prynovel 46. The Battle of "Volunski New Town" begins!
46. The Battle of "Volunski New Town" begins!
Seeing this name and hearing these familiar words.
Rochester suddenly realized.
The powerful being was actually in his own team.
Nikolai Alekseevich Ostrovsky!
The creator and prototype of Pavel Korchagin.
But Rochester's heart tightened again. Historically, in two months, Ostrovsky would be seriously injured, then develop arthritis in the next two years, and his condition would rapidly worsen until he was completely paralyzed.
Thinking of this, Rochester's brow furrowed deeply. He had to change everything; he couldn't let him die young...
Now that this world has magical technology, arthritis shouldn't be a problem...
Ostrovsky, who was brainstorming plot ideas, looked at Rochester, who was giving him a strange look, and scratched his head. "Commander Rochester?"
"It's nothing, I just remembered some things from the past."
"Commander Rochester, what do you think? Passion and revolution are not contradictory. I... I want to write a book called 'How the Steel Was Tempered,' though it could be called something else. And then... I'll write it for a long time, as an autobiography... and finally publish it so that other young people can read my work and feel the same way we did..."
"I want to explain to the younger generation what ideals are, how to strive for them, and what kind of life a revolutionary fighter should lead!"
Ostrovsky said a lot, and Rochester listened for a long time. Finally, with Rochester's strong support, the title of the book was finalized as "How the Steel Was Tempered"—a name that Rochester was very familiar with.
At three in the morning, drowsiness finally came over him, and so did Ostrovsky.
When he woke up again, the sun was already shining on his face.
Rochester glanced at his watch; it was 8:55 a.m., and the reconnaissance was complete—the morning river fog had been confirmed to have dissipated.
Large-scale cavalry charges require a wide field of vision to avoid obstacles, so any natural factors that obstruct the view must be eliminated.
The vast grasslands and hills stretched across the horizon all day long, and the flowing rivers and enemy garrison were silent, as if the fortifications did not exist.
Only the sound of flowing water could be heard.
The sun hangs about a hand's width above the horizon.
Thousands of horses simultaneously adjusted their stance, their hooves pawing the ground and stirring up bits of grass.
The riders bent down, checked their girths, slung their rifles diagonally across their backs, and drew their sabers.
Rochester, like the players, was riding a horse. The players looked at the quest interface, eager to begin.
The bugle sounded.
Three short beeps, one long beep.
"Waaaaah——————"
The first rank of cavalrymen leaped out of their cover, followed by the second and third. The shadows of the earthen mound slid across the riders' faces, and the sunlight caught them. Their sabers were raised overhead, arms at right angles to the blades.
At first, there were scattered, muffled thuds, like distant rolling stones, then the rhythm tightened, turning into a continuous roar.
Rochester could clearly see the riders in the front row leaning forward, their chins almost touching the horse's mane, their knees gripping the saddle.
The horse's nostrils flared, exhaling white vapor.
Smoke and dust rose from the front of the formation, first pale gray, then turning yellowish-brown, and finally obscuring half the height of the charging line.
Flags appeared atop the smoke and dust, and red cloths were pulled in the same direction by the wind!
"Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!"
The fortifications on the opposite bank of the river finally showed signs of activity.
Several black dots appeared on the breast wall, moving back and forth.
The enemy's firing positions began to unleash a barrage of bullets.
But faced with such a massive, large-scale, and rapid cavalry charge, this number of bullets was simply not enough.
The vanguard of the cavalry had already charged down the riverbank, their hooves plunging into the shallow water, splashing water to both sides.
The saber was held horizontally as he ran. The blade was parallel to the horse's neck and parallel to the ground, the entire grassland already covered by a black torrent.
The horizon trembled, the sound of flowing water disappeared, swallowed by another, more ancient sound.
The riders at the front started climbing the hill.
The horse straightened its hind legs, throwing dirt backward. Gunshots rang out, but were quickly crushed by the sound of hooves.
Countless riders tumbled from their saddles, only to be swallowed up by the hooves of countless horses that followed. The formation remained unbroken, with the horses automatically filling in the gaps.
The moment the first rank of cavalrymen crossed the breastwork, Rochester saw blades slicing into bodies behind the crenellations, saw horses' forehooves slamming into sandbags, and saw a garrison soldier being knocked away by a horse, spinning halfway through the air before landing back in his own ranks.
Smoke and dust engulfed the entire fortification.
Rochester reined in his horse, and the horse spun around on the sandbag pile.
He saw a player emerge from the dust, mounted on horseback, holding not a saber, but a floral rug he'd smuggled from a Vistula officer's tent. Unfolding the rug, he saw it was embroidered with a double-headed eagle. The player wrapped it around himself like a cloak and typed on the forum: "Brothers, I got the skin."
Other players' horses leaped over barbed wire fence after fence, and one player even jumped into a trench, crashing into a heavy machine gun along with his horse.
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
The enemy artillery began firing, and countless shells landed on the left side of the cavalry army, sending mud flying and overturning several horses.
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
suddenly!
In Rochester's field of vision, a black lump of iron hung motionless in the air.
At that moment, a sentence came to mind.
Fun fact: When you see a missile hovering motionless in the sky, it's coming for you.
He instinctively tightened the reins, and the horse reared up.
Rochester felt as if an invisible fist had struck his chest, and his breath stopped.
When I opened my eyes again...
Rochester saw himself walking across an endless prairie, as if in a dream. He couldn't control his movements, or even his thoughts...
He walked forward, bewildered.
He had walked a long way, but still couldn't find his way out.
Just when he had become numb and was ready to give up.
Suddenly, from afar, came the faint sound of singing and the clanging of horses' hooves.
Rochester looked in the direction of the sound and saw a troop of cavalry riding slowly from the misty distance, humming a monotonous but melodious tune over and over again.
Rochester remembered the song, but couldn't recall its name. All he knew was that it was a microcosm of a great era, and he was so moved by the cavalrymen's voices that he began to hum along.
Ah, quietly watching them, watching their figures gradually grow larger in his eyes, their images becoming clearer; he suddenly realized that their voices were so loud, and their expressions so optimistic and determined!
In a daze, they had already passed Rochester and were advancing with unstoppable momentum!
Rochester snapped out of his reverie, wanting to say something to them, but unsure how to begin, and ultimately remained silent.
The singing gradually faded into the distance.
Rochester watched their retreating figures, trying hard to recall their faces, but found he couldn't remember them no matter what he did.
When Rochester came to his senses again, he found that they were already far away, and it seemed they would never appear again...
"Rochester! Rochester! You've got a great physique, you've got a natural talent for power armor!"
The vast grassland before him had once again become a battlefield. He was still on horseback, and beside him was Timoshenko, wearing power armor, laughing loudly.