"What are you hesitating for..."
Major Jas Hamilton, commander of the 1st Task Force Company of the Coldstream Guards, fiercely pounded the ground beside him, staring red-eyed at the three ssengers:
"You three! Go into the research institute right now and notify the operation team to evacuate! Tell them the main force of the Saxons is here! Get out of here, quick!"
The three young ssengers looked at each other in dismay. The entrance to the underground research institute seed to them perhaps more terrifying than the hail of bullets outside.
But under the major’s murderous gaze, they could only brace themselves, gripping their Lee-Enfield rifles, turn around, and charge into the darkness.
Watching those figures disappear, Major Jas Hamilton’s gaze beca sharp again.
He half-knelt behind a moss-covered rock, tightly gripping a Webley revolver in his hand.
He readjusted his sowhat askew helt. In the cold climate, his sweat quickly turned into streaks of white vapor and drifted away.
His golden hair, matted by sweat and gunpowder smoke into strands, clung to his forehead, making him look quite disheveled.
As the commander of the 1st Task Force Company of the Coldstream Guards, Major Jas Hamilton had always been known for his calmness.
But at this mont, this Britannian noble officer only felt his heartbeat was as fast as a magitech core about to overload.
"Haven’t the ssengers returned yet?!"
No one answered him.
The ssengers sent to the frontline positions seed to have been swallowed by this woods, without even an echo.
The gunfire and explosions ahead were extrely dense. Judging from the fire density, the opponent must be equipped with a large number of automatic weapons; not an ordinary infantry unit.
Such characteristics instantly brought a na to his mind—a na the people from the Military Intelligence Directorate had marked in bold red font in the "Enemy Situation Bulletin."
The Imperial Guard Assault Instruction Unit of the Saxon Empire.
"...To run into this bunch of all people..." Major Jas Hamilton felt a bitter taste in his mouth.
Although as an officer of the Coldstream Guards, he usually longed to engage with true powerhouses to wash away the "lethargy" this veteran powerhouse with hundreds of years of history had shown in recent trench warfare.
But not now...
"Major!"
A corporal with a blood-stained face passed through the gradually dissipating gunpowder smoke, stumbling and crawling to Hamilton’s side.
"West! The enemy’s main force is all in the west! We estimate there must be a battalion’s worth of troops, their firepower is too fierce! The first platoon has been completely suppressed!"
"Idiot!"
Major Hamilton slapped the other party’s helt.
"That’s just because the opponent has more automatic weapons. If there were really a battalion’s worth of troops, the enemy wouldn’t be fighting so cautiously; they would have charged down long ago!"
"Tell Captain Jensen to take the third platoon and push up! We must maintain the western defense line!"
This Major of the Coldstream Guards roared amidst the gunfire and artillery, spraying spittle all over the corporal’s face:
"We cannot let the enemy break through that gentle slope, otherwise we will be driven into the depression and shot like ducks by that bunch of Saxons!"
"But sir... that’s our only reserve..."
"Execute the order! Now! Imdiately!"
The corporal shrank his neck in fright, turned around, and charged back into the smoke-filled woods.
Jas Hamilton took a deep breath and turned to look at the dark entrance of the underground research institute behind him.
It was like the gaping maw of a giant beast, quietly waiting to devour life.
Four days ago, that operation team composed of Highland Mages and MI6 agents went in, and there had been no news since.
According to the plan, if they didn’t co out within the specified ti, Jas Hamilton should actually retreat imdiately.
But he couldn’t.
This was a secret mission personally signed by Her Majesty the Queen, concerning the interests of the Empire.
As a mber of the Coldstream Guards, "Forever Loyal to the Queen," even if he died in battle here, he couldn’t leave his back to the enemy.
The gunfire ahead grew increasingly fierce, explosions sounding one after another. Those Saxons were like a group of ghosts, constantly probing.
They didn’t shout "Long live the Emperor," nor did they charge in neat formations.
They just kept throwing smoking grenades into the makeshift foxholes of the Guards soldiers, and then under the suppression of automatic firepower, relied on precise bursts to take out any unlucky guy who dared to poke his head out.
