Arc of Fire

Chapter 731 -69: The Eve

July 30, 2330 hours, Shepetovka Suburb.

Suddenly, in the dark, a sharp command rang out, “Halt, don’t move!”

Immediately, someone indeed stood up and shouted, “I am a worker from the Shepetovka Textile Factory, representing the Worker’s Protection Squad here to make contact!”

The Sentinel stood up, turned on his flashlight, and in the beam of light, an old worker shielded his eyes with his hand.

The Sentinel turned off the flashlight and called out to the back, “Hurry, inform the squad leader—no, inform the platoon leader that an old worker has arrived!”

The old man quickly caught up and approached the Sentinel, “Young man, from your accent, you must be from Vishensk, aren’t you? Do you know Alyosha?”

"There are many named Alyosha,” the Sentinel laughed, “our Front Army Commander is also nicknamed Alyosha. Which Alyosha are you referring to?”

"The Alyosha from Vishensk!” the old worker grabbed the Sentinel’s hand, “When he left, he was still a Private Second Class, about your age. Do you know him?”

The Sentinel shook his head, “Sir, these past two years, many of us have been injured, healed, and then returned to the front. We were continuously reassigned to different units. Sometimes, it was because our old units were decimated, sometimes because our old units were moved far away, and we could not rejoin them.

"Perhaps when we left, we were all in units formed from people of Vishensk, but now we’ve been scattered across the army.”

In fact, the Sentinel did not voice the most brutal possibility, that the Alyosha he was asking about had, like countless others named Alyosha, turned into a flock of cranes and flown far away.

The old worker gritted his teeth and changed the subject, “You’re right, child, let’s talk business. Why haven’t you entered the city yet? All the Prosens have fled the city; initially, they ran towards Argesukov, later they headed north. Now Shepetovka is entirely empty!”

The Sentinel replied, “We stopped to regroup, after all, we’ve been fighting continuously for a month, looking disheveled. Today, the Quartermaster issued new uniforms, and tomorrow we will enter the city neat and tidy.”

The old worker said, “Why fuss over that? You’ve stopped outside the city and everyone is puzzled! Rumors are rampant, suggesting the Prosens spread a plague, that’s why you stopped outside the city! We’ve had a tough time suppressing these rumors!”

The Sentinel was about to respond when he heard someone shouting from a distance, “The platoon leader and the battalion commander have arrived, as well as the Military Chaplain!”

From afar, a large group of people were approaching with flashlights.

The battalion Military Chaplain stepped forward, took the old worker’s hand, “Sir, I hope the Prosens didn’t give you trouble on the way?”

"There are no Prosens left! You should have sent a contact team into the city!” the elder immediately complained, “At the very least, send a Priest! Before the Prosens retreated, they went on a rampage, and our Protection Squad made huge sacrifices to hold them off. Many are still alive today, they just wanted to see a proper Priest one last time!”

The Priest apologized, “Sorry, our field hospital hasn’t arrived yet, and the medics have just replenished their supplies. I will now dispatch all the medics from our battalion and the field medical post to the city overnight.”

The old man, holding the Priest’s hand, said, “That’s good, that’s very good! By the way, Mr. Priest, from your accent, you seem to be from Vishensk as well?”

"No, I am a native of Argesukov, like General Rokossovsky,” the Priest replied.

"I see,” the elder lowered his gaze, “I am old, I misheard, my apologies.”

The Priest added, “What about Vishensk? If it’s about finding someone, I can help you look.”

"Alyosha from Vishensk, no, Aleksei Vasiliyevich Rublyov, is my grandson. He enlisted in August 1914 and then retreated with his unit.”

The Priest nodded, “Alright, I will look into it thoroughly.”

The old man said, “Even if he has fallen in battle, please tell me where, so after the war, I can go see him.”

At that moment, a resonant voice came from afar, “Sir, do not grieve too much; perhaps he has become part of a crane flock and flown far away with the other warriors.”

Everyone turned towards the sound, seeing an even larger group approaching from the distance, perhaps for concealment, this group had not turned on any flashlights.

