Eagle Sauce: The 055 destroyer was launched into the sea just after the founding of the country?

"Marshal! You're awake! Quick, let the doctor take a look!"

An adjutant exclaimed in surprise.

Several American military doctors quickly surrounded him and tried to examine him.

But Malinov just waved them away roughly and struggled to sit up from the makeshift camp bed like an enraged polar bear.

His face was still pale, but his bloodshot eyes were burning with an almost sickly and terrifying light.

"Water..." He squeezed out a word hoarsely.

The adjutant quickly handed over a military water bottle.

Malinov snatched it away, unscrewed the lid, and gulped the cold water down his throat, as if it was not water but strong liquor that could extinguish the raging anger in his heart.

The brief fainting did not calm him down. Instead, it caused the shame and anger to ferment and condense in his mind, eventually turning into something more dangerous - an extreme fear of failure.

Zero to forty-eight...

Go back? How?

Just return to Moscow, to the Kremlin in disgrace, to face that pipe-smoking man with eyes colder than the Siberian cold?

No, I can't go back! I'm not a loser!

I, Rodion Yakovlevich Malinov, am a hero of the Russians and a marshal!

I can't go back with such a record that is a national disgrace!

Where would Joseph send me? The Gulag? Or some godforsaken farm to dig potatoes for the rest of my life?

No! He'd kill me himself! Just like he did with those "incompetent" people!

Horrible scenes flashed through his mind, making him shudder.

The instinct for survival and the arrogance of a soldier collided violently in his body. In the end, the deep fear overwhelmed all rationality and turned into a gambler's, desperate madness.

He stood up suddenly, his body shaking slightly with excitement, but his eyes became extremely sharp, like a hungry wolf that was forced into a desperate situation and was about to launch a final counterattack.

He looked around at the American and Russian generals in the command center who were looking at each other in dismay and gave his orders in an unquestionable growl that was almost squeezed out from between his teeth.

"Send my order!"

His voice was hoarse, but contained a determination like the friction of metal.

"Signalman! Connect me to the command channel of all Apocalypse tank combat units!"

"Marshal, you need to rest..."

A Russian major general advised cautiously.

"I don't need it!" Malinov roared fiercely, his voice like a bell, shaking the entire command center. "What I need is a victory! A complete victory! Now! Immediately! Immediately!"

He staggered to the huge electronic sand table, picked up a baton, ignored the red warning marks on it that represented a disastrous defeat in the air battle, and poked the tip of the baton hard into the heart of the Republic of Pennsylvania. The huge force almost pierced through the expensive sand table.

"Do they think that if they win in heaven, the war is over? How naive!"

He sneered, the muscles on his face twisted with extreme emotion.

"They forget that the final decision in war always takes place on land! Beneath the tracks of the steel torrent!"

He took a deep breath and began to explain his crazy plan with a set of logic that sounded very convincing, both to his subordinates and to hypnotize himself.

"The Dragon Nation's air power has indeed exceeded our expectations. But precisely because of this, they must be in a post-war adjustment period now!"

"Their drones need replenishment, their pilots need rest, and their missiles need reloading! This is when they are at their weakest, and this is our 'window of opportunity'!"

"Now, before they react, while there is a brief vacuum in their air superiority! We must seize this opportunity!"

He turned around and stared at everyone present with burning eyes, especially those American generals who looked doubtful.

"We lost the sky, but we still have the land! We still have over a hundred Apocalypses! Over a hundred mobile, indestructible fortresses!"

His tone became passionate and enthusiastic.

"Don't forget the 'force field shield'! It's a miracle that can even withstand nuclear explosions! The Dragon people's primitive artillery and missiles are nothing but children's toys in front of it!"

"Even if, I mean even if!" he emphasized, "they can use their lives and concentrated firepower to knock down a few of our Apocalypses by chance, so what?"

"The remaining ninety, eighty, or even fifty Apocalypses would be enough to crush all of Pennsylvania's ground forces into dust! Razor their city to the ground!"

"It will be a massacre! A resounding victory, led by us! When that happens, the whole world will only remember the mighty name of our Iron Legion!"

He opened his arms as if he had seen a vision of victory.

"As for that minor air combat defeat... well, it will only become an insignificant, even humorous, blemish in the footnotes of this great victory!"

His speech was full of incitement. The bloodthirsty light in the eyes of those originally depressed Russian officers rekindled. They straightened their chests and let out beast-like growls to express their support.

Although those hawkish generals still had doubts, they had no choice but to accept it under the pressure of Malinov's unquestionable powerful aura and his blind faith in the "force field shield".

After all, in name only, Malinov was the supreme military commander of this joint operation.

Seeing that no one dared to object, Malinov showed a ferocious smile.

He grabbed the communicator and spoke into the microphone, using all his strength to issue the final order for the general attack.

"I am Marshal Malinov! 'Apocalypse' Legion, everyone, pay attention!"

"I command! All units, attack immediately! Abandon your defensive stance and charge the enemy positions at top speed!"

"Ignore any harassment from the air! Ignore any losses! You have only one mission!"

“Crush them!!”

The order was given, like a huge rock thrown into a lake.

On the horizon of the front line, the more than one hundred "Apocalypse" tanks that were dormant like prehistoric beasts began to emit low roars from their silent engines.

The huge twin-barreled gun slowly rose up, flashing a cold metallic light.

Light blue "force field shields" like energy films unfolded one by one around the tanks, wrapping them into invulnerable steel hedgehogs.

Then, a torrent of steel began to surge.