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Gao Fei gave them a rough summary of what had happened to him. By the time he finished, every one of them was bristling with righteous indignation. "Fuck, those bastards deserve to die." "No idea what gang that is in Moscow, but if we ever get the chance, let's take them out." Sokholov and Samir both looked furious. Only Glaski wore an expression of wistful sympathy as he said, "To think you came to Russia just to collect a debt. Ah, I'm the opposite—I'm in debt myself, though I'd never try to get my creditor killed." Everyone turned to look at Glaski. Sokholov asked, "Haven't you settled your debts yet?" "Soon. Almost paid off. Speaking of which, Rex, you really are a ruthless one—managing to escape under those circumstances, and even taking out those bastards to boot. No wonder a big shot like Osokayev pays attention to you." "Don't go spreading this around," Gao Fei said. "If word gets out, I'm afraid I won't ever be able to go home. Is Osokayev really considered a big shot?" Sokholov pondered for a moment, then said, "He knows the company commander and they're probably friends, so he's definitely a big shot." All right. In the eyes of grunt soldiers like Sokholov, the company commander was a big shot, so anyone who was friends with the company commander was undoubtedly one as well. Truth be told, Gao Fei saw it the same way. Samir said with undisguised envy, "Rex, I didn't expect you to have a big shot looking out for you right after arriving. You're in a much safer position now." Glaski chuckled. "We'll reap the benefits too. Maybe from now on, the commander won't send us on especially dangerous missions." "What are you dreaming about? Nothing's ever that easy. All right, let's split the money." Sokholov pulled out the stack of bills the company commander had given him. He counted out four for Glaski, counted four more into his own pocket, then counted out eight banknotes to hand to Gao Fei while passing the rest to Samir with his other hand. Gao Fei reached out and took the bills. They were all large-denomination hundred-euro notes—the very first time he had ever seen euros in person. "Two hundred each for yesterday's daytime fight, and six hundred each for the two of you for the night raid. That makes eight hundred euros apiece for you two." Sokholov wasn't about to debate whether the split was fair or not. He simply explained the breakdown, then immediately added, "Stow the cash away." Glaski gave his four bills a snap between his hands. "Euros, no less. I thought it'd be rubles. Not bad." Gao Fei asked with a touch of nervousness, "Did they always pay in rubles before?" "Not necessarily. In the beginning, it was US dollars. Later on, they paid in both dollars and euros, but recently they've been giving more rubles." Samir made a bitter face. "When I signed the agreement, the contract clearly stated settlement in euros." Sokholov replied without hesitation, "If they hand you rubles at the official exchange rate, will you take them or not? If you don't want them, fine, but will you take them?" "I'll take them, of course I will." "Then what's there to complain about?" Samir sighed. "Still, you lose out on so much that way." "Better than nothing." Gao Fei stayed silent. In his head, he first converted eight hundred euros into yuan, then pondered how to send the money home. Eight hundred euros was five thousand six hundred yuan. Five thousand six hundred in a single day—far better than working an ordinary job. Yet how could he mail physical cash back? Save up a pile of cash and wire it through a bank? But if he ended up dead, wouldn't all that money just vanish? *Spit, spit, spit. I won't be that unlucky.* As Gao Fei drifted off in thought, Sokholov asked, "What are you spacing out about?" "I was thinking about how to get this money to my family. Can the Wagner Group help wire it?" "Don't you dare. Keep a tight hold on your cash. Those people would love nothing more than to snatch your euros back and swap them for rubles. Find your own way to get the money home later." In the beginning, no one would have discussed such matters openly, but now they could speak their minds freely. It seemed Sokholov and Glaski were none too pleased with Wagner's financial policies either. Glaski grumbled irritably, "It always sounds great at the start, but give it time and everything changes." Sokholov sighed. "Still better than the penal battalion." Right then, a rapid series of artillery booms suddenly detonated. After just a single day, Gao Fei could already tell the difference between 152 mm artillery shells, rocket artillery, and 122 mm shells. Telling the munitions apart was simple: their sounds differed distinctly in volume and pitch, making them easy to identify. Gao Fei still couldn't gauge the distance to the impact points, but he could tell by the sound alone that these were landing on the enemy's side. It looked like today's battle was about to begin. As if on cue, the men all looked toward the enemy line. Plumes of smoke and dust rose from the impact craters, making the strike locations clear to see. The shells were concentrated primarily along the enemy's forward edge; every blast point marked a primary breach target. This was zeroing fire: firing a shot according to coordinates to see where it landed before unleashing a massive barrage. Judging by the pattern, it looked to be a creeping barrage. Today's fight was going to be massive. Before a major operation, wasting shells on scattered, isolated targets made no sense. As for why the company commander had dared to walk a group of men along the trenches earlier, it was because neither side could really hide their movements from the other anymore. The moment the Russian side began assembling, the opposing side knew. And knowing a major battle was imminent, the enemy was bound to concentrate their forces to brace against the assault. The zeroing fire ended. True to form, the large-scale bombardment began immediately. As the cannons roared and shells began raining down thick and fast on the enemy's positions, Gao Fei saw numerous figures suddenly emerge from the trenches on his side. No tanks, no armored vehicles—just artillery pounding followed by infantry charging. It was practically World War I all over again. Once the penal battalion seized the enemy's forward positions, the artillery would roll forward, and the penal battalion would keep pressing ahead. As for how far they could push, that depended entirely on what the Ukrainians had to say about it. When the infantry of the penal battalion had advanced barely a hundred meters or so in loose formation, shells finally began slamming into the open ground between the two trench lines. In the very first volley, casualties struck the penal battalion. Before they could even trade fire, the infantry had to endure the enemy's artillery. The Ukrainian fire was noticeably sparser. Their supply of shells was inadequate, nowhere near that of the Russians. Moreover, the Russians had held back several long-range rocket systems. When the Ukrainian artillery deployed to the rear opened fire, counter-battery radar immediately locked onto the enemy artillery positions based on the incoming trajectories. Thus, as the infantry began their charge, the duel between the two sides' artillery commenced alongside it. The artillerymen on both sides were actually quite proficient; one could tell from the impact points that neither side was firing blindly. Shells landed consistently where they were meant to. Even so, watching this unfold left Gao Fei scoffing inwardly. What era was this? Fighting a war with World War II tactics—it was utterly outdated. Gao Fei wanted to watch a bit longer, but he hadn't been looking for more than a few moments before Sokholov shouted beside him, "Everyone get back in the dugouts! Shells don't have eyes! Take cover!"