He Really Knows His Stuff!

Everyone was fighting hard just to stay alive, and everyone had to prove their worth as best they could. Gao Fei had pretended to be a combat veteran to avoid being used as cannon fodder. Only after successfully blending in with the veterans did he get the chance to discover his extraordinary marksmanship. Samir Bek had proved his value during a night raid. It hadn't been as dramatic or obvious as Gao Fei's, but the next time a suicidal assignment came up, Sokholov would think twice before throwing Samir Bek into the meat grinder. Faced with a subordinate who was exceptionally useful, another who was fairly useful, and one who was essentially dead weight just making up the numbers, a commander choosing someone for a suicide mission would invariably pick the most useless man. That was the raw reality of the battlefield. It was true for anyone. All that talk about treating everyone equally was nonsense only fools believed. And Parker had started from the lowest point of anyone Gao Fei had ever seen. A captive—taken on a battlefield where no prisoners were kept. Parker had now secured a promise that Sokholov, at the very least, wouldn't execute him. Originally, Parker's greatest value had been carrying the suicide trio and serving as live bait. But when Parker claimed he could direct artillery fire, everything changed. Directing artillery was the domain of trained forward observers. The moment Parker claimed he could direct artillery fire, Sokholov would never have the heart to make him keep wandering around with the suicide trio as bait. Parker was the slickest old fox of a soldier Gao Fei had ever encountered. He was genuinely capable. Gao Fei looked at Parker, then turned his gaze back to Sokholov. Sokholov looked somewhat taken aback, but quickly countered, "Where the hell would we get a map for a sixty-mil mortar?!" A 60mm mortar had a maximum range of only three or four kilometers. When accompanying infantry in combat, they generally engaged within a single kilometer. At that distance, who needed a map? The forward infantry simply called out targets, and the mortar crew fired with direct line-of-sight on the enemy. A 60mm mortar was an infantry support weapon. In simpler terms: a 60mm mortar position didn't even deserve to be called an artillery position. Parker immediately shot back, "A sixty doesn't have a fixed firing position, but an eighty-two-millimeter mortar does, doesn't it?!" An 82mm mortar did have fixed emplacements—the kind of battery position that required the frontline to provide coordinates before opening fire. Back when they were on defense, Sokholov had indeed possessed a map marked with fixed coordinates to call in 82mm mortar fire support. Now, however, they were on the attack. There were no pre-designated fire points in this area. More importantly, 82mm mortars were the heaviest company-level fire assets in the Wagner Group. As a fireteam leader who had only recently stepped up as squad leader, Sokholov had no direct line to the 82mm mortar positions. "We don't have the clearance to call in fire from the eighty-two-mil mortars," Sokholov said, speaking the hard truth. Parker didn't back down. Without hesitation, he said, "It doesn't matter if you lack clearance! You can request fire support through company command. Get this straight: right now, the artillery in the rear simply doesn't have clear target coordinates. It's not that they refuse to provide fire support, nor that they're out of shells. As long as you give me the coordinates of a fixed artillery position, I can provide them with accurate fire direction!" Parker was talking big. Honestly, skills that sophisticated rarely found any use among mercenaries. No matter how many centuries had passed since the invention of the cannon, someone capable of directing beyond-visual-range artillery remained a high-value specialist. Such talent was commonplace and routine in major powers, but practically nonexistent in minor, weaker nations. Sokholov's interest was piqued. He couldn't resist edging closer to Parker, lowering his voice. "We had a radio for calling artillery, but we left it back at the defensive position. We didn't bring it. All we have right now is the walkie-talkie, and its range can't reach that far." Parker showed endless patience toward Sokholov, the man holding his life in his hands. "That doesn't matter. You contact the company commander, and he'll relay the transmission. It's fine—just give it a shot! Ask the company commander if there are any artillery units available to contact. Of course, you need a map. Without a map, I can't do anything either. I'm not a mathematical prodigy; I'm not good enough to direct fire without an artillery map." Sokholov pulled a folded waterproof map from his pocket and said nervously, "Take a look at this." Parker took it and glanced over it, then immediately said, "This works. No problem. Let me see if there are any obvious terrain features we can use as reference points." Without hesitation, Sokholov turned around, searching for that elevated observation post—the very one Gao Fei had miraculously hit with a burst from the machine gun. "Over there! That's a reference point!" Parker glanced back at the observation post, then stared down at the map, lost in thought. After a moment, he suddenly asked, "Got a pencil?" Sokholov had none. He shouted immediately, "Who's got a pencil? Who has a pen?!" "I do. I have a pencil." Surprisingly, shocking everyone, the one who produced a pencil was Andrey. Andrey handed over a pencil stub. Parker took it, spread the map across the dirt, dropped to one knee, and began scribbling calculations across the paper. "What kind of gun?" "2B24." "Max range six thousand meters. Our distance to the battery position is..." Parker stood, looked toward the elevated observation post again, extended his thumb to measure the angle, and then knelt back down. "Eyeballing it isn't perfectly accurate, but it should be around fifty-two hundred meters. Plenty of range. Pinpoint precision is out of the question, but a broad artillery barrage will solve the problem." With that, Parker looked up and urged Sokholov, "Call company command! Tell them we have a qualified graduate from the Mikhailovskaya Military Artillery Academy ready to provide coordinates. Have the guns fire on those marks!" Sokholov murmured, "The company commander won't buy it. A top graduate from an artillery academy wouldn't end up down here with us." Even as he said it, Sokholov was already