The leader, wearing the newly adopted military uniform with a row of stars on the new-style epaulettes.

The battalion commander was the first to react, “General Rokossovsky!”

Everyone tensed up at once, soldiers and officers alike stood at attention, lifted their heads high, and saluted the General.

Ante needed to lift his chin and tilt his nostrils towards the sky, looking particularly imposing.

General Rokossovsky walked up to the old man and said, “Old man, I must tell you the truth, there’s a high probability that your grandson rests in some corner of the motherland.”

"These past two years, we have made great sacrifices, even losing my closest deputy officer who had just become a father and had yet to see his child’s face!”

"After the war, we will build a monument in Yeburg’s square, where we will light an eternal flame at the base of the monument.”

"I have already thought of the inscription, ‘Your names are unknown, your deeds are immortal.'”

Tears welled up in the old man’s eyes. “General, my grandson’s name is Aleksei Vasilyevich Rublyov, my daughter’s first child.”

General Rokossovsky replied, “I will remember that, and I assure you, unless we indeed receive news of his death, the Missing Soldiers Committee will not cease searching for him.”

The old man nodded repeatedly. “Good, you are like Kutuzov reincarnated, a hero of Ante.”

General Rokossovsky patted the old man on the shoulder and then commanded, “Take the old man to rest in my command vehicle, immediately dispatch a liaison team into the city, and first arrange the funerals for the warriors who sacrificed themselves for the defense of the city, and provide aid to the wounded.”

The old man said, “I can take you back, I know the way! I have led the guerrilla many times over these two years and have never been caught by the Prosen patrol!”

General Rokossovsky laughed. “Old man, the Prosens have fled, there are no more patrols, the liaison team can take the main road.”

"Oh! Look at my old head, I’m getting senile!”

General Rokossovsky nodded and handed the old man over to the sergeant behind him. “Take the old man to rest in my command vehicle.”

The sergeant immediately took the old man by a strong hand and led him away.

As they walked, the old man looked back, watching General Rokossovsky climb the hidden earthen embankment, gazing towards Shepetovka asleep under the night.

The old man suddenly said, “I thought the general was almost sixty, but he is about the age of my grandson!”

The sergeant laughed. “Yes, he was just a kid when the war started, but now he’s become an older man.”

The old worker turned to the sergeant. “Are you well acquainted with the general?”

"I was his personal guard commander; I should have been a baron knight or something in the past. Now, I’m just a high-ranking sergeant.”

As the old man was about to speak, he noticed in the darkness a huge tank, with several tank operators applying fresh camouflage paint.

Another person climbed a ladder and hung a Red Flag on the tank’s antenna.

The old worker suddenly said, “Wait a minute! That flag! Does it have words on it?”

The sergeant replied, “Yes, that’s the flag that factory workers gave to the general when he left Shepetovka! He has carried it with him all these years, and each time he personally goes into battle, he hangs the flag on his tank’s antenna.”

The old man stopped, unable to help covering his mouth, sobbing quietly. “My goodness, my old pals, do you see? The general has been carrying that flag all along! Misha, Protov! Do you see? Our flag, with the general during every battle!”

The old man stepped forward and leaned against the side of the tank, pounding on the skirt of the tank. “Do you see? The general has changed to a new tank, taken command of the Front Army, and he’s still carrying the flag we made for him!”

The nearby tank operator paused his painting. “Tomorrow, the general will be the first to enter Shepetovka with this flag! The general will personally liberate Shepetovka!”

"Someday,” another voice said, “the general will drive his tank into Plowsonia under this flag.”

The old man was surprised, for the voice was just then a young girl’s voice.

Though young, it bore the marks of time, like rock.

He looked up and saw a young girl dressed as a maid standing on the tank, holding onto the antenna, with the Red Flag fluttering above her head.

The sergeant introduced her. “This is the general’s personal maid, Miss Nelly. Miss Nelly, the general has ordered you to take this old man to his command vehicle to rest.”

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