Cannon Fire Arc

Chapter 972: Chapter 20 White Horse White Horse_2

“So the school came up with this idea: the top 30 students get to personally storm Plowsonia!”

Filippov burst out laughing.

The students laughed along too.

Filippov: “Do you guys still sing ‘Tanya, Tanyusha, my Tatiana’?”

One of the students: “Not anymore. We now sing ‘The Dark-Eyed Girl.’”

Filippov: “Oh? How does it go?”

The students exchanged glances, and eventually, all eyes landed on a tall, skinny young man: “The Major is asking—come on, sing a little for us, Alyosha.”

“Yeah, you should. The Major’s sporting a Venus medal, and their unit even has capes! They must be heroic battle veterans! Just sing us a few lines!”

So the young man began to sing:

“One summer morning, at the break of day, I turned to look next door,

“And there I saw a dark-skinned girl, plucking grapes by the basketful.

“My face turned red, my heart raced, I had to muster up my courage and speak.

‘Please come to the riverbank, let’s greet the dawn together.’

“Hey-heh, hey-heh-heh, the green maple rustling, I don’t know where to put my hands and feet in front of you,

“Oh green maple, oh lush maple, I want to sing for you.”

Filippov: “I think I’ve heard of that song. Isn’t it the same one a famous hero’s Eviction Fighter Group liked to sing? Their commander’s nickname was ‘The Conductor.’”

“Really?” The students cheered. “Can we meet this commander?”

“Of course. I’ll write you a letter of introduction.”

Suddenly, one student realized: “Ah~ The Major just wants to trick us into going back to the safe airbase! He’s afraid we’ll die in Plowsonia!”

“We’re not afraid! We are the top 30 of our school’s military skills class! We can eliminate any enemy!”

“Yeah, who knows, we might even make it just in time to grab a Venus medal!”

The mention of the Venus medal sent the students into a frenzy of excitement.

The accompanying Captain sighed: “Venus again… Major, these kids have already snuck off multiple times trying to earn their medals. If you really write that letter, I’d have to thank you—I can finally take them back somewhere safe!”

Filippov pulled out a pen: “I’ll write it now.”

“No, wait!” one of the students wailed in despair.

Suddenly, another student shouted: “Look, it’s Marshal Rocossov!”

Filippov: “That’s just our Psychological Warfare Unit. Marshal Rocossov has been pinned down, with his HQ stationed 41 kilometers from here for over two weeks.”

As he spoke, music began to blare—it had to be coming from the loudspeakers mounted on those Rocossov Model 2 tanks of the Psychological Warfare Unit.

The music was so loud it drowned out the roar of the tanks. If not for the trembling earth, Filippov wouldn’t have noticed the tanks approaching at all.

Soon, a Rocossov Model 2 tank—with mannequins strapped upright to it—appeared.

The tank commander shouted to Filippov: “Have you seen the Revenge for the Heroic Brother?”

Filippov turned around and saw their tank turret labeled “Westward Ho.”

Commander: “Suka bleat, one of Prosen’s landmines blew off our tracks. Took six hours to fix, and now we’ve lost track of the Revenge for the Heroic Brother!”

Filippov: “My regiment’s lead battalion is with it, already charging into the heart of Plowsonia, towards the Bodenburg Gate. Should I radio them for you?”

“No need. Just follow the main road; we’ll definitely catch up!”

With that, the tank roared past the regimental convoy.

As it passed the students, they exchanged glances again. Finally, one who appeared to be their leader asked: “Why don’t you have infantry escorting you?”

“We were fixing the tank, and the infantry got impatient and went ahead.”

Before the commander could finish, the 30 students surged forward, scrambling onto the tank.

The Captain leading them yelled: “Stop! You’re going to have to write self-criticisms for this—or worse, face a court-martial!”

The student leader replied: “We saw friendly forces in need of assistance and acted with initiative!”

“Yeah! Go ask Marshal Rocossov—he’ll definitely approve of what we’re doing! He might even give us medals!”

Seeing he couldn’t dissuade the students, the Captain turned to Filippov: “Say something, Major!”

Filippov: “You might not know this, but I’m an old subordinate of the Marshal. I’ve served under him since Loktov’s time, and my good friend Vasily—now head of the Psychological Warfare Unit—used to be his deputy officer. I know the Marshal well.

“And let me tell you—he’ll laugh uproariously, praise you for your actions, and then bestow medals upon you!”

The students beamed with joy.

The “Westward Ho” commander cursed: “Suka bleat, with so many of you onboard, if the enemy takes aim with a 20mm autocannon, the tank will be fine but all of you will be goners!”

Student: “Isn’t that why we have a mannequin of the Marshal? The enemy will see it, be scared senseless, and surrender immediately!”

Filippov raised an eyebrow, recalling how the Prosen soldiers had surrendered earlier when those white-horse riders passed through.

Maybe… just maybe, it worked like that.

He chuckled to himself and muttered: “I wonder how many Prosen veterans will die of fright if the real Marshal shows up on the frontlines.”

The only ones still resisting were the Asgard Knights veterans. And any veteran who had spent time on the Eastern Front usually had a deep fear of the Marshal.

It all came full circle.

————

Meanwhile, at the Ante Army’s frontline command center, 51 kilometers from Plowsonia’s city center…

Wang Zhong had just reached for the door handle when Pavlov yelled: “Where are you going?”

“To the restroom!” Wang Zhong turned back and said, “What, do I need an escort to the bathroom too? Or do you want me to poop right here? Huh? Do you want to join me? Bond over synchronized bowel movements?”

Pavlov: “Sergeant Grigori, follow the Marshal! If he poops, you poop too! If he heads to the frontlines, you go with him!”

Wang Zhong: “You don’t trust me! Besides, we don’t even have any spare vehicles at HQ right now! To prevent me from slipping to the frontlines, you even reassigned all the Guard Corps tanks!”

“You know exactly why I did that!”

Popov chimed in: “Relax—if the pace picks up, our troops could reach the city center by today. Once the enemy is cleared, you can strut in as you please!”

Wang Zhong: “That’d be too late! I mean for my poop.”

With that, he walked out.

Sergeant Grigori caught up to him: “Here’s some paper, Marshal.”

The Marshal took it: “Thanks.”

Sergeant Grigori: “Actually, we do have one vehicle left.”

Wang Zhong: “Forget it. I’m counting on the bald guy to lead the charge against the Empire of Fusang. Can’t send him home to cradle his baby just yet. Let’s just carry on as is!”

Grigori: “Really? By the way, I think Colonel Vasily’s strategy has been highly effective. If you, the Marshal, show up on the frontlines, it might actually scare the last of the enemy into submission.”

Wang Zhong thought to himself that it wasn’t as exaggerated as Grigori implied. He simply trusted his ability to sense hostility, which he believed would ensure his safety. He’d never actually intended to scare the enemy to death.

After all, he wasn’t some tank-slaying Angel of the Emperor.

This world, even with its bit of Spiritual Energy, was still at a low-magic level.

With that thought, Wang Zhong took the paper and stepped out of HQ.

Then he saw a white horse leaping clean over the headquarters’ two-meter-high wall.

Yes, a two-meter-high wall, cleared by a leaping white horse.

Wang Zhong: “Damn it! Is this world really a low-magic world?”

Bucephalus landed lightly, shuffled its hooves, then pranced over to Wang Zhong and snatched the roll of paper from his hand, chewing it down to just the cardboard core in a few bites.

Sergeant Grigori: “If you ask me, this is Saint Andrew manifesting, Marshal.”

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