Canteen System Assistance Notes

What is even more terrifying is that if the Japanese were allowed to capture Moresby and establish control over the entire Papua Peninsula, would they further attack New Caledonia, Fiji, and eventually land in Australia?

After signing the order for the execution of Frank Jack Fletcher, General Ernest Joseph King sighed.

He wanted to throw something, but this nameless anger clearly couldn't be vented by dropping a pen or overturning a table. General Jin held his head and pursed his lips firmly. Next, how should he explain this... earth-shattering defeat to the president?

How should the navy regroup, regain its ground, and teach the Japanese a lesson that is yet to come?

"Well, when those brats mess up everything, I never doubt that they will cause even bigger troubles." The always angry general

I touched my stubble, which might require an alcohol torch to shave off, and thought about it.

Come.

Port Moresby must be defended, General Jin thought, and we must also regain our ground from the Japanese. "There are many possible avenues to explore..."

His eyes left the icon representing Port Moresby and wandered over the blue Pacific Ocean. His eyes moved from the Marshall Islands in the central Pacific Ocean to the

It passed by Wake Island, cruised around, and even landed in the Indian Ocean for a while.

But in the end, his goal fell on the west coast of the Pacific Ocean, on the coastline of an ancient country.

"Well, that's not working... We still need to secure more resources for the navy. As for this... let's first find a way to take out a Japanese airfield and break this 'Solomon's Chain'."

Chapter 644: Liuban’s Story (⑴) I Need You

April 1942, Soviet Union, in the woods south of Puchanik, a village not even marked on the map.

The leafless birch forest looks like a rifle stuck upside down in the ground, and under each slender and straight log, it seems that the remains of a soldier are buried, making it pierce into the earth as sharp as a bayonet and stretch towards the sky.

The temperature, which had just risen above zero, melted the thick snow on the ground during the day, turning it into turbid snow water and seeping down. Then, it froze again at night, which was enough to dry out five toes on a foot, turning the originally fluffy snow into a shiny layer that was brittle and hard, but could not bear the weight of a person.

Just like the current mood of Lieutenant Comrade Rurik Kapovich Kotlinsky, the acting commander of the Rurik temporary group.

Rurik walked forward in the woods, one foot deep and one foot shallow. The process of stepping on the thawed snow was like the recent war. It first gave people a little hope of stepping firmly, and then they stepped on empty air and fell headfirst to the ground, with their faces covered in blood from being scratched by ice chips.

He tried to keep his balance and keep moving forward, merging into the sparse flow of soldiers and Mongolian horses around him.

Rurik was starving. The thousand-piece bread he'd eaten at noon had long since burned up. His bones and muscles, starved of energy, were sluggish, like a chainsaw without lubrication, making a rattling sound as it bit into wood. He really needed some oil. Why wasn't he a chainsaw?

For some reason, Rurik remembered a bear he had seen when he was working at a logging station - the kind of skinny bear that had not eaten enough in the autumn, had hibernated for a long time, and was woken up by hunger. It was so thin that its bones were visible. It had just crawled out of the tree hole to prepare for winter, only to be surprised to find that it was still covered in ice and snow outside.

But the sun was finally setting, and the forest before him began to thin out. Mr. Skinny Bear spotted a bright yellow strip of cloth tied to a branch. Soon, a small wooden house emerged from the dense rows of birch trees. It had a straight, protruding belly, a short, thick chimney, and half a wooden wall covered with chopped firewood.

Tilirenko, from the kitchen, was lying on the ground, blowing hard into a newly dug earthen stove, only to be choked by the black smoke and coughing non-stop. Someone nearby saw Rurik approaching, kicked Tilirenko's bulging butt, and yelled at him to stand up. "Hey, you guys, stop disturbing him, or we'll all starve."

Liu Li opened the sleeves of his Luo people's gray woolen coat, glanced at his watch, and turned to say a few words to the comrade next to him. The young comrade in the down jacket nodded, pulled out a dark red bakelite box from a small cowhide bag on his chest, and pressed the call button on the side of the box.

"Salmon, salmon, here are the saury... Yes, the troops are on guard, the cooks are cooking - rest for three hours, wait until dark."

The counterattack campaign near Lyuban on the northern front has been going on for several months.

