Leaving the Command Post, Morin rode his horse at a slow trot on the night road. The sumr night wind blowing on his face gradually cald his mind, which had been heated by excitent. His action just now was entirely impulsive.
But once the thought arose, it could no longer be suppressed. If he could truly change the Dispatch Rider’s fate, allowing him to pick up a paintbrush instead of a butcher’s knife… Wouldn’t that an the world might avoid the global catastrophe of the future? This world already had an ‘extrely wicked’ enhanced version of Great Britannia; if a Third Empire were to appear as well, even the gods couldn’t save them, and life would beco unbearable.
However, Morin imdiately reconsidered. This might not be solved rely by securing the ‘future employnt’ of one young man with a mustache, as many others were also driving events behind the scenes. Therefore, fundantally, if he wanted to prevent the ‘bad outco’ from happening…
“Then this war must be won at all costs, damn it.”
When Morin returned to the Instruction Assault Battalion’s temporary base, covered in dust, Kleist had already handled the routine matters—the Deputy Battalion Commander was virtually flawless in this supporting role. The soldiers of the Instruction Assault Battalion, except for the sentries on duty, were resting or cleaning their weapons in their tents.
Morin imdiately found Kleist and Manstein as soon as he entered the camp.
“Battalion Commander, are there new orders from the Army Group Command Post?” Kleist greeted him.
“The situation is very complex, and very urgent…” Morin wasted no words, imdiately and concisely relaying the command from Headquarters.
“They want us to supervise other units digging trenches?” Kleist and Manstein were surprised.
“Exactly, and the work starts tonight.” Morin nodded, then continued: “To put it simply, this is an unprecedented large-scale engineering project, and it is the first step in determining the success or failure of our upcoming assault on Amiens.”
He glanced at his watch—a gift from Cecilia before the war—and continued: “Ti is short. Pass the order imdiately! Have the four Company Commanders assemble to quickly assign tasks.”
“Yes, Battalion Commander!”
Soon, the four Company Commanders rushed to Morin’s command tent. Morin pointed to a simple map, roughly describing the troop deploynt. The frontal assault force consisted of 2 Corps and 1 Battle Group, totaling 8 divisions. However, only 4 divisions would actually be deployed on the front line, with the remaining 4 serving as supplentary forces and reserves. Morin clearly outlined the sectors of the 4 divisions responsible for the main assault, then assigned the four companies of the Instruction Assault Battalion to them one by one.
“Klaus, you take the 1st Company and supervise the 8th Infantry Division—they are our old comrades.”
“Wolff, you take the 2nd Company to the 2nd Imperial Guards Infantry Division.”
“Jonas and Steiner, you take the 3rd and 4th Companies to the 5th Division and 5th Reserve Division, respectively.”
“Your mission is not just to instruct them on how to dig, but more importantly, to teach them how to work quickly and discreetly under the enemy’s nose!”
“Tell them to control the noise! The excavated earth must not be piled up carelessly; it needs to be bagged and transported to the rear!”
“Absolutely no reflective items are allowed! During the operation, no one is allowed to talk, smoke, or make any unnecessary noise!” Morin emphasized the key points from the Imperial Army Earthwork Operations Manual again.
“The most important point!” Morin stressed, very seriously: “Tell your Platoon Leaders and NCOs to keep their eyes wide open! We are there to be teachers, not foren!”
“Lead by example. Win the respect and trust of the friendly forces through our professionalism and actions! If anyone dares to put on airs or show off, they will have to answer to when they get back!”
“Yes, Battalion Commander!” The four Company Commanders responded in unison, a hint of excitent in their voices. Passing on the military skills mastered by their Instruction Unit to the allied forces was itself the duty and honor of the Instruction Assault Battalion.
“Alright, go prepare. Once you are ready, each of you depart for your assigned area!”
With Morin’s command, the soldiers of the Instruction Assault Battalion quickly assembled by company and platoon, retrieved their tools, and quietly disappeared into the night, heading toward their respective ‘teaching posts.’
Midnight, 00:00 hours.
