Cannon Fire Arc-Chapter 689 - 27 Advance

Chapter 689: Chapter 27 Advance

Prosen Army, 20th Army, 371st Infantry Division Headquarters.

Division Commander Major General Taylor lifted his head and shook off the layer of mud covering him. He looked up at the sky—he had been in the divisional shelter, but the temporary shelter built of wood could not withstand the heavy firepower of the Anteans.

It could only be said that the heavy artillery had only flipped the roof and had not blown away everyone inside, which was already lucky for Major General Taylor.

From his name, it was evident that Major General Taylor was not a pure Prosen. His family had immigrated to the Federation from his grandfather’s generation, and by his generation, his name had completely assimilated into the Federation’s style, only his surname retained the traditional Prosen style.

Because of this, many were puzzled when he chose to return to Prosen to serve his homeland.

His Prosen compatriots were also quite puzzled and, for a long period, “Taylor” had become a joke among senior officers.

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But now, nobody laughed at him anymore.

It was not that Taylor’s valor had been recognized; rather, those who had led the mockery were either dead or captured.

So, Division Commander Taylor was quite thankful to Rocossov—until Rocossov’s shells landed on him.

Taylor first looked for a telephone, digging around in the dirt for a long time without finding it. Just then, the head of the communications company rushed into the shelter and said loudly, “Division Commander! General! Antean armored troops have appeared!”

Taylor responded, “Then fire the cannons! Our division has so many PAK40s! Plus the Anti-Air Artillery Corps’ 88 guns, it’s impossible that all four 88s are destroyed, get them to fire!”

Communications company head, “The front line reports they have fired, but the enemy’s new tanks have armor so thick, our direct-fire weapons are completely ineffective!”

“What?” Taylor was shocked, “How is that possible? Wait, did you say new tanks? Those wouldn’t happen to be the new tanks from the identification manual issued by the High Command, would they?”

Communications company head, “The front line says those are the ones and reported they are even tougher than High Command estimated; they are completely impenetrable!”

Taylor, “Then aim for the joint of the turret or the tracks! Isn’t that how we dealt with the enemy’s KV and T34s in the first year?”

Communications company head, “Come over here and speak directly to the front line via radio!”

“Alright, I’m on my way.” Taylor had just taken a step when he stumbled with his right foot, thankfully the communications company head grabbed him.

Company head, “Commander! You have blood on your bottom!”

Division Commander Taylor looked down and indeed saw a large patch of red on his buttock. Upon seeing the blood, the intense pain he had been suppressing with adrenaline rushed through his nerves.

Taylor stepped back and leaned against the half-remaining shelter wall, “Damn it, I thought the heavy artillery had spared me! Damn, medic!”

Communications company head took out a first aid kit, “I’ll give you a preliminary dressing! Even if the medics are alive, they’re too busy to help right now!”

Taylor nodded repeatedly, “Alright, just make sure to give me pain relief! Damn it, it hurts so much! Who knew getting shot in the butt could hurt this much! It’s just like being stabbed with a large needle!”

…

Five minutes later, the bandaged Division Commander Taylor entered the last remaining communications vehicle of the communications company; the other vehicles were burning nearby.

The signalman immediately handed Taylor the headphones and microphone.

No sooner had Taylor put on the headphones than he heard urgent and chaotic calls, “Headquarters! Headquarters! Our weapons are ineffective against the enemy’s new tanks, please advise! Please advise!”

“I disabled one! Damn, it’s still rotating its turret, only its tracks broken!!”

“These things are too annoying with that big roller at the front, and the enemy even uses grass to cover the tracks, making it impossible to aim!”

“Gentlemen!” Taylor spoke up, “This is Division Commander Taylor! Even if the anti-tank guns can’t handle the enemy’s heavy tanks, use machine guns to stop their accompanying infantry, then close combat to destroy these tanks! Make good use of your magnetic hand grenades!”

This immediately caused a barrage of curses.

Then an officer explained, “We’re not cursing you, we’re cursing the designers of the magnetic hand grenades.”

Taylor recognized the voice—it might be the commander of the Infantry Regiment 651, the absolute main force of the 371st Division.

Taylor, “Colonel Drink, hold your positions! A few heavy tanks aren’t a formidable threat!”

“Not a formidable threat? They’ve already destroyed most of our firing points! My regiment’s reinforced PAK40s are down to three—no, make that two now! We need damn reinforcements!”

Taylor, “Block off the infantry, then engage in close combat! Even if the magnetic hand grenades are unreliable, there are still incendiary bottles! Anteans effectively delayed our armored advance with those; we can do the same!”

“I’m well aware of the use of incendiary bottles! But the Anteans have deployed a new Strike Formation, their heavy tanks don’t have body machine guns, so they pair each heavy tank with a big-headed T34 on either side! Blocking off the infantry is useless, as the enemy’s tanks protect each other!”

The Prosen armored troops also use a Diamond Formation or Grid Formation, but generally, they don’t use them because these formations restrict many tanks from firing effectively.

