Chapter 88
Wang Zhong rode his white horse and paused when he reached the road leading to the fertilizer plant.
Because in his memory, this was an alleyway barely wide enough for one vehicle - if a car and a tricycle came from opposite directions, they'd be stuck.
Now the road was wide open, as the roadside walls had been blown apart, and the houses behind the walls were half-collapsed, in complete disarray.
Wang Zhong turned to look at Grigori, who was carrying the flag for him: "Is this the place?"
Grigori: "Yes, just go straight ahead."
Wang Zhong advanced a few steps, turned a corner, and saw a destroyed Prossenian tank, with a Protectorate Army soldier collecting weapons and ammo from dead Prossenian soldiers nearby.
Next to the Protectorate soldier stood a mule cart piled high with ammunition and weapons.
Among the pile of Prossenian bolt-action rifles, Wang Zhong spotted several Tokarev semi-automatic rifles.
Bucephalus seemed to sense something, walking straight to the mule cart so Wang Zhong could pick up one of the guns.
The blood on the gun had already dried. Wang Zhong pulled back the bolt and found it nearly unusable due to congealed blood - without thorough cleaning, it would jam after one shot.
The bayonet was spotless, likely because its previous owner had died before using it.
The Protectorate soldier collecting equipment said: "General, the young man who carried this gun has been taken away. All our boys have been taken away."
Wang Zhong: "Taken where?"
That storage area over there. It was meant for storing fertilizer to be shipped out, but now it's become a huge morgue, a huge morgue!" The Protectorate soldier, probably uneducated, could only repeat the word "huge.
Wang Zhong placed the gun back on the mule cart and said to Grigori: "Let's go take a look."
With that, he gently nudged Bucephalus's belly with his foot.
The horse stepped forward lightly, as if unwilling to break the silence that enveloped the battlefield.
The storage area wasn't far, just past seven wrecked Prossenian tanks.
Calling it a storage area was generous - it was just a flat patch of ground with weeds, more like a grassy field, typical of the Ante Empire's casual attitude.
Now the field was covered with bodies in khaki uniforms.
Several older women pushed a cart around, covering the young men with black cloths.
A nun led them, shaking a bell while humming a requiem.
Soldiers of the 31st Guards Infantry Regiment gathered near the storage area, watching the nun bid farewell to their comrades. Seeking shade from the heat, they stood in the shadow of the neighboring chemical plant's tall buildings.
The setting sun's light passed through the ruined structures, casting a red glow over the empty storage area.
The shadow's edge seemed like a boundary between two worlds - the living watching the dead.
Only the requiem echoed through the desolate scene.
Wang Zhong closed his eyes, recalling those young faces. The enemy had come too quickly - he hadn't had time to match all their faces with names.
But that wouldn't stop him from seeing them off.
Wang Zhong dismounted, glanced at the flag Grigori held, then took out a notebook and pencil before stepping into the sunlight, into the realm of the dead.
He reached the first body at the storage area's lower right corner, loudly recited the young man's name, and wrote it down in his notebook.
Slowly, he moved from person to person, calling out each name and recording it.
The 31st Regiment soldiers stood up silently to watch him.
Wang Zhong lost count of how many names he'd called. He only knew he'd worn down several pencils, having to stop and sharpen them with his pocket knife.
Seeing what he was doing, the nun quietly signaled the older women to pause covering the bodies, and the requiem temporarily ceased.
The voices of the living echoed through this domain of death.
Wang Zhong suddenly stopped, staring solemnly at one body before reciting the name with heavy heart: "Alexei Barfionovich. May you reunite with that girl in heaven."
The nun made a triangular sign over her chest and whispered: "Amen."
Wang Zhong continued recording names until the fertilizer plant's shadow completely swallowed the storage area.
Standing at the shadow's edge, he turned to see the blood-red sunset.
At some point, all surviving soldiers of the 31st Regiment had gathered at the storage area's edge, watching Wang Zhong, watching their general.
Grigori stood among them, holding the flag.
Wang Zhong approached the soldiers.
Perhaps the scene was too solemn - no one broke the silence with orders.
Wang Zhong stopped before them: "I promised to remember all your names. But I haven't had time to do so."
The young soldiers pressed their lips together, watching him.
Wang Zhong raised his notebook: "This book records everyone who died today. Many more will likely be added later.
"One day, when I command an army group or even a front, the death toll will be too large for any notebook to record.
"But I promise, I'll remember every drop of blood shed for victory. Look at this flag!"
Wang Zhong gestured to Grigori.
The Sergeant Major stepped forward five paces, positioning the flag where everyone could see it clearly.
Wang Zhong: "This flag was brought out by a veteran named Rezenov, who died rescuing me from danger. Many others died saving me - their blood stains this flag.
"I carry this flag to remember those civilians who died saving me.
"Now, I've decided to dye this flag completely red with pigment. It will represent all soldiers who died today.
"It will represent every brave soul who died defending our homeland since this war began!
