Cannon Fire Arc

Chapter 761: Chapter 18: Crossing the Dibo River

Having reached the backup position, Andreas took one look at the tripod and knew it was no longer usable.

So he decisively implemented plan B, setting the machine gun on a bipod atop sandbags and began to fire based on experience—the tripod had a handwheel with scales for adjusting the firing angle, but with a bipod, one could only rely on the shooter’s experience and sight.

Andreas fired relentlessly.

The backup machine gun position was behind the first trench line, and in conjunction with the second trench, created crossfire. The Anteans didn’t identify the direction of the machine gun fire immediately, allowing Andreas to take down more than a dozen men in quick succession.

Suddenly, a signal flare soared into the sky, cleaving an arc toward Andreas’s position.

He immediately took cover backward, dragging the still clueless recruit, Maramon, behind the sandbags with him.

…

Immediately afterward, bullets pelted the sandbags.

Maramon cried out in shock, “What’s going on?”

“That signal flare marked us as targets, so the Anteans are focusing their fire on us!”

“They found us just because of the flare?”

“Not exactly found, just firing in the direction of the flare. But look at this gunfire; would you bet your life no lucky bullet is going to hit your big head?”

As his words ended, the sound of bullets hitting the sandbags ceased. Andreas changed his position, propped up the machine gun, and resumed firing.

At that moment, someone shouted, “Tanks are coming!”

Maramon, who was carrying the ammunition belt, immediately looked in the direction of the shout and then he too shouted, “The tanks are coming, our tanks!”

Andreas opened the feed cover, “Change the ammo! Quickly!”

While Maramon was changing the ammo, he looked in the direction of the engine sounds and saw a Mark II tank rolling into position, strafing the beachhead with its machine gun.

The tank stopped behind the third trench, maintaining a few hundred meters’ distance from the actual front line.

Maramon finished reloading the ammunition and reported loudly, “Ammo change complete!”

Andreas closed the feed cover and continued firing without pause.

As Maramon fed the belt into the gun, he muttered in confusion, “Why doesn’t the tank advance from behind?”

Andreas replied, “That’s a Mark II tank, already outdated. The enemy has plenty of weapons that can pierce its armor within 100 meters. It can’t go forward. Staying back and acting as a machine gun turret isn’t so bad—”

A jet of fire burst from the Antean-occupied position, lunging straight at the Mark II tank crouched behind the third trench.

The tank immediately burst into flames, and its crew members, covered in fire, crawled out and rolled on the ground.

“See!” Andreas spoke, but he didn’t actually watch the burning tank, focusing solely on bringing down Anteans.

Suddenly, a chill ran through him. Veterans in such situations always trusted their instincts, so he rolled away from his firing position, clutching the red-hot machine gun barrel, and tumbled into the adjacent communication trench.

Almost simultaneously, the whistling of mortar shells filled the sky. Ten consecutive mortar rounds fell, collapsing the sandbag walls around the machine gun position.

The Antean mortar crews must have advanced to the West Bank, as they had begun close-range support.

After the bombardment ended, he stood up, patted Maramon’s shoulder beside him, “Let’s go! This position is also exposed! Antean assault squads must be nearby! Move!”

Maramon didn’t move.

Andreas dreaded the worst, he grabbed Maramon’s shoulder, turned him over, and found the young face of the recruit covered in mud, mouth, nostrils, even the eyes filled with dirt.

Red was spreading across his chest.

Andreas shut the young soldier’s eyes, expertly searched his pockets, took out the family letters, tucked them away, and clutched the machine gun as he crawled into the communication trench.

After running less than thirty steps along the trench, Andreas came face to face with Master Sergeant Kosolek.

“Master Sergeant?”

Kosolek replied, “My machine gun team was wiped out, the machine gun and tripod were taken by the enemy, I need to inform the deputy company commander of the loss!”

Andreas said, “I’m short of an assistant gunner!”

No sooner had he spoken when the deputy company commander appeared, leading a platoon, “You two! We’re counterattacking! Need heavy machine gun fire, your—light machine gun will do!”

A general-purpose machine gun becomes a heavy machine gun on a tripod and can be used as a light machine gun when detached.

“Follow me!”

Master Sergeant Kosolek stopped the deputy company commander, “Are you taking these recruits to recapture the position?”

Andreas then noticed that behind the deputy company commander, the people holding submachine guns were not experienced non-commissioned officers but new recruits with naive faces like Maramon.

Kosolek snatched the submachine gun from a recruit’s hand, “Give me the mag pouch! And the grenades! You go be Sergeant Andreas’s assistant gunner!”

The recruit protested, “I haven’t been trained to operate a machine gun!”

Andreas interjected, “But you can at least hold an ammo belt! Follow me, hand the submachine gun to Master Sergeant Kosolek!”

“But!”

The deputy company commander spoke up, “That’s the way it is. If you survive, sooner or later it’ll be your turn to wield a submachine gun and fight for trenches with the enemy Imperial Guard. Let’s go, Kosolek! We’ve got work to do!”

With that, the deputy company commander started jogging along the trench. Unlike the new company commander parachuted down from the military academy, the deputy company commander was a Lieutenant with lots of field experience, promoted entirely through combat, lacking military academy education, but he had earned the trust of the soldiers in the company more than any green cadet from a military school.