The operation, originally intended to split, encircle, and annihilate the German forces in the Lyuban area of ​​Leningrad with a single left hook, had become a turbulent mess. Due to insufficient coordination and offensive preparation, and suffering heavy casualties, the isolated Second Assault Army, after miraculously advancing for a long distance, finally exhausted all its offensive momentum and could no longer advance to achieve its goal of linking up with the friendly 54th Army.

In order to completely destroy this Soviet force, the Germans, starting in early March, brought in 11 divisions of reinforcements from the rear of the front to join the siege of the Second Shock Army. This turned the tide on the battlefield. The Second Shock Army, which had already overcome numerous difficulties and obstacles to cross the Volkhov River and attack the Germans, now became the victim of the German encirclement.

Its main goal also changed from attacking the enemy to breaking through.

However, the breakout was not smooth. The nearly two months of fruitless efforts from March to now, the change from offense to defense, and then to being surrounded, as well as the current situation of logistical supplies and retreat routes being cut off, were enough to make any morale-rich troop fall into despair.

However, because the organization of the entire Second Assault Army was quite strange, Comrade Rurik's superior was directly the brigade headquarters, and the brigade headquarters' superior was the army headquarters. So after the brigade headquarters was bombed several rounds by several Nazi biplanes, Comrade Rurik, the battalion commander who paid a huge price in the defensive battle, no longer received any new orders.

Comrade Rurik-Kapovich Kotlinsky of the 12th Independent Ski Battalion could only lead the remaining troops and, in accordance with the final orders, retreat southeastward, constantly picking up other large and small units that had been separated from the main force along the way. It was under such circumstances that he half-voluntarily and half-forced became the acting commander of this temporary group that would be named after him according to convention.

Fortunately, the Germans lacked the ability or habit to break up the encirclement. Although the encirclement was shrinking, it likely faced no enemy forces within it, save perhaps the Luftwaffe. Rurik led his troops through the forest, sleeping by day and marching by night, and surprisingly, he transformed a severely damaged battalion into a full-fledged regiment.

Even he himself could not understand why so many comrades from other units, even many of them with higher ranks than himself, were willing to trust a mere lieutenant like him, and trust a "ski battalion" made up of ordinary infantrymen with skis on their backs.

Under the harsh conditions, he couldn't provide everyone with enough food to eat, couldn't find spare parts for the broken "Gem Mountain" radio, and couldn't even save the comrades on the seaplane that was airdropping supplies to the troops. When the large four-engine plane was shot down by the Nazis and forced to land, several of them were still alive, but Rurik's military doctor didn't even have many painkillers left. In the end, Rurik could only bury those heroes of the Red Navy in a snow pit with a few soldiers.

Fortunately, the terror that had long plagued Comrade Rurik, a mixture of confusion, guilt, and loneliness, seemed to be finally coming to an end.

It was already dark, and the surrounding sentry posts had not spotted any Germans for several days. The sound of gunfire day and night was gradually left behind them - they finally approached the opened evacuation passage.

Rurik sat down on a wooden stake outside the hunting lodge and strained his legs, making a sound like a rifle bolt being pulled.

The fire in the pit finally got going. Comrade Tirelenko, the cook, tore two leaflets dropped by the Germans into strips of tinder, finally free from the damp lichen and moss, and began to boil the Ukrainian oatmeal and Chinese biscuits in the pot. Rurik, on the other hand, unscrewed his kettle and began to eat black bread as hard as bricks with cold water.

The oatmeal biscuit porridge is for the wounded, I can't eat it myself.

Aside from those who were on guard, everyone else found a spot, either sitting down or throwing themselves into a pile of stiff, dead leaves. Then, the squad leader, the team leader, and the like kicked them up with their boots. "Don't sleep here! Don't sleep! If you want some shut-eye, go to the fire—it's time for dinner!"

"Just a moment, just a moment..."

Some people grumbled reluctantly, but still got up and moved towards the stove; some took out a towel from their waists and wiped the sweat off the steaming Mongolian horses; others began to take their lunch boxes out of their backpacks, hoping to eat something as soon as possible under the arrangement of the platoon leaders and company commanders to soothe their stomachs that were about to riot.

To be honest, if you still feel hungry at this moment, it might be considered a blessing.

Beside them, the 6-TK radio, originally belonging to another regiment, was set up, emitting unusual humming and crackling sounds. This diligent old fellow was now a truly serious casualty - it had no ability to transmit, only limited reception, and even this little reception ability was restored by dismantling another "Baofeng" No. 2 radio that had been damaged by shrapnel.

