January 7, 916, at 1031 hours, Kiriyenko rode his horse to the summit of Hill 361.
This was the core defensive position for the Prosen people, but now not a single Prosen was alive.
After reaching the summit, his deputy officer said, "With the amount of ammunition fired, this hill should perhaps be renamed Hill 360, or even 359."
Kiriyenko replied, "That's not bad at all; one more ton of ammunition, one less liter of blood spilled—it's a bargain."
The deputy officer nodded, "Yes, quite the bargain indeed."
At this moment, on the highway beside Hill—no, Hill 359, tanks and trucks were driving along the road, flanked by quickly advancing columns of infantry.
And the cavalry charged directly across the vast snowy plains.
Kiriyenko lifted his binoculars and peered ahead, "I don't see the flash of gunfire. Has the enemy's infantry division truly collapsed?"
