duty security soldiers focused on the weapons in the hands of the soldiers beside the General’s right hand.
The sentry who had just been interrogated by the Military Chaplain squinted and remarked, “What’s that? It looks… quite nice.”
The platoon leader scrutinized the weapons, “What’s with that thick barrel? Is it like a Maxim with a water jacket around it?”
“How heavy must that be!” said the Military Chaplain. Although a Priest, being a chaplain in a frontline unit, he understood weapons and combat skills. “But looking at the way they’re slinging the rifle and the wear marks on the straps over their shoulders, the gun doesn’t seem heavy.”
The platoon leader continued critically, “Such a large magazine, it looks like it holds 20 or maybe 30 rounds. Could it be an assault rifle? A new type of assault rifle?”
The sentry mused, “I think the Papasha is just fine, why bother with a new one?”
The platoon leader observed, “Look at the width of the magazine, the bullets must be longer than the Papasha’s, perhaps a longer range? Regardless, General Rokossovsky is also the Chairman of the Ordnance Review Committee, so the equipment his troops use can’t be bad.”
By then, the train had come to a stop, and the Lieutenant General was the first to jump off, immediately turning to look at the platoon leader and the Priest.
“Are you interested in the new weapons my unit is equipped with?” asked General Rokossovsky.
The platoon leader, Priest, and sentry all nodded in unison.
The General signaled to the senior sergeant behind him, “Grisha, give them a demonstration.”
The workers were shocked to hear the name “Grisha,” because it was unusual for a Lieutenant General to address a sergeant by a nickname — not to mention, the workers couldn’t recognize the sergeant’s rank; they only knew he wasn’t an officer, but a “common soldier.”
In that instant, the descriptions from church propaganda about “sitting equally with soldiers” suddenly crystallized into reality, becoming incredibly believable.
The military personnel, meanwhile, were focused on the weapon in the sergeant’s hands.
The sergeant looked up, then suddenly raised the weapon toward the sky and pulled the trigger.
The firearm made a sound as if a stick was smacking an unruly child’s backside.
Everyone looked up in confusion, wondering what the sergeant was shooting at, when two pigeons fell onto the platform.
The sentry’s mouth hung open as he looked at the sky, “Pigeons flying so high, and he could bring them down?”
The platoon leader, however, looked at the sergeant, “Did you shoot from the hip?”
The sergeant smiled and said, “Yes, this weapon is really handy. An experienced shooter could hit a target at two hundred meters like splashing water.”
“Two hundred meters!” exclaimed the sentry, “At a hundred meters, shooting from the hip, the Papasha’s spread is already as wide as a building!”
Looking again at the weapon in the sergeant’s hands, the sentry’s eyes gleamed differently.
His own Papasha suddenly seemed much less appealing!