The fields and open ground north of Amiens were deadly silent. Suddenly, countless dark figures, as if erging from the ground, quietly materialized about one and a half kiloters from the Britannian defense line.
No one wore a helt. Except for the soldiers designated for security, everyone else slung their rifles behind their backs. They held the engineer spades that had been issued in large numbers before the operation. The four Saxon infantry divisions responsible for the main frontal assault committed nearly fifteen thousand soldiers to simultaneous operation along the several-kiloter-long front line.
Initially, the scene was sowhat chaotic. Many soldiers, participating in this kind of ‘earthwork under enemy fire’ for the first ti, were nervously fumbling. So accidentally clanked their shovels loudly. Others didn’t know where to pile the excavated earth. Still others were so nervous they couldn’t even grip their shovels properly.
“Don’t panic! Listen to the commands!”
“Keep the movents quiet! Do you want the enemy to hear us?”
At this critical ti, the ‘instructors’ from the Instruction Assault Battalion acted as the stabilizing force. Like experienced masters, they taught the ‘apprentices’ by demonstration.
“Hold the shovel with both hands! The front hand must grip about one-third of the way down the handle to ensure power and stability!”
“Keep your back straight! Use the rotation of your body to swing the shovel, not just the strength of your arms!”
“Load the excavated earth into this sack! Quickly! Pass it back when it’s full!”
Under the professional guidance and demonstration of the Instruction Assault Battalion officers and soldiers, the chaos was quickly brought under control. Fifteen thousand soldiers, spread across the ten-kiloter-long front line, threw themselves into this unprecedented massive project with astonishing efficiency.
Countless engineer spades silently rose and fell. Sacks filled with earth were quietly passed back along human chains, then gradually piled up above the Communication Trenches and parallel trenches. This ti, the trenches were also constructed with individual anti-artillery shelters, spaced at regular intervals, based on the Magic Crystal Cannon defense requirents detailed in the Imperial Army Earthwork Operations Manual. Furthermore, wooden and sandbag overhead protection structures were added. While this might offer only minimal protection against a direct hit from a ‘High-Impact Magic Crystal Shell,’ it was sufficient to counter the devastating effects of ‘shrapnel Magic Crystal Shells.’
The entire scene was grand yet eerie. Fifteen thousand people were conducting such a massive engineering project in the dead of night, yet making almost no unnecessary sound. Only the faint ‘thud-thud’ of shovels cutting into the earth could be heard intermittently in the night wind.
In front of them, less than 1.5 kiloters away, the sentries on the Britannian positions continued their monotonous patrol. They were completely unaware that a massive undertaking, one capable of changing the course of the battle, was quietly unfolding right under their noses.
Just as the Saxons were fervently executing their earthwork, an ergency pre-battle eting was being held inside the Britannian Expeditionary Force Headquarters in Amiens.
Field Marshal John French, Commander-in-Chief of the Expeditionary Force, stood before the map, his face grave.
“Gentlen, the Saxon main force is at our gates. The battle ahead will determine the fate of our Expeditionary Force and the entire Entente on the Western Front.” His gaze swept over every general and officer present.
“We have no retreat. Amiens and the Som River are our final line of defense! We must hold here at all costs, buying sufficient ti for the arrival of our subsequent reinforcents!”
“If we lose the Som River defense line, the iron hooves of the Saxon barbarians will march straight to Paris without obstruction!”
“At that point, this war will be half lost imdiately.”
As Field Marshal John French spoke, his gaze fell on one person in the eting who was dressed starkly differently from the other officers. That person wore a dark Mage Robe embroidered with complex magical Runes in silver thread. He looked elderly, with white hair and beard, but his eyes were unusually bright. He held a staff made of white oak. This was Preston Albert, the leading Spellcaster sent by the Highland Mage Corps for this campaign, one of their High ntors, a Seventh-Circle Evocation Mage.
“Master Albert…” John French’s tone carried a rare hint of respect. “You and the eighteen Highland Mages under your command are the most critical elent of our defense in this battle.”