keying his walkie-talkie to make the call. "Commander, Commander, calling Commander. This is Sokholov, First Squad, Assault Platoon. We... we can provide coordinates. Requesting mortar fire support, over." Sokholov wasn't even sure if company command could pick up the signal, but right after he shouted into the walkie-talkie, an answer came through. It seemed the company commander and his command post were positioned fairly far forward as well. "The mortar positions have been wiped out." The commander's words were a bucket of ice water dumped over everyone's heads. For a moment, Sokholov had no idea what to say. Parker overheard it. Beside him, he urged urgently, "Doesn't matter! Don't lose hope! Tell the company commander that a professional artilleryman from the Mikhailovskaya Military Artillery Academy is providing coordinates! You don't understand, but he knows what weight that carries! Hurry, say it!" Sokholov swallowed hard. "Commander, we have a professional artilleryman from the Mikhailovskaya Military Artillery Academy... uh, he can direct artillery fire." "What? Are you out of your mind?!" The company commander sounded furious and frantic. Sokholov assumed he had angered him. "Who? How is that possible?! The recon drones are all destroyed, the forward observers are all dead, and the guns can only shell the enemy's rear echelons! How the hell could you have an artillery commander over there?!" Sokholov looked blankly at Parker. Parker hissed, "Lie to him! Scam the artillery support first!" "There are no damn guns!" "You don't have guns! But isn't the 305th Artillery Brigade behind us? Who cares what guns they are—ask for them first! The artillery lacks forward observers, and we can provide forward observation! Are you a fucking idiot?!" Parker had completely dropped his polite act. Yet Sokholov didn't put a bullet through his head; instead, he felt that Parker daring to curse at him proved he had real confidence. Sokholov keyed the walkie-talkie again. "It's the penal battalion! There's a guy named Andrey in the penal battalion who graduated from the artillery academy. He concealed his identity!" Andrey's mouth fell open, staring at Sokholov in sheer disbelief. At that moment, Sokholov suddenly realized something: he had been speaking to the company commander in Russian, yet Parker seemed to have understood every word without the slightest language barrier. "What?! I'll contact regimental command. I'll give it a try." The company commander didn't say more. About two minutes later, he called back: "I spoke to regimental command. The 10th Artillery Regiment can provide fire support, but how are you going to give coordinates? We need exact coordinates!" Sokholov looked at Parker, who said without missing a beat, "Just give your mortar map to the artillery regiment! They're professionals; they know what to do!" After a brief hesitation, Sokholov thrust the walkie-talkie into Parker's hand. Parker grabbed it and barked in fluent Russian, "You amateurs, stop second-guessing and just do what I say! Fuck! Stop wasting time! Move!" It seemed they would have to completely re-evaluate Parker. They waited, though not for long. Roughly three minutes later, the company commander called back, his tone grave. "We've set up a relay frequency. You can direct fire based on the mortar positions. It's six 2S19 self-propelled howitzers." Parker snapped into the radio without delay, "Reference coordinate four, forward two-six-zero, right four, one round for adjustment, over." Parker spoke in Russian. Sokholov understood the individual words, but couldn't make sense of the meaning. Yet the moment Parker finished, he whispered, "Incoming! Take cover!" Parker spun around and dove straight into the dugout. After freezing for half a second, Sokholov hastily barked, "Find cover! Incoming shells, move!" If the enemy heard them, so be it; even if they heard, they wouldn't believe it. And if they did believe it, all the better—maybe they'd pull back on their own. Gao Fei scrambled into the dugout behind them. Heavy 152mm shells were no joke. If the calculations were off, blowing up friendly troops instead of the enemy happened all too often. Huddled inside the dugout, the wait felt agonizingly long. After nearly a full minute, a sudden shriek tore across the sky, followed by an earth-shattering explosion. It hit! From the roar of the blast and the violent shudder of the ground, they could tell the shell had landed close. Landing close meant it was on target. Parker crawled out of the dugout on his own initiative. He poked his head out, studied the smoke and dust billowing from the impact, and spoke into the radio again: "Reference coordinate four, forward two-five-five, right four, three rounds rapid fire, fire!" With that, Parker ducked right back into the dugout. This time, the wait was shorter. About thirty seconds later, three shells whistled overhead and slammed into the enemy positions. Dirt showered down onto Gao Fei's head, filling him with pleasant surprise. Who would have thought Parker actually had real skills? He really knew his stuff. Parker crawled out once more. After taking a look, he turned to Sokholov. "The natural shell dispersion is too wide, and we're too close to the enemy. If we target the hostiles right in front of us, the rounds might easily take us out. Fifty meters is the absolute safety limit. So we either fall back and let the artillery carpet this entire sector, or we shift the fire support to assist friendly units." Sokholov swallowed hard. "What do you mean, assist friendly units?" Parker lowered his voice. "Personally, I suggest walking the barrage outward along both flanks and blowing the enemy to pieces. As long as the shells don't drop on our heads, right? What do you think? Or we can just tell the boys to pull back a bit first." Sokholov asked quietly, "Who do you mean by the enemy?" "The Ukrainians, of course... We're on the same side now, sir." Sokholov rubbed his chin and scratched his head, his hand brushing against his helmet several times before he finally made up his mind. "We fall back first! We plaster this sector, then shift the fire outward to clear the way for our friendly units, brother!" Sokholov clapped a heavy hand onto Parker's shoulder, utterly sincere. "Once this fight is over, I'll put you in for a commendation—there's a bounty in it! It's all up to you. Hand over the pistol and binoculars. You're a specialist; you don't have to be bait anymore. Brother, call the shots—I'll follow your lead!"