The Coldstream Guards were truly elite. Even in such a passive situation, the soldiers still displayed extrely high tactical literacy.
They quickly adjusted their deploynt, moving more personnel and the only remaining two Lewis machine guns to the west side, trying to build a tight fire net.
However, this was exactly what Morin wanted.
Behind a bush a few hundred ters away, Morin was holding his binoculars, observing the movents of the Britannians.
On his system map, the red unit cards representing the enemy were continuously gathering toward the west. The defensive forces originally deployed on the flanks had begun to beco increasingly thin.
This was like two boxers sparring. The opponent assud a standard defensive stance ready to et his straight punch, but didn’t expect Morin to be hiding a knife in his hand, preparing to stab him in the ribs.
"These arrogant Britannians are still living in the era of striking poses and fighting head-on... No wonder almost a whole generation of nobles was wiped out in WWI in that other world."
Morin lowered his binoculars, this thought involuntarily flashing through his mind.
"Sir, the Britannians have pulled up a batch of fresh troops to fill the gap in the frontal defense line!"
The 1st Company Commander, Kahn, who had just left to observe ahead, crawled back to Morin’s side at so point and reported.
"That’s natural. Facing this kind of firepower suppression, if I had these Britannian grunts in my hands, I could only throw people in first too, otherwise the defense line would collapse instantly..."
Morin looked at those red dots moving like a swarm of frightened ants on the map, paused for a mont, and continued:
"However, this is not enough."
"Have the 1st Platoon continue to increase firepower output! Create the illusion that we are about to launch a general offensive!"
"Yes! Sir!"
Hearing Morin’s words, Kahn nodded, then got up from the ground, hunched over, and ran quickly forward.
Not long after, the gunfire ahead instantly beca denser.
The dirt and smoke kicked up by the explosions of grenades and mortar shells blotted out the sky, turning the woods to the west into a boiling purgatory.
Major Jas Hamilton was indeed fooled.
In the face of such a scale of firepower, any rational commander of this era would think this was the enemy’s main attack direction.
He had to rob Peter to pay Paul, transferring a portion of the forces originally guarding the two flanks over, trying to maintain this defense line under that gentle slope.
"Very good..."
Morin narrowed his eyes, looking at the completely exposed flank gaps on the system map, as if seeing a beautiful woman opening her embrace.
And the long and arduous training of the instruction unit also showed its true value at this mont.
While the Britannian soldiers were still trudging laboriously among the tree roots, the Saxon soldiers of the 2nd and 3rd Platoons were like a group of agile felines, having already silently completed the flanking maneuver.
Long-term ard cross-country running plus 400-ter obstacle training made the soldiers of the instruction unit far exceed infantry of the sa period in terms of body coordination, stamina, speed, or flexibility.
These attributes were enough to determine life and death in a "civil war" between infantry.
And in this era lacking radio communication, stamina and speed often determined whether a tactical maneuver that needed to be executed to the end could succeed.
Now, the instruction unit had obviously succeeded.
Morin looked at the system map. The 2nd and 3rd Platoons had already touched the enemy’s two flanks, and the two MG08 heavy machine gun teams also seed to have found suitable firing positions and begun setting up.
This ant they were ready to launch a flanking attack, just waiting for his order.
Soon, Morin’s calm voice sounded in the sub-units of the magitech communication equipnt:
"This is the 1st Platoon, we have attracted the attention of the vast majority of the enemy. 2nd Platoon, 3rd Platoon, you can begin attacking from the flanks, fire at will!"
"Da-da-da-da-da!!"
Just as Major Jas Hamilton thought he had withstood the Saxons’ first wave of attacks, the Grim Reaper’s scythe swung down from his left and right sides without any warning.
That was a sound that made all the Coldstream Guards soldiers present feel despair.
Two MG08 heavy machine guns that had long been set up fired simultaneously from the high points on the north and south sides of the depression.
Tracer bullets, which had already started being placed every five rounds on the ammo belts, were like two long orange-red whips, guiding the shooters to fiercely lash at the fragile defense line of the Coldstream Guards.
