Chapter 942: Chapter 4 Testing the Waters_2

As soon as Vasily spoke, artillery shells streaked over their heads.

“It’s started!” Vasily patted Filippov on the shoulder.

Filippov: “Let’s go!”

The “special vehicles” assigned to the Philipov Group immediately activated the large speakers they carried, beginning to play Beethoven’s Fate Symphony.

Filippov: “Why Beethoven?”

“I chose a majestic piece. Besides Beethoven, there was Wagner’s ‘Ride of the Valkyries,’ but the latter could remind the Prosens of their Asgard Knights, so we abandoned it.

“Originally, it was meant for the tanks, but not every infiltration attack uses tanks. Putting it on the trucks works just fine; the truck engine driving the generator can support the playback.”

Filippov watched as the infantry group began advancing to the music, each soldier wearing brand-new shoulder decorations.

“Look at them,” Filippov said, “each one eager to move forward, as if taking a step slower would end the war or miss it entirely. But just three years ago, we went to battle with the resolve to die.”

Vasily: “Yes, back then, the leading priest even shouted: ‘Filippov, sing!’ Now the priest has been gone for two years, and only a dozen of our classmates survived.”

Filippov: “Finally, it’s going to end. I wanted to lead a night infiltration personally so many times, just to plant my boots on enemy soil, but the regiment’s military chaplain and staff stopped me.

“If your plan succeeds this time, I’ll move the regiment across the river immediately!”

Vasily: “Of course you can go over, we all will.”

As they spoke, the skirmish line had advanced about one-third of the way across the Oder River, and the truck carrying the speakers had also started moving, following behind the infantry.

On the enemy positions across the river, there were colossal trees of smoke from artillery shells everywhere.

Filippov picked up his binoculars, observing the other side: “It seems like no one’s moving, and there’s no artillery guidance to block our attack. The enemy has been copying our counter-fire preparations since the second year of the war, but this time, nothing at all.”

Vasily, confident: “I told you, this is just an armed parade. The rocket artillery will start speaking soon.”

No sooner had he finished speaking than the distinctive whistling of rocket artillery came from behind the two.

Though both were veterans, they still instinctively ducked their heads slightly.

The other side of the river grew even more lively.

In the skirmish line advancing on the ice, some people visibly quickened their pace.

Once the rocket artillery barrage ended, Vasily also picked up his binoculars, watching with Filippov.

Vasily: “No one is entering the positions.”

“Yeah,” Filippov adjusted the binoculars’ knobs, “could it be that the trenches were dug so poorly, they were almost destroyed in one bombardment?”

By this time, the skirmish line had climbed up the riverbank, and our artillery bombardment had almost completely stopped, yet the Prosen positions remained quiet.

Vasily held his binoculars so close that the eyepieces nearly pressed into his eye sockets: “Not even a single firing machine gun?”

The basic unit of the Prosen Army centers around the machine gun, with a squad’s core being the machine gun. The squad leader must always stay with the machine gun, commanding it, with the other nine riflemen essentially being extras.

So, the fact that the attacked Prosen positions did not have a single machine gun fire was extremely strange.

Filippov: “Were they all shell-shocked?”

No sooner had he spoken than a machine gun opened fire.

Across the river, the tearing canvas sound was barely audible, but the tracer bullets’ fiery lines were clearly visible.

The skirmish line that had already crossed the river quickly responded, sprinting the moment the machine gun fired, with the section clearly targeted by the strafing all dropping to the ground.

But soon after, those who had dropped to the ground stood back up.

Filippov also noticed: “The machine gun’s sights are set too high; it’s not hitting anyone. The gunner doesn’t seem to have realized.”

However, the gunner had no chance to correct his mistake.

The recoilless gun crew fired, blowing away the machine gun nest along with its camouflage cover.

Vasily: “Only one machine gun fired, and I haven’t seen any PAK38 anti-tank guns either.”

The Prosens had already equipped PAK40 anti-tank guns, but the numbers were never enough to cover the entire army, so they continued to produce the smaller, less powerful PAK38 in large quantities.

Even the Stiponk truck carrying the large speakers had crossed the river and reached the beachhead.

Ante infantry had already rushed to the trench sides, just then the enemy infantry began sporadic shooting.

But the Ante veterans’ precise grenades kept tossing into the trenches, dissipating the resistance like dew under the sun.

Vasily even saw a squad of Prosen infantry directly surrender to the first Ante infantry to reach the trenches.

Filippov suddenly put down his binoculars and cursed: “Damn, how did the Prosen troops end up like this? What happened to the strong army we struggled to defeat?”

Vasily: “Maybe around Kebao.”

Filippov: “I want to go over and see the situation myself, do you want to come?”

“Of course, I want to confirm my suspicions!”

——–

November 10, 1630, in the town of Luki by the Oder River, 71 kilometers from the center of Plowsonia City.

Outside the town, an elderly Prosen woman, nearly ninety years old, was laboriously using a knife to cut up a dead cow by the roadside.

Her three-year-old grandson was playing with cow dung on the road nearby — it was probably the last pile of dung the cow excreted before it was killed by a blast.