Cannon Fire Arc Chapter 507

Chapter 507: Chapter 6: The Hot Sands Front3

Several minutes after Admiral Erwin's orders were issued, another explosion occurred towards the port.

The mushroom cloud from the Shallow Draft Gunboat hadn't dispersed before a new mushroom cloud rose into the sky.

The shockwave turned into a gale, slashing across Admiral Erwin's face like a knife, and nearly blew his hat away had he not caught it swiftly.

Erwin's Deputy Officer also ducked with his hand on his hat, shouting loudly, “It's over, look at the size of that explosion, our ammunition is done for!”

“Take these bastards out!” Admiral Erwin roared, “We can't let them get away unscathed! For the honor of Prosen, surround and annihilate them!”

“Yes!”

The Deputy Officer turned to relay the orders.

At that moment, Erwin heard a guard shouting outside the Headquarters, “Akh, it hurts!”

He tensed up immediately, “Go see what's happening! What are the guards shouting about?”

The next moment, the rattle of machine guns filled the air.

Prosen infantry and Armored Grenadiers were well equipped with machine guns, and five tripod-mounted heavy machine guns were set up around the Headquarters, with the one at the main gate now firing.

The next moment, the sound of a grenade explosion forcefully cut off the gunfire.

Then came the 'tat-tat-tat' of sweep fire, which was clearly different from the MP38/40 submachine guns used by Prosen forces, sounding more hollow.

The Deputy Officer rushed in from outside, reporting loudly, “The enemy is attacking the main gate, looks to be about a platoon's strength! General, let's move out through the rear door!”

“No,” Erwin shook his head, “The most vulnerable time is during a move. Don't worry, we still have tanks here!”

As soon as he finished speaking, another explosion sounded outside, and everyone in the room turned just in time to see the turret of a Panzer IV belonging to the African Army Corps flying into the air.

It was one of the short-barreled Fours.

The African Army's equipment was poor, with even some units still using the Panzer III with its 37mm gun.

Admiral Erwin's Deputy Officer turned pale, “This place is no longer safe, there's no telling how many enemies will break in. The United Kingdom's special forces have achieved many victories in the northern countries, we mustn't underestimate them! Let's go, General!”

Erwin pursed his lips, hesitated for a moment but still grabbed the camera from the table, “You're right, we'll move to the 15th Armored Division Headquarters. Let's go.”

The Deputy Officer, relieved, immediately summoned three guards, who surrounded the Admiral and headed towards the Headquarters' rear door.

No sooner had they stepped out the door than the lead guard suddenly clutched his throat and fell.

The Admiral hadn't heard a gunshot, only the whisper of an arrow.

Before anyone could react, a second “whiz” came through the air. The Deputy Officer reacted quickly, pushing the Admiral out of the way, only to get a one-meter-long arrow shot into his shoulder!

Erwin's eyes widened as he stared at the arrow, subconsciously unfastening the camera case, intending to take a picture.

However, the remaining guards pounced on him and covered him completely with their bodies.

At the same time, the shoulder-shot Deputy Officer, holding the Sten Submachine Gun with one hand, began firing into the darkness.

A third arrow struck true, hitting his throat and cutting off the gunfire immediately.

The Deputy Officer attempted to speak, but only a hissing leak of breath sounded.

Then the rip of canvas-like machine-gun fire erupted, as a Panzer III Command tank approached, firing on all cylinders and using its hull to shield Admiral Erwin and the guards.

Erwin yelled, “Turn on the headlights! Turn them on and light up the enemy!”

The Panzer III's tank commander had already been half-out of the turret and, hearing Erwin's command, immediately ordered the lights on.

The tank's headlights came on, illuminating the pitch-black yard as if it were broad daylight.

A United Kingdom soldier poised with a longbow, ready to shoot, was also lit up.

Erwin, upon seeing this soldier, also instinctively thought to take a photo, but the man vanished like a startled mole.

The machine gun's tracer bullets immediately tore up the ground tiles where the enemy had been.

A Molotov cocktail flew in from nowhere but was thrown too far, landing on the tank's tracks and igniting them.

The tank itself was unaffected, with the machine gun continuing its relentless fire.

Erwin heard someone shout something in Onsa language.

Quick as a flash, a three-wheeled motorcycle, used by the Corps Command's messengers, sped into the yard, the rider ducking low as he and the bike dashed through the co-axial machine gun fire of the tank turret, heading for the rear door of the Headquarters.

Passing the gatehouse, that “bowman” sprinted out and jumped onto the vehicle.

He slung the bow over his back, took out the bagpipes, and began to play an unidentified tune.

To the melancholic sound of the bagpipes, the United Kingdom soldiers stopped their attack and disappeared into the darkness.

The gunfire quickly fell silent.

Admiral Erwin: “All right, you two, let me get up!”

No response came.