This was not a frontal shootout, and from a certain perspective, it didn’t even belong to the most classic crossfire.
Because these bullets were fired in from the rear flanks.
The 7.92mm full-power cartridges easily tore through the soldiers’ bodies—those Britannian soldiers who were originally hiding behind tree trunks or rocks, focused entirely on the west, hadn’t even reacted to what happened before they were mangled by the rain of bullets from the sides.
"Damn it! It’s the flanks! Watch the flanks!!"
Major Jas Hamilton watched helplessly as a soldier in the distance who was just about to raise his gun to return fire had his head explode like a waterlon, red and white matter splashing all over the ground.
"They’re in the trees!"
"No, they’re in the bushes! There are Saxons everywhere!"
The terrified shouts of the Britannian soldiers rose one after another.
For the soldiers of the Coldstream Guards, who were accustod to dense formation attacks and had just begun to adapt to trench shootouts, this fighting style of the instruction unit completely exceeded their cognition.
Those enemies were like ghosts in this forest.
The soldiers of the instruction unit fully utilized every bush, every ravine.
You couldn’t see them, couldn’t hear their footsteps, but those pairs of cold eyes were always staring at your back.
Whenever you tried to counterattack, a precise bullet or a smoking grenade would fly over, blasting what little courage you had to pieces.
The so-called "talking trees"... were staged in advance in this space-ti.
"Boom! Boom!"
Several loud bangs ca from the center of the position; that was the direction of the Vickers heavy machine gun position.
That was also Major Jas Hamilton’s last reliance.
But he discovered in terror that a cloud of black smoke had risen from the location of the heavy machine gun position.
That heavy machine gun, which was supposed to be roaring to suppress the enemy, had now beco a pile of scrap iron. The several mbers of the machine gun team lay in pools of blood, visibly beyond saving.
The two instruction unit assault squads that had slipped in long ago were like two sharp knives advancing side by side, directly piercing the heart of the Britannians.
"It’s over..."
This beleaguered situation made Major Jas Hamilton’s heart instantly sink to the bottom of the valley.
For modern infantry who had not yet undergone infantry tactical reforms and still focused on discipline and morale...
Encountering an attack from pseudo-modern infantry with more advanced technical and tactical levels and combat concepts, it was indeed very difficult to have the power to fight back...
"Sir! The 1st Platoon is completely wiped out! The 2nd Platoon only has half its n left!"
Captain Jensen, the 2nd Platoon leader, covered in blood, stumbled over, his face full of terror, obviously sowhat dazed from the beating.
"We’re surrounded! There are Saxons everywhere... Let’s break out quickly!"
Major Jas Hamilton looked at this young and twisted face, and the last trace of persistence in his heart collapsed.
If it were in the wild, he might still try to lead the team to break out.
But in this damned depression, the high points all around were occupied by the Saxons; this was simply a natural execution ground.
Staying here any longer had no aning other than throwing their lives away...
"Abandon the defense line..."
The Major squeezed this order out of his throat with difficulty, as if exhausting all his strength.
"Everyone! Bring the wounded! Retreat into the underground research institute!"
For this Major and this unit, today’s battle was a complete humiliation.
The dignified elite of the Coldstream Guards was actually forced to burrow into a hole in the ground like rats...
But the soldiers of the Coldstream Guards were also human; the instinct to survive overwheld everything right now.
So after receiving the order, the surviving Britannian soldiers abandoned their machine guns and ammunition boxes, supported each other, and in that dense rain of bullets, wretchedly surged toward that dark entrance.
"Sir, they seem to have all retreated into the underground research institute! There are about forty-sothing people left, the unit’s commander seems to have gone in too."
As the gunfire in front gradually ceased, Kahn also returned to Morin’s side.
"That was their only choice. In this damned terrain, even if you had break out, it would cost half my life."
Morin stood up from behind the bush and clapped his hands:
"Have the engineer detachnt step up and control the research institute entrance. The others don’t need to chase so closely. These enemies have now walked into a dead end. In this kind of narrow underground passage, cornered beasts fighting back is also very dangerous..."
Morin looked at the deep entrance of the underground research institute. On the system map, the red unit cards representing this task force company had disappeared into this [Unexplored] area.
