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August 7th night, Shepetovka.
The headquarters of the 151st Temporary Infantry Division.
Pavlov cleared his throat repeatedly, his brow furrowed.
Wang Zhong: "Is your throat still uncomfortable?"
"Yeah, I couldn't help but shout during the retreat, and then I lost my voice. It's better now, it only affects normal speaking slightly." Pavlov raised his voice and said, "But when I try to shout, this happens—"
His voice broke off abruptly when it reached a certain volume, leaving only the sound of air passing through his throat.
Wang Zhong: "You sound just like an opera singer who's overused his voice. Maybe you could ask Vasily; the son of the music professor might know what to do."
At this moment, the communications staff at the radio stood up, walked over with a telegram in hand: "This just-decoded telegram is an order for us."