Comrade Rurik pricked up his ears, just like the Mongolian horse, trying to distinguish some regular signals, or unclear shouts, from the clean and chaotic white noise like the snowfield, but five minutes passed and the harsh electric sound only made his ears hurt.

"The new commander sends so many telegrams every day that he can't even take care of us!"

"Anyway, according to what they said the day before yesterday, we are already close to the breach - we can evacuate." Yes, it's almost there, it's almost there.

Comrade Rurik Kapovich Kotlinsky stood up and spread the map on the tree stump where his butt was scorching. He had been mentally calculating his position during the march, noting it on the map during breaks. Now, a rickety, dotted line had crossed Lowland 13, past the village of Puchanik, and through an unknown forest. Finally, it was less than 10 kilometers from the "X" marking the evacuation route.

It is an open area that is 10 kilometers wide. After passing through it and crossing a small forest, you can see the railway line from Qiudovo to Novgorod.

-According to the broadcast order I heard two days ago, the friendly 52nd Army launched

A 2-kilometer-wide gap led to his and everyone's last hope.

"Tonight, I must cross this place in one breath!"

But before Lieutenant Rurik could take more time to effectively encourage himself, a gunshot was suddenly heard from the south of the rest point.

Everyone turned their heads in the direction of the gunfire, but the next second, the squad leader and platoon leaders roared like bears, and the sharp whistles pierced Rurik's heart like awls. He kicked a hapless man who was lying upright and stunned, and pressed his head to the ground - but the guy was completely unaware, just holding the hot lunch box tightly in his arms.

"Draw your guns!" Rurik growled. "Alert! Alert! South—don't fire yet!"

The gunfire did not continue, proving that there was no exchange of fire; there was no accompanying machine gun fire and artillery explosions, so even if there were Germans, there would not be too many - Rurik looked at the comrade in the down jacket, only to see him turning the FM button on the bakelite box and talking non-stop.

"Loriac! Loriac! Old Ivan and his team's communication frequency is '6!'" "Understood, Comrade Lieutenant!"

Loriakes hammered his head, quickly turned the knob all the way down, and then dialed it back two notches. Finally, this time, a distinguishable call came from the magical box.

"Saury, saury, here are salmon, here are salmon... The shooting just now was caused by someone's gun going off accidentally, but no one was injured, don't worry, don't worry." Amid the whirring noise, Comrade Old Ivan's voice sounded a little guilty, but also a little happy.

"We found a big-brimmed hat with a black brim. One of our own! And a few others with him. They came from the south. We've seen their IDs, really—Oh! Sanma, the big-brimmed hat wants to talk to you. (Whispering) Radio discipline, comrade, you are now called 'big-brimmed hat', please call me 'Sanma'..."

"Comrade Sanma," after a burst of harsh noise, a strange male voice came over, "Comrade Sanma, can you hear me?" "Sanma can hear me, Big Brim Hat."

Lieutenant Rurik Kapovich Kotlinsky took the walkie-talkie from his comrade, suppressed his emotions, and spoke calmly.

"Comrade Sanma, I'm calling in from outside... uh, wide-brimmed hat," said the strange man, "to make a long story short, Comrade Sanma, how many people do you have now? Never mind, any number is fine.

In short, in the name of the Second Assault Army... (whispering) What is Major General Beredev's code name? Oh, salmon, ahem, in the name of the Second Assault Army salmon - the big-brimmed hat needs saury, I need you.

Chapter 645: Liu Ban's Story (2) Edible Determination

Leonid Fyodorovich Titalenko was the political commissar of the 372nd Infantry Regiment of the 52nd Army.

However, Lieutenant Rurik Kapovich Kotlinsky felt that this guy, who always had a smile on his face, looked nothing like a political commissar. Instead, he looked more like an ice cream vendor pushing a cart on the streets of Moscow. He had a round head, a high nose, and small eyes like raisins embedded in a cake, gleaming with a shrewd and slightly cunning light. He also had a mustache that looked always well-groomed, covering his thick upper lip, and his bald head, perhaps because it easily reflected light and exposed his position, was always covered by a woolen hat.

And his style of doing things...well, Rurik felt that it was not like a "traditional political commissar" either.