"2nd Platoon, 3rd Platoon, clear the battlefield! Treat the wounded, resupply ammunition, and then establish defensive positions on the spot... Rember to control the surrounding high ground!"
Morin’s orders were transmitted to the other two platoons through the communication main unit. This battle ended very quickly. Under completely advantageous circumstances, the instruction unit indeed suffered no fatalities, though so soldiers still sustained minor injuries.
After issuing the orders, Morin turned to look at the approaching squad behind him—that was the escorted Master Haber and Section III operatives.
"Master Haber, and gentlen of Section III... I will personally lead the 1st Platoon to escort you into the underground research institute."
"But in the engagent just now, so Britannians also fled inside. So after entering later, be sure to follow all commands in your actions..."
Master Haber and the Section III operatives were also starting to get sowhat nervous now, so upon hearing Morin’s words, they subconsciously nodded.
Waiting until Kahn rallied the 1st Platoon soldiers and had everyone recheck their ammunition and various equipnt on them, Morin led a squad of combat engineers and walked into this door of the underground research institute first.
Although he didn’t know how the Britannians pried open this heavy iron door, when they fled inside, there was obviously no ti to close it. This saved Morin and the others a lot of trouble.
After all, in the operation plan, if the door was not open, Morin had originally prepared to use explosives to clear the way...
And the scene behind the iron door wasn’t so spacious and bright hall, nor was it a laboratory in Morin’s stereotypical impression. It was a concrete passage slanting downward at about 30 degrees, wide enough to let five people walk shoulder-to-shoulder.
Very obviously, this should only be a personnel passage, not a passage for transporting materials.
This also ant that this underground research institute didn’t have only one exit... The situation had also beco more complex.
Inside the passage, gusts of cold wind blew out from deep within, mixed with the bloody sll left by the wounded Britannian soldiers.
Those Britannian "gentlen" indeed ran fast enough; there was long since no sign of them now.
Only on this grayish-white concrete floor, those trails of dark red bloodstains and ssy muddy footprints proved exactly what a wretched posture that group of people had just charged down in.
A dim magitech lamp was embedded in the wall every few ters. The light was unstable, flickering brightly and dimly, stretching everyone’s shadows long and short.
Morin stood at the entrance, not in a hurry to step forward.
He first glanced at the "Status Bar" directly below his field of vision, confirming that the effects of [Mage Armor] and [Arcane Ward] were showing intact.
Then, with a crack, he broke open the double-barreled shotgun in his hand and checked the two buckshot shells inside.
Closing it again, pointing the muzzle downward at an angle, he waved his hand at the combat engineers behind him.
"Follow closely, don’t be nervous... just like during training."
After saying that, Morin led the way into this passage leading to the unknown.
Following behind him, the combat engineers wearing the "enchanted breastplates" captured from the Gauls imdiately kept up.
None of them spoke, nor did anyone breathe heavily, naturally forming a single-file column advancing close to the wall.
Friends who often climb mountains know very well that this kind of downward slope is actually very difficult to walk on.
Especially when wearing hard-soled military boots and carrying heavy equipnt.
Gravity pushes people to involuntarily accelerate. If one is slightly careless, the soles of the feet will knock against the concrete making crisp sounds, transmitting far away in this enclosed space.
If it were ordinary infantry of various countries, they would probably have already produced the commotion of a goose-step march by now.
But Morin and the combat engineers walked very strangely.
He slowed his pace, bent his knees slightly, and didn’t land heel first like usual, but used the outer edge of the sole of the foot to contact the ground first.
Then, like an unrolling burrito, slowly and evenly rolling until the entire sole touched the ground.
This kind of gait looked a bit like a thief. Although the posture was slightly comical and didn’t conform to the beauty of holding one’s head high and chest out in the Saxon infantry manual, the effect was imdiate.
Except for the slight rustling sound of clothing and equipnt rubbing, the footsteps that should have originally appeared were suppressed to the minimum.
The combat engineers behind him followed his example.
