On the morning of July 13, Reporter Mike felt the train braking and crawled up from the hay stack.
He saw the soldiers in the stuffy tank car still resting, with the military chaplain writing letters by the light of a small flashlight.
Mike, “Do priests also write letters home?”
“Of course, the priests of the Sanctified faction do, and those of the Secular faction do even more.” The military chaplain said with a slight smile.
Mike looked up at the ventilation opening of the stuffy tank car and said, “It’s already daylight outside, why not open the door? It’s so stuffy and hot here, and it smells like men’s sweat.”
The priest glanced at the ventilation opening and nodded, “You’re right, Mr. Mike, I was so focused on writing that I didn’t notice.”
Mike, “Writing about something important?”
“Arranging for the afterlife,” the priest said calmly. “The ones who sacrifice the most at the front line are the military chaplains, even more so than the rear gunners of the Il-2, so I must arrange for the afterlife.”
No sooner had he finished speaking than the flash of a camera temporarily illuminated the tank car.
“Robert!” Mike raised his voice, “Isn’t it inappropriate to take photos at a time like this?”
The photojournalist then said to the priest, “Leave me an address, and I’ll send this photo to your family.”
“Thank you,” the priest seemed very pleased.
Seeing that the concerned party didn’t mind, Mike gave up, stood up, walked to the door, and tried to pull it open.
The military chaplain hurried over to help, and together, they slid the door open to reveal the fields in the dawn light.
Perhaps because they were already very close to Yarvik, there were many houses and telegraph poles on the fields, not the usual prairie scene.
The military chaplain said, “East of here, the grasslands stretch to the horizon, without even a wheat field in sight. Shepherds with their sheepdogs will roam the prairie with their flocks.”
Reporter Mike, “Are you saying they’re still nomadic?”
“It helps avoid overgrazing in one place. The church has organized mobile medical teams and repair teams to serve these shepherds, and they also drive their flocks to a fixed location for shearing every year.”
The priest paused, then continued, “The grasslands will show those Prussians, it’s no less formidable than General Mud!”
Reporter Mike, “But the High Command still decided to block the Prussians on the western side of the grasslands, and they even dispatched Rokossovsky there.”
“Because we can’t let the Prussians enter the grasslands too early,” replied the priest. “Moreover, the generals at the High Command may have other ideas. Anyway, the longer we can delay, the better prepared we are. For every additional month we delay, more soldiers will be replenished in the army.”
He stopped, looked at Reporter Mike, and added, “For every month we delay, more supplies will come from the Federation. About this, I am actually very thankful to our Federation friends.”
Reporter Mike scratched his head, a bit embarrassed.
By then, more buildings had appeared outside, clearly entering the true suburbs of Yarvik.
Factories and chimneys began to appear, and Mike, with sharp eyes, even spotted anti-aircraft guns camouflaged with nets.
The train slid into the station area, entering the yard, and took the line toward the locomotive repair shop.
The signalman with the green light stood by the track, waving a greeting to the train.
Finally, the platform appeared, and the civilian military officials waiting to meet them held clipboards, watching the train cargo manifest clipped on it. Behind him, workers lined up to help unload.
Suddenly, Mike’s gaze was drawn to the platform across from him.
“Hey, Robert, come take a look!” he called to his partner who was photographing the people on the platform, “Look over here! Stop taking pictures of the workers on the platform! Look at that!”
Robert turned around, and at first glance, saw “that,” his eyes widening, “Oh!”
“Oh, crap, take the picture!”
It was a distinctly box-shaped tank that seemed to weigh over sixty tons, with Prosen’s Iron Cross insignia on the turret and the body.
The tank was parked on a flatcar for transporting armored vehicles, its tracks already disassembled, and two of the road wheels were broken. The remaining road wheels even extended beyond the flatcar’s boundaries, hanging outside – the tank was that wide!
Workers were moving the tank’s tracks and road wheels onto another flatcar together with Ante soldiers.
Mike, “This is definitely the enemy’s new tank! Prosen’s new tank! Rokossovsky captured it!”
His partner Robert, too busy to reply, kept snapping photos.
Reporter Mike didn’t wait for the train he was on to come to a complete halt, he jumped onto the platform and rushed toward the train carrying the tank.
The photojournalist was a step behind him, but also made a great effort to catch up.
Five minutes later, Mike finally arrived in front of the Prosen tank and found that it looked even more imposing up close.
“Good heavens!” he grabbed an officer, “Was this captured by General Rokossovsky? It has to be, right?”
The officer laughed, “Of course, when General Rokossovsky got here, he had already heard about our losses to Prosen’s new tanks, and was determined to capture one. Now here it is.”
Another officer said, “I heard there were three more, but those were destroyed. The engineering troops are working hard to salvage the wreckage.”
The first officer picked up the conversation, “Luckily, our Army Group has plenty of salvage and repair units; other Army Groups would probably have to leave them where they were after destroying them.”
Mike, sensing the key point, eagerly asked, “Are you an officer of the First Mobile Army?”
“Yes, I am the company commander of the Fifth Support Company, a logistics brigade directly under the First Mobile Army Corps Command.” The officer pointed at his companion, “He’s the company commander of the Army Group’s motor transport battalion; we both used to work in factories in the locality. The general said he needed skilled technical personnel, so we joined the army!”