After the troops were led by him through a 10-kilometer open area at night, Political Commissar Leonid took Rurik and his men to a forest along the railway line. Here, Acting Commander Rurik and the few remaining temporary staff members were interrogated.

Political Commissar Leonid suddenly turned serious, as if a switch had been flicked off in his personality. He and several officers gathered around him and interrogated him in detail about the current personnel status, organizational structure, and weaponry of the Rurik Provisional Group. This forced Lieutenant Rurik to recall his graduation defense at the Dzerzhinsky Military Technical Academy, where he was surrounded and questioned by five instructors.

No, this Political Commissar Leonid is different from those mentors... Rurik thought that compared to those strict and respectable teachers, he was more like an old teller with round eyes in an old-fashioned pawn shop, weighing the quality of some things with a very precise scale.

But this feeling quickly disappeared. As soon as the question was asked, Political Commissar Leonid returned to his previous expression and showed that very natural smile.

"So, Comrade Commissar, what do we need to do now?" Rurik asked. "Now? My dear Comrade Rurik, now you need to fill your stomach."

The commissar laughed and patted Rurik on the shoulder. "Divide your people and someone will take you there. Remember to maintain good discipline and escape from that hell."

Climb out, you definitely know how to do it.

"Now, go, go, and receive your surprise! Comrade Lieutenant, return to your unit. They need you like a flock of geese needs its leader—turn back."

Run and walk!"

—―--——-

Although his expression changed rapidly, giving him the air of a small businessman and reminding people of his painful experience at school, Political Commissar Leonid was indeed a capable guy. Lieutenant Rurik thought this after running back to the troops and dividing them into several columns a dozen minutes later.

If we were to ask what would be the best way to boost morale and cheer people up in the cold spring weather in the north, it would probably be a hot meal.

Several large pots buried in the ground and a horse-drawn tea cart were left standing.

Rurik's temporary group, which had maintained basic discipline despite being surrounded by the German army, fell into "chaos".

Fortunately, after a few "queue-jumpers" who were kicked in the buttocks by leather boots appeared at the end of the team, everyone took out their lunch boxes from their backpacks with anticipation, lined up neatly in the woods, and began to wait to receive this delicious meal from the steward, which they didn't know whether it was a midnight snack or breakfast.

Lieutenant Rurik, like the other soldiers, lined up and slowly moved forward. He took a breath, and mixed with the damp, cool night air was a subtle, sweet-sour ocean scent—a scent that reminded him of the code names he had given to the various units in the temporary group: Salmon, Saury, Marlin…

So, Commissar Leonid... where did you get the seafood?

"Next one!"

The steward's rude voice and movements occurred simultaneously, interrupting Rurik's thoughts.

A large spoon emerged from the cauldron on the ground, carrying a bag of steaming meat and wheat rice. It plopped into Rurik's lunch box with a wet sound. Then, another spoon followed closely behind, slashing from the side and delivering a side dish with a strong smell of cream. The weight was so heavy that it even made the lunch box sink several centimeters.

Under the moonlight, a layer of shrimp wrapped in sour cream was added to the greasy wheat rice. The shrimp was hunched over, red and white, as if bowing and greeting, calling on the soldiers in front to eat it. "Take it and leave quickly! You are blocking the people behind you!" The chubby voice of the quartermaster jumped up and down. He saw Rurik holding the lunch box in a daze, "What are you talking about?"

Where's your teacup, young man?"

He pointed to the smoking samovar on the other side and said, "The black tea is over there, and scoop out the red bean paste with a spoon! Go quickly, go quickly! The samovar can't be lit at daybreak. It's so cold, it's so nice to have a meal with just this tea—Stop! One spoonful of red bean paste per person, no more!"

The quartermaster suddenly raised his voice by a half-degree, yelling curses. He lunged forward like a bear, pounding the helmets of several soldiers with the back of a spoon: "This red bean paste is so precious! How dare you take more of it!" "You worm! You should be ashamed!"

Boom!

Less than 5 kilometers from the Chudovo-Vonovgorod railway line, a grand party was underway in a birch forest. There was no music, no alcohol, and even the atmosphere was quite quiet. But all the attendees were joyful, happy, and relaxed. They pulled spoons from their boots, belts, and pockets and, with as much restraint as possible, shoved this calorie-laden feast into their mouths and into the depths of their souls.