The admiral could only push away the two men pinning him down by himself, and it was then that he discovered both guards had an arrow lodged in their backs, soaked thoroughly with blood.

Erwin pulled out an arrow and examined it closely.

The design was ancient, yet it was clear that it had been crafted with advanced modern techniques.

Erwin dropped the arrow, stood up, and looked at the four corpses around him.

The deputy officer still had his eyes open, displaying an unwillingness to let go.

Erwin squatted down, took out an undelivered letter and the photograph of his fiancee from the deputy officer's pocket, and with a sense of formality, tucked them into his own, then gently closed the deputy officer's eyes.

At that moment the chief of staff hurried over: “We'll be ready to burn the maps and move to the 15th Armored Division Headquarters shortly.”

“There's no need, the enemy has already retreated,” Erwin waved his hand dismissively, “Count the personnel and bury the dead.”

He spoke while turning his back, facing the riverfront docks ablaze with fire.

To tell the truth, this brush with danger and the death of the deputy officer dealt a considerable blow to the “Empire's most promising Novae.”

After a brief contemplation, he said, “We might not be able to take Alexandria. We must retreat back to Tobruk before the enemy starts to counter-attack.”

The chief of staff nodded: “I agree. In fact, I've wanted to suggest a retreat for a while. After all, our principal Armored Divisions have suffered severe equipment losses, and the enemy's Seventh Armored Division disappeared from the frontline two months ago and should now be fully rested and re-armed.

“We only have 88 mm guns and a limited number of long-barreled Four to combat Matilda II tanks. If they launch an attack, the situation will turn very grim.”

Erwin nodded: “You're right. Let's retreat. I'll handle the Emperor's side of things.”

The chief of staff shook his head: “No, general, the Emperor didn't really expect you to sever the canal. He probably just wanted you to hold up the United Kingdom's forces at Mamluk.

“They pose less of a threat in the remote North Africa than if they were to land on Sicily and menace the southern reaches of the Empire.”

Erwin furrowed his brow; he had already deduced the Emperor's intentions but was reluctant to carry them out. Engaging in a mere holding action was not at all in line with his military philosophy.

What Erwin revered was offense, relentless offense, that forced the enemy into a continuous retreat, screaming for mercy.

Unfortunately, now they could no longer sustain the attack, burdened by the overextended supply lines, alongside unimpressive Air Force support, forcing his offense to draw to a halt.

Erwin turned to gaze at Alexandria's still-burning port.

He pulled out a camera, framed the city through the viewfinder, but didn't press the shutter.

Because without an AI compensation algorithm, nighttime photography without a flash wouldn't capture anything–no, even with a flash, it wouldn't yield any good photos.

Erwin put down the camera and etched the scene before him deeply into his memory.

“We made it to Alexandria,” Admiral Erwin told the chief of staff, “We got there!”

The chief of staff too turned towards the city and nodded firmly: “Yes, we did.”

The next morning at dawn, General Margo arrived at the Seventh Armored Division's assembly area in a jeep.

The Seventh Armored Division had just been re-eqipped with a large number of M4 Sherman tanks, and after months of rest in Mamluk's largest city, Rocca, their morale was high.

Seeing the general's jeep arrive, the tank operators ceased their final checks and shouted: “General! When are we going to give those Prosens a thrashing?”

Margo stood up in the jeep and yelled back at the soldiers: “Now! Dammit, you've already received your orders!”

The jeep continued on to the head of the column.

Division Commander Smith greeted him with a salute, then asked: “General, do you intend to lead us into the charge personally like Erwin would by jumping into a tank?”

Margo shook his head: “No. The Prosen's Erwin would do that, Ante's Rocossov would do it, and the Federation's young George would probably do the same. But not me, no. First off, I'm an infantry officer…”

Division Commander Smith: “So is Erwin, he even wrote a book on the joint offensive of infantry and artillery.”

Margo: “But now he's seen as an outstanding armored troops commander, at least that's what Prosen newspapers say. Same for Rocossov, and George, well, he's the one who built the Federation's Armored Troops.

“Look at me, I can't even drive a tank, not even a little bit.”

Smith: “General, a tank commander doesn't need to know how to drive, only how to give orders. Care to give it a try?”

General Margo raised an eyebrow: “Really? Maybe I'll consider it…”

But he immediately shook his head: “No, better not.”

Smith: “How about this? You could stand in a Sherman, with the upper half of your body showing, holding binoculars, just in time for a photographer from The Times to snap a photo of you.”

General Margo stroked his chin thoughtfully for a few seconds and nodded: “Okay, that's not a bad idea. Pick out a Sherman in good condition for me.”

“All Shermans are in good condition, General, we're prepared to strike at the Prosens.”

General Margo removed his medal-laden jacket: “Here, lend me one of the tank operator's uniforms, let's take a picture to commemorate driving the Prosens out of Alexandria!”

Chapter end

Report