The Prosen Strike Formation is designed to maximize the firepower of the tanks.

Clearly, the Anteans had no such ambition.

Taylor, “Can’t you use smoke bombs? Throw smoke bombs to block the visibility of the tanks behind, then engage in close combat to destroy these heavy tanks!”

“The enemy’s heavy tanks are backed by infantry riding on them, providing covering fire with Papashas; we really can’t get through!”

Taylor, “Can’t you blast the infantry off with machine guns or grenade launchers?”

“We…”

The conversation with the commander of Regiment 651 abruptly ended.

Taylor, “Hello? Hello? Speak up! What’s happened?”

He called out several times with no response. Regiment 651 did not respond, and others were likely unaware of what had happened or dared not speak.

Taylor, annoyed, handed the handset to the signaler, “Keep calling! I need to know the situation on the ground!”

——–

At this time, in the position of the 651st Regiment of Prosen’s 371st Infantry Division, Colonel Drink climbed up and glanced at the signaler who had already been scattered around him due to the explosions, and the radio that had several holes in its casing.

He took off his headset, threw it onto the radio’s outer casing, and randomly picked up a 98K rifle, then rushed out of the already ruined regimental command bunker.

Outside the bunker, the trench had been lowered by about 20 to 25 centimeters due to Antean artillery, so when Colonel Drink stood in the trench without bending down, surprisingly half of his upper body stuck out from the trench.

He just stood there, raised the rifle, aimed, and pulled the trigger.

An Ante Warrior leaping forward fell to the ground at the sound.

Colonel Drink skillfully pulled the bolt, shoved in a bullet, and aimed again—the moment he raised his rifle, there wasn’t an Antean in jump, so he patiently waited.

Finally, an Antean exposed himself.

Drink fired; the Antean was hit in response.

The colonel smiled grimly, continued pulling the bolt, and the ejected shell hit the trench wall and bounced back onto his uniform.

He raised his rifle again; then he noticed that the turret of the heavy tank gun that had just shelled the regimental bunker was turning again.

The dark barrel faced him.

Drink cursed, turned his rifle, and aimed at the barrel—

In that instant, the tank’s coaxial machine gun opened fire, the bullets sparking around the colonel with a crackling sound.

The colonel thought he was unhit, wanting to pull the trigger; yet he found himself unable to exert any force.

The hand that was raising the gun lost its strength, and the rifle fell to the edge of the trench.

Colonel Drink looked down, seeing a large red spot on his chest, even the Iron Cross was stained crimson.

He cursed, then fell backwards, and war no longer concerned him.

——–

At the same time, on the flanks of the position of the 561st Regiment, Prosen’s 400th Anti-Air Artillery Corps’ position.

The only two remaining 88 guns were firing madly.

Every blast from firing engulfed the position momentarily.

Only thirty percent of the gunners survived the initial barrage, so although half the cannons were lost, the firing efficiency scarcely improved.

Lieutenant Hook, unable to use his left hand, which hung limply in its sleeve, still fulfilled his duty as a gun captain, loudly urging loaders to load bullets.

“Quick! Load quickly! The gunners aim at the enemy’s treads! Their Ante design is somewhat rigid; hiding treads with grass won’t help! Just guess the position, and compensate with firepower density!”

While speaking, his directed cannon fired once again.

The pungent smell of gunpowder gases indicated excessive unburned powder.

Normally, the barrel would need cleaning, but amidst intense combat, that was impractical.

Lieutenant Hook shouted, “Load! Don’t care if the enemy halts! Just keep firing!”

Before his words ended, the spotter shouted, “The target stopped! I see the treads malfunctioning, they seemed to break!”

Hook exclaimed, “Good! Immediately shift targets, don’t worry if the enemy is destroyed; focus on breaking as many enemy treads as possible! Anteans have poor repair capabilities; those tanks with broken treads can’t rejoin the battle any time soon!”

Following Lieutenant Hook’s orders, the gunners swiftly turned the traverse wheel, aligning the cannon with the next target.

Suddenly, the spotter sprinted aside.

Lieutenant Hook shouted, “Where are you going?”

The spotter pointed toward a distant target.

Hook turned his head and saw the halted tank aiming their way.

Lieutenant exclaimed, “Take cover!”

As he shouted, the enemy fired; the gun blast smoke immediately enveloped the tank—after all, it was bigger caliber than the 88, so naturally, it kicked up more commotion when firing.

The enemy tank operator, clearly with excellent marksmanship, hit the mantlet of the 88 from such a distance on the first shot; a fuse without delay directly ignited the charge.

After the devastating explosion, the 88’s mounting was left badly damaged, and the barrel drooped to the ground.

The gunner operating the cannon was instantly blown to bits.

Around him, loaders carrying shells also littered the ground, most of those still breathing were moaning.

Lieutenant Hook swore profusely, trying to sit up, but the numb arm couldn’t muster any strength.

He could only desperately shout, “Medic!”

His cries echoed across the entire Anti-Air Artillery Corps’ position.