My soldiers are all Fourth Calamities!

18. God and the Tsar will bless me!

Half a minute later.

The corporal soon heard gunshots behind him, "Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!"

Gunfire erupted in unison.

The White Army officer finally realized what was happening and began to organize his troops for a counterattack.

The company commander at the forefront had several men fall beside him, some of whom were lively and energetic new recruits.

The company commander turned around, looked at the troops behind him, and shouted, "Hurrah!"

"Hurrah-la-la!" A long shout rang out from the ranks. Hundreds of new recruits stepped over the corpses of their comrades, forming an irregular but fierce and energetic group, rushing towards the White Army.

Whether he wanted to or not, the White Army officer covered the retreat of the corporal behind him.

The corporal spurred his horse and fled out of the forest, having lost all courage and thought of turning back to provide support.

An overwhelming sense of fear gripped him, and he couldn't go back to that dangerous place.

The corporal and his teammates had just rushed out of the forest when they saw a group of people also riding horses approaching in the distance, and they were momentarily stunned.

Only the corporal was the first to recognize that group of people—the enemy.

"God help us, brothers," the White Army corporal's voice rang in the ears of the other White Army soldiers, "Run! That's the enemy! Don't stand still."

As they turned toward another avenue, they spotted another cavalry unit in the distance—led by Rochester.

Faced with such a predicament, the White Army corporal was utterly despondent; he couldn't understand it.

How did they catch up with him, and how did they know his location? This forest is so vast, and the terrain is so complex... Could it be that some villagers were guiding them?

He quickly dismissed these thoughts.

His mind was quickly consumed by the struggle between life and death—and life prevailed.

This was the most intense mental activity of his life; the hope for life awakened his appreciation for it.

He thought of his grandfather.

His grandfather fought against the enemy on the bridge over the Naise River during the war with Napoleon.

He remembered the line his grandfather had mentioned.

He saw it.

His cavalry force was separated from the enemy by an empty space, with a line of unknown terror running through the middle—a line of life and death that separated the two sides.

He sensed the line, and his unease stemmed from the question: should he cross it? And if so, how?

The fear of death slowed everything down; he could anticipate the horse's movements and see the scenery ahead clearly.

He noticed a lone tree ahead. This tree was right in the middle of that terrifying line.

As countless people have said, when a person is terrified on the battlefield, they will no longer be afraid.

And now, he feels it.

"Da-da-da-da-da".

The sound of horses' hooves thundered.

Now that they had crossed the line, the White Army corporal felt not fear at all, but rather increasing joy and excitement. "Heh, watch me cut to my heart's content," the White Army corporal thought to himself.

"Hurrah-la-la!!" he shouted.

"Whoever it is, if they fall into my hands now, let them try." The corporal thought to himself as he brandished his saber and charged forward with another soldier, leaving everyone else behind.

The enemy is already visible ahead.

Three hundred meters!

Two hundred meters!

One hundred meters!

"Come on! Let me see..."

Suddenly, it felt as if a dozen or so stone-like objects flew over.

Just as the White Army corporal was about to raise his saber to strike, the soldier who had charged ahead with him was killed in several explosions.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

The White Army corporal realized what the stone-like thing was, but he felt like he was in a dream, feeling as if he were still speeding along while simultaneously feeling as if he were standing still.

Several more explosions followed.

A familiar soldier caught up with him from behind, looked at him with a pained expression, and his horse swerved to the side and went around him.

"What's going on? I can't move? -- I've fallen? I've been killed...?" The corporal asked himself in an instant.

The familiar smell of earth wafted over.

He lay alone in the wilderness.

What he saw was no longer the backs of galloping horses and cavalry, but the still land and stubble-covered farmland all around him.

Beneath him was warm blood.

"No, I was injured, and the horse must have been killed. Did the horse and I escape to this wilderness?"

He saw the horse beside him.

The poor horse tried to lift its front legs, but fell down, trapping its feet again.

Blood was flowing from the horse's head.

The horse struggled, but couldn't stand up.

He wanted to pull his foot out, he wanted to stand up, but he couldn't move.

Where is the enemy?

Where is the enemy?!

he does not know.

There wasn't a soul in sight.

Only him and his horse.

"Where is that line that clearly separates the two armies now? In which direction?" he asked himself, but could not answer.

At that moment, he felt as if his numb left arm was something superfluous.

My hands don't feel like my own.

He looked at his hands but found no blood.

Suddenly he heard footsteps, and his body was suddenly able to move.

"Is someone coming?" he thought excitedly, sitting up straight. "My commander has come to save me!"

He looked toward the source of the footsteps. At the front was a man in a military overcoat, tanned dark, followed by two others, and then many more, dozens...hundreds.

They weren't teammates.

One of them said something in his hometown dialect.

"Haha...it must be one of our men who's been captured...Could they be here to capture me too? Who are these people? Enemies?"

He suddenly couldn't help but recall the love his mother, family, and friends had for him, and how his enemies wanted to kill him—which seemed impossible.

The horse beside him disappeared.

He stood up.

In a daze, he saw someone rushing towards him with a bayonet. He grabbed his pistol but didn't shoot at the man. He didn't know why, but he simply threw it at the man and then ran as fast as he could towards the bushes.

He ran wildly, feeling like a rabbit fleeing from a hunting dog.

He quickly ran across the paddy field ridge. He saw the golden rice paddies and the windmills. He turned his head in horror and saw his childhood playmates who used to play "Eagle Catches Chickens." He ran even faster—using the same running speed he used when playing "Eagle Catches Chickens," sprinting across the fields, occasionally turning his pale and youthful face.

He was soon filled with rage again; his childhood friends were said to have betrayed the Tsar! Join the "Redwitt League"!

Those bastards!

The Tsar was so great!

"No, don't look back," he thought, but as he ran towards the bushes, he looked back one more time.

He could no longer see the man's face. He thought, "They want to kill me? That's impossible. God help me!"

Just then, he felt such a heavy weight in his left hand, as if two extremely heavy weights were hanging on it.

He couldn't run anymore...

......

Rochester jumped off his horse and looked at the White Army corporal lying on the ground before him, his left hand pinned down by his horse, his right hand touching the undrawn pistol at his waist. Rochester sighed.

The scene he had just witnessed had undoubtedly terrified him—the White Army soldier was brandishing his saber—and for a moment, he was genuinely afraid that he would die.

But as a commander, he must be brave enough. On the battlefield, if a commander shows hesitation or even fear, the morale of the entire team will be affected.

He then looked at the players, and had to admit...

The player's grenade throws were incredibly accurate...