Arc of Fire

Amelia’s voice carried a hint of confusion, "What’s going on?"

"Didn’t you feel it?"

In the midst of their conversation, the plane flew right over the Prosen air defense position.

It was only then that Wang Zhong saw that the enemies below were drinking coffee.

Drinking! Coffee!

They even looked up at the red Pe-3 as if they were critically assessing something.

Amelia exclaimed, "My god, it looks like an anti-aircraft gun position down there! Lucky for us, they weren’t on alert, or we would have been shot down!"

Wang Zhong replied, "Is your perception only limited to hostility? So, if the enemy doesn’t harbor hostility, you can’t sense it?"

"I don’t know," replied Amelia with a helpless tone in her voice. "I reported to the superiors that my perception should be tested to figure out what’s going on and suggested the Royal Science Committee form an expert group or something. But my report’s been filed for three years now with no one coming to test me, although plenty of people have wanted to date me."

"What? The testing? No one’s come to test, so it’s not like I could say yes..."

"I meant the dates."

"I didn’t accept. I hate those pretentious officers. Is now really the time to talk about this? You have a wife, right?"

Wang Zhong replied, "Just curious."

At that moment, he noticed a large building on the map, which appeared to be a noble’s estate—comprising four structures, with the main building being a three-story mansion.

Because of the distance, the entire building was shrouded in the "War Fog," making it unclear whether there were Prosens stationed inside or if the Prosen military flag was flying.

Furthermore, this building was significantly off-course for the Pe-3, and with Amelia flying straight, there was no chance they would pass over it—or even bring the building into Wang Zhong’s highlighted range of 2.5 kilometers.

Wang Zhong ordered, "Adjust our heading 30 degrees to the right."

"Is there more anti-aircraft artillery?" asked Amelia, even as her hands were already moving, tilting the plane to the right.

"No, I spotted a large estate that looks like it could be a headquarters. Let’s check it out." As Wang Zhong spoke, the plane’s tilt had stabilized, with Amelia having executed the 30-degree turn, now heading straight towards the noble estate.

At over 400 kilometers per hour, their plane quickly arrived above the estate.

From Wang Zhong’s aerial perspective, a flurry of "red names" suddenly appeared below. If this were an online game, such a rapid spawn of red names could frighten someone to death.

Wang Zhong’s eyes blurred, unable for a moment to identify any high-ranking officials.

He sharply realized the weakness of his highlighting system: it didn’t mark ranks! He would have to judge who was a high ranking officer based on their demeanor and other cues.

Damn it, with such clarity, marking each person’s rank over their head wouldn’t be too much to ask!

Before Wang Zhong could finish his thought, the plane had already swept over the residence and moved beyond the highlighted area.

Flying fast didn’t seem all that great sometimes!

But flying slow could lead to being caught by enemy fighters, or even being shot down. Such a dilemma!

Amelia noted, "It really is a headquarters! Judging by the number of cars, it might be a Military Department (she didn’t know it was actually the combined headquarters of two Infantry Division, which explained the abundance of cars and people)."

Wang Zhong marked the location on the map, "We’ll have the Commando raid here tonight."

Amelia questioned, "With this weather, wouldn’t it be difficult to do an airdrop?"

Wang Zhong looked up at the sky, where raindrops continuously fell onto the glass canopy of the plane, being swept back by the wind, forming lines like those seen for speed in comics.

Amelia added, "Besides, this place must be deep within enemy lines; artillery wouldn’t be able to reach."

"No," Wang Zhong said, gesturing on the map. As a seasoned veteran of a year and a half in this realm, he was adept at using various tools for map plotting. With the aid of the external overlay, he quickly measured the distance, "This place is 15 kilometers from our lines. If we wanted to, we could hit it. Push the artillery up near the frontline, open fire on this position, then withdraw."

Amelia pondered, "With new artillery positions, can they really hit their target without ranging shots? If it’s nighttime bombardment, there’s no way to range."