Although their movents weren’t as proficient and fluid as Morin’s, and a few even looked like they were having an attack of bowlegs... But at least no one made the kind of noise enough to alarm everyone.
This was the training result of the instruction unit over these past few months.
In the latest edition of the "Internal Only" training syllabus of the instruction unit, Morin had already begun to introduce so close-quarters combat techniques.
Of course, the instruction unit was not a special forces unit in the traditional sense, so it didn’t need that kind of complex CQB tactics.
Everyone mostly learned how to maintain the "principle of minimum exposure" in close-quarters combat, and how to gain an advantage when exchanging fire with enemies at close range.
Or for example, that thing Morin called the "Combat Cycle Rule."
It was actually the OODA loop (Observe, Orient, Decide, Act) he thick-skinnedly took from another world.
In this era where everyone was still accustod to listening to whistles and waiting for officers to give orders before daring to fire, the lowest-level soldiers of the instruction unit had already begun to be forced by Morin to learn to use their own brains.
"In close-quarters combat, see the enemy, assess the threat, make the decision to attack, and then act—don’t wait for your superiors to shout commands. By the ti they finish shouting, you’ll be dead!"
This was the sentence Morin shouted most in related training.
So at this mont, even in this oppressive environnt that made people want to vomit, this group of combat engineers still maintained a tactical literacy far exceeding infantry of the sa period.
Each of them focused their attention on the sector of vigilance they were responsible for, and the MP14 submachine guns in their hands also pointed in this direction at all tis.
This downward passage was not long. After walking about fifty ters, the terrain suddenly flattened.
Everyone arrived at the end of the passage.
Here was a circular concrete platform with a diater of about five ters.
And in front of the platform was a bottomless, giant vertical shaft.
At the edge of the shaft, there was a spiraling cast-iron staircase, like a black steel serpent, winding its way down into the darkness deep underground.
"Good heavens..."
Morin carefully walked to the edge of the platform, held the cold cast-iron railing, and leaned over to take a look down.
Pitch black, completely unable to see the bottom.
There was only a cold wind carrying a heavy damp sll, howling from bottom to top. The airflow passing through the narrow space made a unique "woo-woo" wind-whistling sound.
"This scale... did the Gauls hollow out the underneath here?"
Master Haber’s voice ca from behind.
This Tier-4 mage and the Section III operatives, escorted by another squad of instruction unit soldiers, had also followed up.
Although he looked a bit out of breath, those eyes hidden behind the lenses were very bright, curiously staring at that abyss-like vertical shaft.
"Judging from the wind speed and echoes, the space below is indeed outrageously large."
Morin took a step back, leaving that sowhat dizzying edge, and gestured behind him.
Several soldiers imdiately guarded Master Haber and the intelligence personnel to stand close to the wall, trying not to expose themselves within the field of fire of the stairwell entrance.
Morin nodded, then looked at the other personnel of the 1st Platoon approaching in the passage.
"Kahn."
"I’m here, sir!" Kahn, who had been following at the very back, imdiately stepped up.
"Find a squad to control this platform and the retreat route behind, and ensure we can maintain contact with the outside." Morin pointed to the slope they had just co in from.
"Understood."
Having arranged the escape route, Morin took a deep breath and regripped the double-barreled shotgun.
"Combat Engineer 1st Squad, follow down."
"Rember, just like in training, control it section by section!"
This was also a stupid thod Morin taught them—on this kind of spiral staircase, you never know if there’s a muzzle waiting for you at the next corner.
So, every ti, only move to the next corner or platform that can provide cover. The person in front confirms it’s safe, then signals the people behind to follow up.
Although it’s slow, everyone only has one life after all.
Morin took the lead and stepped onto that creaking cast-iron staircase.
The design of this staircase made him feel it was very anti-human. Each step was not wide, and beneath the openwork iron plates was an endless abyss. Walking on it gave an illusion of floating in mid-air.
Who knows if there was a problem with the lighting below. With every step down, that feeling of being swallowed by darkness deepened.
It was like actively walking into the esophagus of a monster, sliding down its throat bit by bit into its stomach, waiting to be digested by strong acid.
Morin: "Pfft, pfft, pfft..."
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