Chapter 37: The King of Artillery

Late at night, half a day ago, in a small town called Ulidugar, located approximately thirty kilometers northeast of Red Tower City.

Surrounded by hills and connected by a branch of the Great Beria Railway, this town had been designated by Lieutenant General Mikhail as the general headquarters for the Red Tower Province defensive line.

Unexpectedly, Lieutenant General Antonov, commander of the Eighth Division of the Grand Duchy of Beria and the officer in charge of the province’s defense, found himself greeting a distinguished guest he was compelled to personally attend to.

"Your Highness, why have you come here? This place is far too dangerous; a nobleman of your stature should not be risking yourself in such a spot!" Standing at the entrance of the air-raid bunker, the old-school general with a square-jawed face wore an expression of profound awkwardness.

Zhang Shan responded with a smile. "Oh? Since when can the Yamato cannons reach thirty Laciary miles? Or is your bunker substandard? Or perhaps the division you have stationed here is nothing but for show?"

"Of course not, but this is the front line, after all." Antonov was desperate for the Prince to hurry back to the city of Barovsk.

In the Far Eastern military circles, a new consensus had formed regarding Prince Andrei—that exalted figure. In the past, no one would have wanted a blundering, "parachute" commander dropped on them from above. Now, however, things were different. Prince Andrei was a veritable treasure chest. Anyone else would have been utterly incapable of managing the logistics for eight regular divisions, twelve newly formed infantry divisions, and over a hundred thousand Khanate cavalrymen.

Second-rate generals value tactics; first-rate generals value logistics. Only a superior strategist is qualified to discuss grand strategy.

While the Third Prince’s strategic vision had yet to be fully tested, he was undeniably a top-tier rising star in the world of logistics. If anything were to happen to him, Antonov feared he would be torn to pieces by his colleagues upon returning.

Zhang Shan chuckled and asked one of Antonov’s guards at the entrance, "Soldier, may I borrow your rifle?"

The soldier looked distressed, casting a plea for help toward the general. Could Antonov say no? He could not. He could only watch helplessly as Zhang Shan, with unhurried movements, took the Mosin rifle hanging from the soldier's shoulder, pulled back the bolt, and verified it was loaded.

"Bang! Bang!" Two shots rang out.

With the first shot, Zhang Shan struck a small twig holding a piece of fruit on a tree thirty meters away.

With the second, he worked the bolt to eject the first casing, chambered the second round, and fired, hitting the ripening fruit while it was still in mid-air. The fruit disintegrated in the sky.

This display was nothing short of astonishing. To hit a twig near a bottle-cap-sized fruit from thirty meters away with a bolt-action rifle is proof of excellent marksmanship. To hit a piece of free-falling fruit in mid-air under the poor light of night was nothing short of divine.

Spontaneously, applause and cheers erupted around Zhang Shan.

"Ura!"

"The Prince is amazing!"

"He truly is the guardian of the Grand Duchy!"

Beside Zhang Shan, Natalie and the other female guards looked on, their beautiful eyes shimmering and crinkling into crescents. Natalie was finally certain that her master’s shots back then were no mere luck.

As the cheers died down, Zhang Shan smiled, but his tone left no room for refusal. "During the Battle of Lanuude, I personally took out four ghost soldiers, including a steam-knight pilot, and then used artillery to destroy an entire Yamato regiment. Believe me, you will need my artillery skills and my artillery brigade."

Antonov’s cheek muscles twitched slightly. Everyone knew that while Prince Andrei had secured so much equipment for the various divisions, he had kept some for himself—not only forming a combined arms brigade but also intercepting a large batch of Asgardian artillery. He had hand-picked gunners from the First Division to serve as the core, establishing a separate artillery brigade that answered only to him.

Three heavy artillery battalions, each with twelve 150mm sFH 18 heavy howitzers. Nine medium artillery battalions, each equipped with twelve 105mm leFH 18 howitzers. That totaled over one hundred and thirty large-caliber guns. Which division wouldn't covet such a configuration?

One shouldn't be fooled by the theory that every Laciary infantry division was supposed to have an artillery regiment composed of forty-eight large-caliber guns. That was just theory. When there weren't even enough Mosin rifles to go around, how could every division be fully equipped with heavy artillery? Even if they were, they were usually "antique" cannons from the last world war, with performance parameters far behind the times. In reality, only the top three Far Eastern infantry divisions could be equipped with the latest 122mm M-30 howitzers; the rest had to make do with scraps.

But the Prince had already declared that these were to be used by the front army. Now that he was personally at the front using his own artillery brigade, Antonov truly had no room to refuse.

"Very well, Your Highness, I cannot refuse your kindness. But please, promise me: during the battle, never leave my bunker, all right?"

"Of course!"

Following Antonov inside, Zhang Shan pointed seemingly at random to a spot behind Hill 114, northeast of Red Tower City. "May I station my artillery brigade here?"

Antonov’s mouth twitched, and after two seconds, he replied, "Of course you may."

He felt both pleased and pained. He was pleased because the Prince clearly had a sophisticated understanding of gunnery. The reverse slope position was excellent; hidden behind the hill, it was impossible for the enemy to observe, and there happened to be a flat patch of land perfectly suited for the brigade to deploy. Howitzers were standard curved-fire weapons, so this location was ideal. The pain came from the fact that his own battalion, equipped with 76mm howitzers from the last Great European War, would have to be moved out.

It was pathetic; field guns with a range of only eight kilometers had no place on the battlefield compared to the Prince's new cannons.

And so, Zhang Shan dozed on a cot in Antonov’s command post for half the night, finally waiting for the Yamato assault at dawn.

Just as Antonov received news of the enemy attack over the phone, another call came through.

"This is reconnaissance plane Albatross 01. Please inform the Prince: enemy positions discovered at..."

In front of Antonov, Zhang Shan walked to the tactical map, gestured a few times, and picked up another internal line. He spoke directly in code: "This is [Gustav]! Have the 4th, 5th, and 6th medium artillery battalions shell the following coordinates in three minutes..."

Hearing the Prince rattle off six-decimal-place coordinates, Antonov was bewildered. In this day and age, there were no computers to calculate ballistics. Someone who could calculate a general position within five minutes was already fit to be an artillery commander. How could anyone just recite detailed parameters and order "five rounds of rapid fire"? This was a method of calculating the enemy’s exact artillery position and saturating it with firepower to ensure no survivors.

But the cannons were his, and the shells were his. He was there to help; even if he just fired randomly, it wouldn't be the end of the world.

In this era, it was hard to be a commander. One had to extract valid information from a sea of cumbersome, potentially false, or misreported data and then make a judgment. Coupled with poor battlefield communications, anything could happen.

Antonov did not expect that, seven or eight minutes later, a call would come in.

"Prairie Eagle calling Ice Bear."

"This is Ice Bear, go ahead."

"Visually confirmed multiple massive secondary explosions about five miles behind the Yamato front line. The blast radius is huge; fireballs are shooting at least ten stories high into the sky."

Antonov was stunned. He knew what this meant—it was highly likely that the enemy’s ammunition depot, or at least their mobile ammunition trucks, had been hit. And definitely more than one.

He moved his stiff neck, which felt as if it had rusted, and slowly turned his head to look at the Prince, who was idling away, counting ants. He looked as if he had seen a ghost.

Zhang Shan looked up, beaming with sunshine. "General, I wouldn't mind if you called me the [King of Artillery]! Of course, you may simply call me the Artillery King!"