Wang Zhong insisted, "Pure map operation firing has a certain hit rate, but what’s important isn’t to kill someone but to intimidate the enemy. I think we can plan something, seeing as this could be a Military Department."

Indeed, Wang Zhong hadn’t been able to make out that among the large group of red names, there were two Major General Division Commanders; he even thought there might be a Vice Admiral corps commander present.

Amelia suggested, "It might not be a Military Department, right? It feels like they wouldn’t place one just a dozen kilometers from the frontline. Should I go back for a closer look?"

Wang Zhong advised, "No, the enemy’s probably been alerted by now, going back would be too dangerous. Let’s just continue our reconnaissance flight."

Rewind time by three minutes to the joint headquarters of the 9th Armored Division and the 9th Armored Grenadier Division of Prosen’s Fourteenth Armored Army.

Major General Schmidt looked up, "The sound of a plane’s engine? In this rainy weather?"

By then, everyone had heard the engine noise.

It was but a brief moment before the sound moved into the distance.

Major General Hoppe asked, "Flying very low, could that be an Antean recon plane?"

Major General Schmidt cursed, "Damn it, the headquarters’ anti-aircraft fire didn’t respond at all! Get the anti-aircraft battalion commander here! And find out what kind of plane just flew over our heads!"

The anti-aircraft battalion commander arrived quickly, snapping to attention before the two Major Generals with a clack.

Schmidt reprimanded, "The sound of your heels clicking together can’t cover up your recent failure. So what kind of plane just flew over us?"

The battalion commander reported, "A red biplane, could be a Pe-2, or perhaps a Tu-2."

Schmidt: "Why didn’t it drop any bombs then?"

"Maybe it’s a reconnaissance type," the battalion commander said. "It passed by too quickly, just a few seconds from hearing the engine to seeing the plane—and it was flying low to the ground..."

Major General Hoppe cut off the battalion commander, "Does Ante Air Force have a tradition of painting their aircraft entirely red?"

"Yes," an Air Force colonel in charge of communications finally got the chance to speak; usually, his job ended with delivering the weather report. "One of Ante’s ace Yak pilots likes to use an all-red paint job, very conspicuous. It’s said to be in imitation of our ace, the Red Baron."

Schmidt frowned, sensing that the situation was not simple, "A reconnaissance plane scouted out an ace? Something doesn’t feel right."

Major General Hoppe nodded, "Indeed, it’s quite strange. Our ace’s special paint is mainly on fighters and ground-attack aircraft, but a reconnaissance plane painted red..."

"Red!" Schmidt slapped his thigh. "Admiral Rokossovsky loves to use the Red Flag! His ace division is also called the ’Red Flag’ Mechanized Infantry Division."

"How could it be," Major General Hoppe repeatedly waved his hand. "The Front Army Commander in a plane, personally scouting, and painting the plane an eye-catching red color—it’s impossible! Even if he did scout, there should be escorts. Were there any escorts just now?"

Major General Hoppe turned to the anti-aircraft battalion commander and repeated the question, "Were there escorts?"

"No, or at least we didn’t see any," the anti-aircraft battalion commander reported truthfully.

"Then it’s definitely not it. However, the observation of a red reconnaissance aircraft still needs to be reported upwards. Maybe the higher-ups have other intelligence sources and know what this plane is all about," said Major General Hoppe.

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Two hours later, Wang Zhong returned to the Front Army Headquarters and handed the map directly to Pavlov: "I’ve found a place that might be a military headquarters."

Pavlov: "Really? Uh... isn’t it too close to the front line?"

Amelia chimed in, "I took a look at the courtyard, and both the vehicles and the guard force are stronger than a typical division headquarters; it indeed looks like a military headquarters."

Pavlov: "Good, are you planning to shell it? Currently, none of our artillery positions can hit that area."

Wang Zhong: "Don’t we have the SU-76? Move the self-propelled artillery battalion to... this position!"

He found a protrusion on the secondary defensive line and jabbed the map with a stick.

