Vasily's psychological warfare headquarters' convoy was advancing down King Street, only to see a Rocossov Type II tank, draped with a Red Flag and equipped with loudspeakers, parked in the middle of a crossroads.
"That's our headquarters' tank. Drive over and check which one it is!" Vasily said.
The jeep immediately accelerated, rushing over to the tank. Vasily took one look at the text emblazoned on the tank and burst out laughing: "It's you guys again? You named your tank 'Westward Journey,' and yet you're always the ones who have the worst luck!"
The tank commander looked distressed, "Colonel Davarish, it's not like we wanted this! But it's like we're cursed. Look at this—entering the city, we've hit three landmines already, and now the tank broke down on its own. Enter any major battle, and this tank always acts up. Look at the kill rings on the barrel—not a single one is from a crucial battle."
"It's as though the curse only works during key battles!"
