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“Those professors, those clueless donkeys who don’t know what a battlefield is like, and those self-serving public intellectuals will say the Third Rear Amur Group and the 31st Tank Regiment of the Fourth Tank Army were all cowards.”

“They won’t treat the dead separately from us!”

“We’re going to hold out here until eight o’clock tomorrow night! Yes, our forces are insufficient, but we can come up with solutions, landmines, explosives, anything we can use!”

Yegorov: “But we have none. We didn’t find any defensive supplies at the enemy’s logistic base. They don’t think they need to defend.”

Wang Zhong pursed his lips, watching more and more bodies pile up in front of him; residents were bringing all the fallen soldiers of the Ante Army to the church.

He sighed, “We could try requesting reinforcements. Isn’t there a telegraph office here?”

Actually, Wang Zhong did not have any memories of using telegraphs; by the time he was able to remember things, telegraphs were already out of use, which is why he only thought of them now, as telegraphs should be a common method of communication among civilians in this era.

Yegorov: “There is, but the telegraph at the telegraph office is wired, the same as the telephone. Now they’re all cut. Maybe even the main telegraph and telephone offices in the big cities have been bombed by enemy aircraft. No one can send messages.”

Wang Zhong furrowed his brows, and at that moment, seeing Su Fang’s hesitant appearance, an idea struck him: “We still have Hymn Monk, now that the battlefield has calmed down, and there are mass props in the church, could we have mass?”

“Yes!” Su Fang nodded repeatedly, “But I need someone who understands the mass process to help me.”

Wang Zhong: “Let Ludmila come. Is one enough?”

Su Fang: “The smallest mass requires three people. One me, one Ludmila, and one more clergy.”

Wang Zhong: “Then we only have Monk Yeca Neiko. What’s in the mass?”

“Prayers, sermons, Holy Communion,” shrugged Su Fang, “The mass is simple, it just takes a long time and there’s no guarantee the other side will hear. I have to keep kneeling, reciting holy hymns and the message to convey until tomorrow morning; don’t expect me to fire a machine gun tomorrow.”

Wang Zhong: “Go ahead, do it.”

Su Fang hopped away excitedly.

Wang Zhong looked at Yegorov: “If there’s no response by tomorrow morning, we’ll retreat.”

Yegorov: “Can we really retreat tomorrow morning? It would be better to retreat overnight.”

Wang Zhong very firmly said, “Wait for a response first.”

————

After making a decision, Wang Zhong quickly ate some beef and pickles, then chose to sleep for a while.

He was about to pass out when he remembered he still had a low fever. It seemed even adrenaline could temporarily combat illness.

He didn’t know how long he slept, but by the time he got up, it was completely dark outside and a bit chilly.

After waking up, his first reaction was to feel for the letter on his person, addressed to Miss Alexeyevna at 43 Krugen Street, for Argesukov.

He had sworn that as long as he was alive, he would ensure this letter reached that lady’s hands.

Reassured the letter was still safe, Wang Zhong exhaled and stood up, putting on his jacket.

He heard singing outside and thought it was part of the mass ceremony, so with the intention of seeing what was going on, he walked towards the door.

As he went out, the guard snapped to attention with a salute that startled Wang Zhong with the sound of heels coming together.

He scrutinized the guard carefully and saw that the private was holding his head high, his eyes burning with intensity.

In that gaze, Wang Zhong felt the soldier’s trust in him.

That was when he suddenly remembered his initial moments after crossing into this world, when his only thought had been to survive the chaos, and that was it.

Really, when had he become someone who could consider himself the last bullet? He didn’t even know what this country looked like in its entirety.

Although he felt a bit self-mocking, Wang Zhong had no intention of changing his current resolution.

Because of this trust, and because he had shed blood together with them.

Of course, there was also justice and a sense of pride — see, now I am fighting for the justice and righteousness of the world, just like the international brigades in Spain.

Stepping out of the manager’s office of the distillery, Wang Zhong stood on the steps at the factory door, looking at the soldiers gathered in the courtyard.

They were a group of wounded, probably gathered here beside the fire and sharing roasted meat because the hospital ran out of beds.

It was they who were singing.