"To fire from here."

Pavlov: "The SU-76 can’t reach that far; we need to push the artillery battalion’s 152mm guns here to ensure coverage."

Wang Zhong: "Then how long would it take for the artillery battalion’s 152mm guns to deploy here, fire, and then retreat?"

"Are you asking how long it would take to complete the full set of actions, deployment, and retreat? At least an hour. If the artillery battalion was all towed by vehicles, it could be faster, but right now all the artillery battalions we have are drawn by mules and horses."

Wang Zhong pursed his lips, staring at the map and falling into deep thought.

He suddenly felt an urgent need for truck-mounted guns.

However, for truck-mounted artillery, first, you need strong load-bearing trucks, and right now, Ante’s three-ton trucks definitely couldn’t be converted into truck guns.

Wang Zhong thought for a moment, then turned his head to look at the night that had already fallen and slammed the table: "No matter, mules and horses it is. Move a heavy artillery battalion in the cover of rain and night to this position and deploy. While it’s firing, use other artillery troops to bombard nearby Prosen troops to protect the artillery battalion’s bombardment of the headquarters."

Pavlov: "It’s another haphazard plan, but I’ve gotten used to it. Someone come, draw up a battle plan according to the commander’s intent; a plan like this should be doable by three people."

Yakov raised his hand: "Let me try; as a deputy officer, I can’t always just be writing down the general’s sayings."

Wang Zhong snapped his fingers: "You do it, let’s see the level of a staff professional graduate."

In the late night of October 23rd, the Prosen 9th Armored and 9th Armored Grenadier Division headquarters.

Major General Schmidt returned to his room, threw his hat on the nightstand, yawned, and began to unbutton his shirt collar.

All day today, the 9th Armored and its brother units didn’t have much combat activity, all waiting for supplies—so Major General Schmidt had a rare day of leisure.

This made him feel that Rokossovsky was nothing to make a fuss about, not worth the fuss.

Looking back on how he lost his composure when the red reconnaissance plane flew over that afternoon, Major General Schmidt couldn’t help but laugh.

Just at this moment, a rumbling sound of shells tore through the sky.

Major General Schmidt dived under the camp bed.

The shockwaves from the heavy artillery explosions shook the entire house, and dust pattered down onto the camp bed.

The shells continued to fall, and Schmidt felt like the whole ground was shaking.

Because of the negative pressure from the explosions, he felt like his eardrums would burst from the internal pressure, and he could only open his mouth and scream, "Aaaah! Damn it!"

Shouting did indeed balance the internal and external pressure, and Schmidt’s ears gradually eased up.

Just when he had relaxed a bit, a large piece of plaster from the ceiling clattered down onto his bed, stimulating him to shout again, "Damn it! I’ve had enough! To hell with it, just bomb me to death! Rokossovsky, bomb me to death! Just do it!"

As if in response, the ceiling light fixture came crashing down, and the decorative crystals shattered, slicing Schmidt’s cheek.

Then, finally, the earth-shattering barrage ended.

Schmidt waited a few seconds to be sure it was over before crawling out from under the bed and storming out of the room to Headquarters, "The Ante artillery must be within range of our troops—if they could bomb me, they must have placed their guns on the very front line! Quick, ask where it came from!"

Chief of Staff: "Report, our troops have all been shelled; no one has reported the sighting of Ante artillery."

"It must be somewhere our infantry can see! It must be!" Schmidt yelled.

At this moment, his friend Hoppe rushed in, pulling up his trousers, "The enemy artillery is definitely on the line; there should be units that have noticed the artillery nearby!"

Schmidt: "Just now, all of our units were shelled, and we are trying to make contact... The key is how the enemy knew..."

Suddenly, Schmidt slapped his thigh: "That red reconnaissance plane! That plane spotted us, and then Rokossovsky risked losing an artillery battalion to push the guns to the front line! Damn it, he’s going to pay the price! Even if it’s a night fight, we will wipe out that artillery battalion!"