Master Sergeant Kosolek, holding the submachine gun, followed behind.

Andreas hoisted the machine gun on his shoulder and took large strides to keep up.

The small squad quickly arrived near the lost position.

Andreas instantly picked out the best location for the machine gun and lay next to the sandbags, setting up the weapon.

Deputy platoon leader, “Advance! Close combat, recruits, follow your training!”

Andreas began firing, pinning down the peeking Anteans into their trenches.

Kosolek, leading the charge, burst out of the trench first, throwing a grenade before making a sharp, aggressive sprint.

The grenade exploded outside the trench occupied by the Anteans, and like Andreas’s machine gun fire, it was meant to suppress the enemy and keep them from raising their heads.

Master Sergeant Kosolek made it within ten meters of the trench and threw three grenades he had primed by squeezing them for a second.

Following the successive explosions, he rushed into the trench with his submachine gun.

Andreas could no longer see the Master Sergeant but could hear the bursts of submachine gunfire.

The deputy platoon leader also leapt to his feet, “Support the Sergeant! Move forward in groups!”

He charged toward the trench with two soldiers.

Suddenly, Andreas spotted a squad of Anteans hurrying towards them and swung his gun around for overhead shooting, trying to stop them.

But without a tripod, his aim for overhead shooting wasn’t very good and only caused the Anteans to run faster instead of a jog.

Then, Andreas saw Master Sergeant Kosolek poke his head out and use a captured Papasha to hose down the approaching Anteans.

Finally, the Anteans lay down.

Immediately after, Andreas saw the Anteans start to retreat towards the riverbank.

There were also Anteans on the riverbank discarding their weapons brought along, trying to swim back to the other side.

It looked like today’s first wave of attacks had been held back.

Andreas dropped the machine gun and sat down in the trench, gasping for air. Only then did he notice his heart was trembling non-stop like an internal combustion engine.

He took out a cigarette, placed it in his mouth, and then fumbled through his pockets for a match.

Just then, a howling came from the sky; the Anteans’ heavy artillery was coming again.

But suddenly, Andreas didn’t feel like avoiding the bombardment anymore, perhaps to let the Anteans blast him to death might be more comfortable.

In the tremor of the earth, Andreas finally found a match, struck it, and lit his cigarette. While smoking, he reminisced about his home in the mountains and remembered his father, who spent a lifetime tending the family orchard and terraced fields.

His father had said that his great-grandfather once fought for the Habsburgs, and the decorated air rifle in the house was a gift from the Habsburg Emperor of that era.

His great-grandfather certainly didn’t have to endure such earth-shattering artillery fire.

A shell landed nearby, and Andreas began to experience ringing in his ears, also feeling a warm, sticky substance flowing out of his ear canal.

Andreas felt it was likely that he would lose the hearing in that ear.

Just then, the artillery fire stopped.

Andreas struggled to get up, ready to resume greeting the Anteans with his machine gun.

However, there were no Antean sampans on the river, and the Anteans who had retreated into the water did not come back to attack; everything quieted down.

This eerie silence was so peculiar that Andreas, with the cigarette in his mouth, was stunned for a while until the cigarette burned his lips, snapping him back to reality. He threw the butt to the ground.

At that moment, the deputy platoon leader came running along the trench, and Andreas stopped him, “What’s going on? Why have the Anteans suddenly stopped attacking?”

“I’m planning to go to the battalion headquarters to find out the situation. Stay put and don’t move, and find a usable tripod! If there isn’t one, figure out a way to fix one!”

“Yes.”

After watching the deputy platoon leader leave, Andreas picked up the machine gun, recalled the positions of all the machine gun emplacements, and began searching for a tripod.

…

At two in the afternoon, the deputy platoon leader returned from the battalion headquarters with a troubled expression.

He gathered all surviving non-commissioned officers for a meeting.

As soon as Andreas arrived at the meeting, he reported, “I’ve fixed a tripod and found two that can be used, set up at three machine gun positions.”

“No need,” said the deputy platoon leader with a grim face. “We are retreating.”

Master Sergeant Kosolek retorted, “We haven’t been defeated yet! We can still make the enemy suffer if they come at us!”

The deputy platoon leader replied, “Seventeen kilometers upstream, the line has been breached, and a pontoon bridge has been constructed. The enemy’s tank units are passing through continuously. The Armored Troops are counter-attacking, but division headquarters has ordered us to prepare for withdrawal.”

Andreas asked, “What does that mean?”

“Literally what it says. By tomorrow evening, we should know the result of the Armored Troops’ counter-attack. If they succeed, all is well; if they fail, we have to withdraw.”

Someone amongst the officers cursed, “I knew that damn Division 310 on the flank wouldn’t hold!”

And there were immediate agreements, “And those Moravians, too! I don’t understand why they’re equipped so well! They’re clearly second-class citizens!”

The deputy platoon leader interjected, “Enough! When you go back, be careful not to undermine the morale. Silently prepare for withdrawal. First, send the wounded to the trucks to be taken to the rear; that can’t be wrong! Dismissed!”