At this moment, all the previous desperate efforts to survive seemed worthwhile. Even the dense forest around them had transformed into an elegant restaurant, safe from the German invasion. Some ate in silence, some chatted quietly with their comrades, and some suppressed their emotions, enjoying this brief peace through tears.

But Lieutenant Rurik Kapovich Kotlinsky, acting commander of Rurik's temporary group, was not eager to eat the delicacy. He sat half-slumped on a tree stump, staring at the wheat rice in his lunch box, as if the buckwheat rice mixed with sour cream and prawns had turned into a deep whirlpool, gradually stripping away his sanity.

The sweet bean paste tea in the kettle was scalding hot, making his side ache a little. "Comrade Lieutenant."

That familiar, slightly cunning and slippery voice came again. It was Commissar Leonid Fyodorovich Titalenko. He was standing behind Rurik, holding his lunch box. "Would you mind giving me half the seat?"

He sat down by himself, and Rurik noticed that his lunch box also contained barley rice, but instead of sour cream prawns, there was a spoonful of red bean paste.

"Why? Comrade Commissar, why?" Rurik's voice seemed to come from deep within his chest. He strained his strength, as if the wheat rice he had just eaten was mixed with bitter coptis root. "Where are the others?"

Lepinides was stunned, perhaps he did not expect Rurik to ask such a direct question. He opened his mouth and raised the spoon, but in the end, he still did not say the words "This is an order" that popped into his mind.

"Hey, Comrade Rurik." The regimental political commissar put the spoon back into the rice and pondered for a moment. "In order to open this passage, our army suffered heavy losses. Our regiment lost nearly a quarter of its people, and the regimental commander was also injured - yes, Comrade Mikhail, he is now in the woods across the railway, leading the soldiers of several regiments to set up a defense line.

"Right now, the corridor along the railway that we can definitely control is only two kilometers wide. We are sitting here because our comrades fought hard to drive out the Nazis - how could they let us retreat comfortably? They would definitely rush back immediately. If, and I mean if, everyone rushed to retreat, who would defend the evacuation route on both sides?

"What should we do, comrades in the encirclement, if no one can hold out against the Germans?" Political Commissar Leonid Fyodorovich Titalenko said, chewing his statement emotionlessly as if it were grains of wheat. "Everyone hopes to safely witness the day of victory, but there are some things that someone has to do, Comrade Lieutenant... This is an order to Rurik's temporary group, and it is also... our request."

“Someone has to do it.”

In the early spring woods, the nearly full moon was setting, the sun still in the east, the darkest hour before dawn. Comrade Rurik sat in the bare birch trees, lost in thought. The lunchbox in his hands was gradually cooling, the hot grease solidifying on the fragrant wheat rice, giving it a slightly fishy smell.

But the kettle at his waist and his beating heart were still hot.

"How long will it take?" Rurik asked.

Chapter 646: The Story of Liu Ban (3) The Torrent and the Rock

(Update)

Lieutenant Rurik-Kapovich Kotlinsky was a cadet who had completed a complete campaign course. Especially since he also had some experience as a junior officer—after all, the Dzerzhinsky Military Technical Academy only recruited junior officers from the army—this training period, even longer than Marshal Zhukov's, played a solid role. Coupled with some mysterious "talents" and a brave and tenacious heart, Comrade Rurik quickly grew in command of the Battle of Lyuban.

He not only fulfilled his responsibilities and duties as a battalion commander, but also fulfilled his duties as a regimental commander when he was forced to "jump the level" due to changes in the battle situation.

There is no obvious disconnect.

However, when Lieutenant Rurik met Comrade Political Commissar Leonid Fyodorovich Titalenko, he realized that there are always people better than you.

Just as he was moving his troops from the reception point to the preset position and starting digging trenches and fortifications, Lieutenant Rurik received the reinforcements promised by Political Commissar Titalenko.

This commissar, who looked like a small businessman, brought himself a luxurious supplement: a "120mm mortar battalion" with overstaffed or abridged artillery, an anti-aircraft company with four Dashka machine guns, two anti-tank gun companies equipped with cutting-edge 107mm anti-tank recoilless rifles, four additional infantry companies, an artillery communications group and enough infantry weapons to fill the Rurik Group: a small number of DP and Maxim, some Mosin-Nagant, a lot of "NP door" and "PPK" submachine guns, and bundles of "RPG-1bis" rocket launchers.