My soldiers are all Fourth Calamities!

26. You are such a delightful man!

When Rochester led his troops back to the main force, which was a dozen kilometers behind, it was already three hours after the battle.

It was already past midnight. To ensure the players maintained their combat effectiveness, the system distributed the rewards and then had them rest at the temporary camp, which meant they logged off.

Company Commander Blyucher and Company Commander Yeremenko were pacing anxiously at the crossroads when they saw Rochester return safely, and their tense nerves finally relaxed.

But when their gaze passed over Rochester and landed on the dozens of dejected prisoners behind him and the dozen or so ragged but excited comrades, the two men froze.

Rochester gave a brief description of the encounter.

This made Company Commander Blyukher and Company Commander Yeremenko break out in a cold sweat.

You mean, the entire unit, with only a few wounded, not only rescued comrades from other units but also captured dozens of enemy soldiers? And even annihilated a magic-based reinforcement unit?

God.

They wanted to deny it, and although they knew Rochester was capable, their record was simply too outrageous.

I encountered a ghost.

"You're such a delightful man! I'm delighted by your talent!" Company Commander Blyukher, his face flushed with excitement, patted Rochester's shoulder forcefully. "If I were a Ukrainian girl, I would definitely fall in love with you."

"No, no, no, no." Rochester looked at the exaggerated and strange expression on Blücher's face and was momentarily terrified, a fear that far exceeded his feelings when he encountered the canned food.

Soon, four or five more cannons and a large amount of supplies were brought into the forest. Rochester explained, "These are captured supplies."

Soon, the dull thud of wheels rolling came from deep in the forest, and four or five brand-new cannons and mountains of supplies were pulled out.

Rochester then explained, "These are spoils of war." Blyucher and Yeremenko were completely dumbfounded. They exchanged a glance and stammered in unison, "Wait, buddy?"

Rochester ignored their shock and continued to report the intelligence seriously: apart from his "Benevolent Army" and a small number of "Righteous Army" who remained at the forward camp, the most important intelligence came from the comrades who had been rescued—the remnants who had broken out of "Krossian".

Currently, "Korosten" is still heavily surrounded, only about 20 kilometers away from here. In other words, they are actually already on the front line, but due to the complex terrain of this area, the main fighting zone has been squeezed to the north.

Judging from their description, their troops have reached their limit.

This means that after daybreak, they must launch an attack on "Korosjian"—that is, at six in the morning.

But Rochester made a request: his troops could not be fully committed to the battle until eight o'clock.

All the company commanders in the command post nodded in agreement without any objection to this somewhat capricious request.

However, Rochester had a request: his troops could not be fully committed to the battle until eight o'clock.

All the company commanders in the command post nodded in agreement to Rochester's request.

Time flies, and for Rochester, in the blink of an eye, the eastern horizon is already tinged with a pale, fish-belly white.

At this time, on the front lines of "Korosten".

Sokolov's brethren are all here now, but they have been reduced by more than half, and the total number of them is no more than a thousand.

Due to a series of unforeseen events, the original salient was preserved through their staunch defense, but the problem is that now the situation has changed from "the salient being surrounded" to "the entire regiment being surrounded."

Many small groups of troops attempted to break out, but most disappeared without a trace afterward, and none of the numerous messengers sent out earlier returned.

At that time, a terrible atmosphere permeated the entire friendly forces of "Korosten".

A group of soldiers were silently carrying a stretcher toward the command post.

Their company commander, Tronov, lay dead on a stretcher.

He was killed by enemy artillery fire at four o'clock this morning.

Shrapnel tore his face apart, leaving his cheeks riddled with bullet holes and his tongue severed. The soldiers tried to wipe the dead man's face clean to avoid making him look too gruesome.

They dug a grave for Tronov near the fence in the center of Korosten and placed his body in the coffin along with a Caucasian saddle.

The soldier fired the first shot with his old, worn-out cannon.

"boom--"

The "old-fashioned cannon" the soldiers were referring to was the 1902 model 76.2mm field gun—many of which were outdated equipment left over from the Tsarist era, suffering from severe wear and tear and poor mobility. The soldiers used both "three inches" and "76.2 mm" because in the current military system of this country, the imperial unit "inch" is commonly used to refer to this type of artillery, and 3 inches is exactly 76.2 mm when converted to metric units.

The three-inch cannon, firing with all its might, paid the highest tribute to the fallen company commander, as soldiers carried the coffin to the edge of the dug grave.

The coffin lid was open, and the rising sun shone on the thin, elongated body and his mouth, which was stuffed with broken teeth.

"Soldiers!" Commander Pugachev stood beside the grave, gazing at the deceased, and said, "Comrades!" He stood at attention, trembling, and said, "We are now burying Pasha Tronov. We pay our final respects to Pasha..."

"Tronov! I'm so sorry!" Regiment Commander Pugachev raised his bloodshot eyes, looked up at the sky, and loudly mourned his sworn brother, praising this iron hammer of their unit!

After loudly reading the eulogy, Pugachev gripped the hilt of his curved Chechen saber tightly, his worn-out shoes with silver spurs scraping the ground.

After he finished speaking, the band played "The Internationale," and countless soldiers began to bid farewell to Pasha Tronov. The soldiers mounted the few remaining horses and fired a volley of gunfire into the air.

Their small, three-inch cannon fired again with a muffled thud, and then they sent three more soldiers to fetch wreaths. They quickly returned with a large bunch of red flowers. Commander Pugachev scattered the flowers beside the grave, and the soldiers approached Tronov one by one.

After accomplishing all this, Regiment Commander Pugachev angrily approached a group of prisoners—who had been captured wearing only their underwear. A pile of uniforms lay at his feet, a trick they had used to prevent Pugachev from distinguishing officers and soldiers from the uniforms.

This time, Pugachev was blinded by the death of Tronov—his brother had died under the enemy's gunfire, and for his brother's sake, he was determined to get to the bottom of it.

"Officers, step forward!" he commanded, walking towards the prisoner, drawing his revolver. "Get out here!"

Other soldiers rushed to stop Commander Pugachev, who was in a fit of rage—not because they weren't angry, nor because they didn't want to kill the prisoners, but because Pugachev's body could no longer withstand such intense emotional fluctuations.

But before the officers could come out, fierce artillery fire resumed.

"Breakout, encirclement, charge, counter-charge—what do these words even mean!" Pugachev was on the verge of despair.

He watched helplessly as his brother's head was blown off. He saw a running soldier, his legs blown off, struggling to crawl to the next crater with his mangled body.

Some of his brothers even ran up to him, holding his gushing intestines in their hands. They found a wounded soldier who, in order to avoid bleeding to death, bit down hard on the artery in his arm for two hours.

The churning earth beneath them was saved by the powerful offensive. They only lost a few hundred meters. But on every meter lay a dead man... every one of Pugachev's brothers.

Pugachev knelt on the ground.

The regimental commander, who had held out for several days, was now overwhelmed. Their ammunition was exhausted, and another enemy charge would...

what...

In a daze, he heard gunshots, followed by machine gun fire, and then... artillery fire from a distance...?

Pugachev looked up sharply and saw that fierce fighting had suddenly broken out in the enemy's trenches to the south.

Friendly forces?

Friendly forces!?