Mike, “So, this is a victory for the First Mobile Army?”
“It was the achievement of the advance team, General,” the Support Platoon Commander said. “He led a battalion of tank destroyers and a bunch of jeeps, and just like that, he captured this!”
The Motor Company Commander picked up the conversation, “I heard about it. When it came down to this last one, the Prosen tank operator wanted to put up a stubborn resistance. The General, holding the red flag and riding a white horse, personally persuaded them to surrender. Once they heard it was General Rocossovsky, they ended up pissing themselves and surrendered!”
Mike, “Is this surrender? Wasn’t it captured by blowing up the people inside with grenades?”
“No, if you don’t believe it, go inside and look for yourself. There’s not even blood inside the tank; it’s very clean, just like new!”
Mike, “Then where can I interview the surrendered Prosen tank operators?”
The Motor Company Commander and the Support Platoon Commander exchanged glances, their faces showing difficulty, “These Prosen tank operators are now under the strict supervision of the Judge. To see them, you’ll need to get approval from the Army Group Bishop.”
Mike hurriedly asked, “Where is the Bishop?”
The Support Platoon Commander raised a hand and pointed in a direction.
Turning his head, Reporter Mike saw the bald head of Army Group Bishop Popov.
There are two bald heads at Rocossovsky’s headquarters, one Pavlov, one Popov. As it happened, Mike knew both bald heads.
“Thank you very much.” Mike bid farewell to the two company commanders, turned to look for his partner but found that his partner had already climbed onto a flatbed truck, enthusiastically taking photos of the massive object.
So he shook his head and made his way alone towards Popov.
Just as Mike approached Popov, the Military Bishop of the Army Group recognized him and said, “Isn’t this the reporter from the Federation? Pavlov told me over the phone that he’d arranged for you to come here by train. Was your journey smooth?”
Mike nodded repeatedly, then said, “I’d like to interview the surrendered Prosen tank operators, the ones who drove this tank!”
Popov pointed to a barely adequate car, “You can, they’re on this train. To transport them, I even had the local railway department arrange for a separate passenger car.”
Mike turned and indeed saw an ordinary passenger car. Given the situation, even the wounded would have to ride in a sealed boxcar, so having prisoners ride in a passenger car was a very high standard.
Mike, “Shall I go up now?”
“Go ahead. The guards and Judge know you. You’re quite the celebrity with us. Wait a second, do you speak Prosen?”
Mike smiled, “Have you forgotten that Prosen and Anglo languages are from the same linguistic family? I’ve studied Prosen; I can handle a simple conversation.”
“Oh, that’s good, then. Good luck,” Popov nodded.
Enjoy more content from empire
Only then did Mike turn and run towards the train.
The Judge guarding the door nodded at him, allowing passage—however, Reporter Mike did not have any recollection of this Judge.
Upon boarding the train, Mike found it was full of Prosen prisoners, with several wearing bandages and hooked up to IV drips.
Mike asked in Prosen, “Could you tell me who is the commander of the tank bearing the tactical number 217?”
A lean Prosen lieutenant raised his hand, “Me.”
Mike looked at him, “Are these all your crew members?”
The Prosen lieutenant, “Not all, those in light-colored uniforms are infantry. I can only command these in dark-colored Armored Troops uniforms.”
Mike, “You’re a lieutenant, right? The rank system in the Armored Troops seems different from regular Prosen forces, I’m not sure…”
“Yes, I’m a lieutenant.”
Mike, “Can you tell me about your surrender? The Antes at the station are all decked out like it’s something out of a myth…”
Mike noticed that the lieutenant glanced at the non-commissioned officer beside him.
“Is it related to this non-commissioned officer?”
The non-commissioned officer looked at Mike, “I was the first to surrender. At that time, we were being targeted by the gun barrels of seven or eight new assault guns; we couldn’t breach the assault guns’ armor, but they could easily destroy us! I just chose a path that would let us return home safely!”
Mike, startled, “Wasn’t it General Rocossovsky who personally persuaded you to surrender?”
The Prosen lieutenant, “Yes. He came riding a white horse, raising a red flag, walking towards our machine guns and cannon barrels.”
Mike’s eyes widened, “Walking towards you?”
“Yes.”
“Didn’t you fire at him?”
“Our sights couldn’t keep up with him.”
“Couldn’t keep up with him?” Mike, surprised, repeated the Prosen’s words, “What do you mean? Are you saying he charged at you like a bolt of lightning?”
At that moment, an infantryman in light-colored uniform spoke: “He was circling while approaching the tank; I saw it with my own eyes. I thought he would use the red flag in his hand to chop at the tank! Just like the rumors say.”
“Rumors?”
“Old soldiers who have clashed with his troops say so, claiming he can chop tanks with a knife!” the infantryman said.
Then the lieutenant spoke up, “He didn’t chop our tank with a knife, but he did bring in new assault guns and defeated us.”
No sooner had he finished speaking than someone among the infantry added, “There’s also a new type of submachine gun, with a really long range and no sound! It can kill dozens or hundreds of us, just like that, without a sound!”
Mike raised his eyebrows, an expression of having stumbled upon treasure on his face.