The melody of the song was surprisingly familiar to Wang Zhong; it was “On the Opposite Bank of the River,” once chosen as the theme song for the Chinese version of “How Steel Was Tempered.”

A baritone hummed: lights have been kindled on the distant riverbank,

The evening glow fades into the clear night sky,

Mounting the warhorse, shouldering the lance,

The young soldiers ready themselves to set out,

When the baritone sang solo, the others joined in with harmony, as if all had been trained for a choir.

All is silent on the vast expanse of the field,

The soldiers vigilantly searched for signs of the enemy.

In the darkness, the cold glint of bayonets shone.

They encountered an enemy ambush.

The song swiftly moved into the rousing chorus, and someone even brought out an accordion for accompaniment, everyone singing aloud together:

The warriors shouted as they charged into the enemy throngs.

A desperate struggle unfolded on the plains.

The chorus felt peculiarly fitting for today’s situation. No wonder the soldiers chose to sing it at this time.

Wang Zhong was thinking when the chorus ended, and the baritone began his solo:

A soldier fell from his horse, struck by a bullet.

He bravely sacrificed for the benefit of his motherland.

As the baritone’s voice faded, the crowd continued humming the harmony, as if to mourn the comrades who had died today in this manner.

Wang Zhong stood on the steps, savoring the sadness that flowed uninhibited under the night sky.

That’s when Yegorov appeared.

Wang Zhong asked, “Has the Mass received a response?”

Yegorov shook his head, “No. If we’re going to retreat, now’s the time, it will be dawn in two more hours.”

Wang Zhong glanced at the soldiers still humming the sorrowful song, his heart softening.

Just then, he faintly heard the sound of engines in the night sky.

“The enemy?” His first reaction was this.

Yegorov, however, looked eastward, “No, the sound is coming from the east.”

Pavlov, who rushed over in a hurry, said, “It must be the enemy cunningly circling to our rear!”

Wang Zhong ignored him and directly changed his viewpoint, only to see darkness; he couldn’t see anything at all, not because his own vision wouldn’t highlight the enemy.

So Wang Zhong made a beeline for the water tower.

After taking a couple of steps, he thought better of it and decided to get a clearer view from the village entrance, so he called out “Bucephalus!”

The white horse that he had inherited from Captain Lubokov ran out from the stables, already saddled up.

Huh, how was it already saddled?

Wang Zhong looked towards the stables, only to find the former crew chief of Tank 422 hiding behind the stable doors.

It seemed this guy had secretly saddled Bucephalus, planning to escape on it!

Wang Zhong pointed at the stables, “Catch that deserter for me! Execute him on the spot!”

Tank 422’s crew had behaved valiantly; Wang Zhong wouldn’t allow anyone to tarnish their courage.

Having said this, he mounted the horse, riding as if the movement had been ingrained in his muscles, and he galloped away on the white horse, which became a flash of lightning in the night.

At the village entrance, Wang Zhong raised his field of view.

By now, the roar of the engines was very close.

Firstly, there was no highlight, so it wasn’t the enemy arriving.

Wang Zhong peered closely at the dark objects coming down the road and suddenly laughed out loud.

In World War II, there were many such “fabricated myths,” such as the “Zero Fighter myth”; in reality, the Zero’s achievements were mostly gained against outdated fighters like the F2A, and newer American models like the P38 and F4F never let the Zero have the upper hand.

Another was the German armored myth.

In fact, at the beginning of Operation Barbarossa, the majority of Germany’s victories were achieved against light tanks such as the BT7 and other outdated tanks; they suffered setbacks as soon as they encountered the T34, and Guderian even developed a “T34 phobia.”

Later research showed that Guderian had actually mistaken other tanks for T34s.

The tank that frightened Guderian had, in the early days of the war, repeatedly created miracles against multiple opponents, and even stalled an entire German division’s advance.

In its presence, the father of German armored troops exclaimed, “Our armored advantage no longer exists.”

Now, the very “culprit” that had terrified another war hero in a different time and space was approaching Peniye.

Though there was only one, Wang Zhong, well-versed in military history, saw it as if it were a lifeline.

For the first time, he found the stout shape of this tank to be so incredibly beautiful.

He saw a KV1 heavy tank.

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