Master Albert slightly nodded, his face unreadable.
“The Saxon Armored Airships are our greatest threat at the mont. Only you and the other Spellcasters have the ans to attack them,” John French continued. “So, I need you, Master, to focus your attention primarily on the sky once the battle begins, imdiately limiting the actions of the Saxon Armored Airships.”
“Rest assured, Your Excellency, Field Marshal.” Master Albert’s voice was calm: “The Highland Mages will not allow that ugly creation of the Saxons to run rampant in our skies.”
“Very good.” John French nodded, then brought up another issue that deeply concerned him. “Beyond that, there is another matter… According to reports from our retreating frontline units and the intelligence we previously possessed, one thing is clear—the Saxon Teutonic Knights’ Armored Knights are equipped with so kind of new, highly powerful Armor-Piercing Weapon.”
“Our Order of the Garter Armored Knights are no longer at any advantage against them; one might even say they are completely outmatched.” This news visibly darkened the faces of the Armored Knight commanders present. They recalled the sight of their comrades being easily defeated as they retreated from Arras.
“Therefore, to deal with the Saxons’ massive Armored Knight force, we must also rely on the power of the Spellcasters…” John French’s gaze returned to Master Albert.
“Understood,” Master Albert replied simply.
Following this, John French began laying out the specific defensive tasks. His plan was almost entirely consistent with Morin’s earlier analysis. Only three divisions would be deployed on the outer defense line north of Amiens. Should the line prove untenable, the troops would imdiately withdraw into the city, simultaneously destroying all bridges over the Som River. The core of the battle would then shift to Street Fighting and fixed-position defense along the river.
After the operations eting concluded, Master Albert, accompanied by several other high-ranking Spellcasters who had attended, returned to their camp near the Expeditionary Force Headquarters. A white marble arch stood prominently in the open field of their camp. This was a resting area constructed by a conventional spell scroll carried by the Highland Mage Corps High ntors, [Mordengard’s Magnificent Mansion], which served as the quarters for the accompanying Spellcasters.
Master Albert and the other Spellcasters walked straight through the arch and entered a lavish hall located in an extra-dinsional space. As soon as they entered, the arch closed and vanished into the air.
The mont Master Albert entered the magnificent hall, where the air was fresh and comfortable, the profound, unreadable expression on his face instantly disappeared. It was replaced by a deep look of worry and tension.
“Master, what is the situation?” a young Fifth-Circle Mage greeted him, asking anxiously.
“The situation is very bad,” Master Albert sighed, sitting down on a sofa with a serious expression. Another Spellcaster handed him a calming drink. “If the outer defense line of Amiens cannot hold, John French’s plan is for us to fight the Saxons in Street Fighting inside Amiens City.”
“Street Fighting?!” The faces of the other Spellcasters in the tent imdiately changed. As noble Spellcasters of the Holy Britannian Empire, they excelled at using wide-area attack spells on open battlefields to inflict devastating damage on dense enemy formations. Street Fighting, with its close-quarters skirmishing in narrow streets and broken buildings, was the nightmare of these ‘artillery-type’ Spellcasters.
“Damn it, why is it Street Fighting again?” one Spellcaster cursed under his breath. A cloud of apprehension settled over everyone’s heart. Only a few months prior, a similar brutal Street Fighting battle in the distant Kingdom of Aragon had taught the Highland Mage Corps a harsh lesson. In that battle, which they expected to be a one-sided victory, they had lost five Highland Mages. That included a highly respected Seventh-Circle Archmage, just like Master Albert! The resulting psychological shadow from that incident still hung over the hearts of every Highland Mage.
And now, they seed destined to personally taste the experience of Street Fighting again.
“The situation has reached this point; there is no retreat. All of you must prepare thoroughly for tomorrow’s battle,” Master Albert finally said, his gaze sweeping over the two other Seventh-Circle Mages. “We will dedicate our spell preparation tonight primarily to countering the Saxon Armored Airships.”
“Yes, Master Albert.”
(End of this Chapter)
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