"Whenever we see this red flag, we'll remember our sacrifices, the price we paid for victory!
"In this massive, all-consuming war, many likely died in the initial chaos without leaving their names.
"This red flag will represent every one of them! We will never forget!"
Wang Zhong paused, looking at these faces as young as the dead.
Someone began shouting: "We remember!"
Others joined: "We remember!"
"We remember!"
"We remember!"
After the chorus faded, Wang Zhong continued: "If I fall one day, my blood will stain this flag too. Grigori! Go dye the flag red!"
Grigori ran off, mounted his horse, and disappeared in a cloud of dust.
Watching the flag disappear, Wang Zhong turned back to the young men: "Vasily! Is Vasily here? Or is he injured?"
Vasily: "Here! I've got your precious walkie-talkie, it's fine! Don't punish me!"
Wang Zhong: "I wasn't going to punish you. Or do you want to carry manure that badly?"
"No, not at all!"
Wang Zhong: "I heard your father's a music professor?"
"Yes." Vasily looked uncomfortable - clearly some tension there.
Wang Zhong: "Then sing something fitting for this occasion!"
"This... General, at a time like this?"
Wang Zhong: "What? We can't sing now?"
"But it's so sad..."
"Yes, it's sad. But do the dead want us weeping? No! They want us to fight bravely for them! They want vengeance, blood for blood!
"Sing! Something powerful!"
Vasily frowned: "This..."
"Didn't your father teach you music?" Wang Zhong asked, puzzled.
Filippov shouted: "Report!"
Wang Zhong: "Speak!"
"He did, General! He's great at music! Even plays trumpet!"
Vasily glared at his traitorous friend.
Wang Zhong: "So, someone with good musical education says there's no song for this occasion?"
"At least none I've learned."
Wang Zhong thought: What luck - I know such a song, but don't know the Ante lyrics. Singing in Chinese would just confuse everyone.
But this moment called for that song - it fit perfectly.
So he hummed a line, confirming it was still in untranslated Chinese.
Though quiet, Vasily heard - probably thanks to his musician father's genes.
"What song is that? I've never heard it! Can't understand the words, but the melody conveys meaning!" Vasily asked curiously, "What is it?"
Wang Zhong had an idea.
He asked: "Have you studied composition?"
"Uh... I've never tried, but my dad forced me to learn music theory all the time. I can give it a shot."
At that moment, Wang Zhong's thoughts became clear: I won't translate the song, but I can recite it. Once it's recited and translated, Vasily can figure out how to turn the content into singable lyrics.
So he said: "Then take a look, set this to music, and turn it into a song!"
With that, he turned to glance at the storage area full of bodies and began to recite:
The wind and smoke roll as we sing of heroes
The green mountains on all sides listen intently, listen intently
Thunder roars in the clear sky, striking golden drums
The great sea rises in waves, harmonizing with the sound
The people's warriors drive away tigers and panthers
Fearless sacrifice protects peace
Why is the battle flag beautiful as a painting?
Heroes' blood has dyed it red
Why does the earth stay forever spring?
Heroes' lives bloom as flowers!
Filippov's mouth formed an "O": "You're a poet too?"
Vasily wrote down the lyrics in his notebook, silently reread them, then sharply commented: "The rhyme scheme is a bit odd-needs revision. But it does have a tragic-yet-not-sorrowful quality!"
Nonsense, this is one of the immortal treasures from my true homeland in another timeline!
Wang Zhong patted Vasily's shoulder: "I order you to survive, revise it well, then set it to music."
"I'll try." Vasily looked at the lyrics in his notebook, "It says 'heroes' blood has dyed it red'... Did you think of this line after seeing the flag?"
Sadly, no.
As Wang Zhong was about to answer, engine sounds came from the sky.
He quickly switched to overhead perspective and saw enemy reconnaissance planes flying at high altitude.
This time Wang Zhong carefully confirmed these weren't bombers carrying Fritz X radio-guided bombs.
Vasily also gazed skyward: "Damn the enemy-where is our air force?"
As he spoke, something reflected the setting sun's light in the sky.
A pair of MiG-3s appeared!
The enemy reconnaissance plane immediately fired intercepting shots, but the two MiG-3s nimbly maneuvered to its six o'clock position.
After a short burst, the Do 215's left engine caught fire, trailing thick smoke as it plunged groundward.
The two MiG-3s followed relentlessly until the enemy plane crashed.
Then the fighters banked and roared over the corpse-filled storage area.
The rugged pilots, having just shot down an enemy from kilometers high, hadn't closed their cockpit canopies.
In Wang Zhong's memory, only Italian pilots loved flying with open canopies "to feel the wind."
Recognizing what lay below, the pilot raised his right hand in salute.
Someone among the soldiers exclaimed: "He has six kill marks! An air force ace!"
"Ura!"
The crowd cheered!
Only Vasily kept staring at the poem Wang Zhong had just "written."
(End of Chapter)