Chapter 14 The Spoils of War

When the sound of the Vickers machine gun fire ceased, the first to react was Captain Hauser, who had been leading the frontal assault and was pinned firmly to the ground.

He virtually catapulted himself off the dirt, drew the pistol from his belt, and roared at the soldiers behind him, who were also struggling to lift their heads: “Get up! The enemy’s machine gun is silent! Follow me, charge!”

Hearing his command, the officers of 1st and 2nd Platoons immediately blew their whistles again, and the soldiers who had been prone scrambled up, gritting their teeth as they rushed forward with fixed bayonets.

The survivors of the 1st and 2nd Companies, who had been spared from the machine gun fire, first raised their heads with some hesitation as they saw the reserves charging forward like madmen. Once they confirmed that the deadly machine gun fire had indeed vanished, a wave of post-disaster elation and long-suppressed rage instantly swept over everyone.

“For the Empire! Charge!”

No one knew which high-minded officer was the first to howl, but immediately after, every able-bodied soldier from the 1st and 2nd Companies scrambled up. They joined the 3rd Company soldiers surging past them, charging frantically toward the village. Just minutes earlier, they had been mowed down like wheat on this open ground, forced to watch their comrades get cut to ribbons by the machine gun, their chests filled with a burning fury. Now, this fury finally found an outlet.

Without the continuous suppression from the machine gun emplacement, and with Morin’s flanking attack disrupting the enemy’s deployment and drawing some of the Royal Army soldiers’ attention, the rifle fire from the village perimeter could not stop the gray tidal wave formed by hundreds of Saxon soldiers.

Having learned a harsh lesson, all 1st Battalion officers and NCOs, including Captain Hauser, acted smarter. They ran and shouted, ordering their soldiers to spread out and stop clustering together. Loose skirmish lines reformed. The soldiers no longer pursued neat formations, but instead used the speed, rifles, and bayonets in their hands to harvest enemy lives.

Meanwhile, after confirming that a large number of friendly forces had renewed the frontal assault, Morin refocused on the farmhouse before him. Although friendly forces would likely surge forward, the battle wasn’t necessarily over; there were surely residual enemy forces in the village that needed clearing.

With this thought, he patted a nearby messenger, pointed toward the riverbed, and commanded: “Return the way we came through the riverbed. Notify Sergeant Klaus and the other squads to advance by alternating cover and movement, and meet the main force here.”

The messenger immediately acknowledged the order and left.

“Crouch low, keep your head down. Bullets don’t have eyes!”

“Yes, sir!”

Watching the messenger squat down and depart along the riverbed, Morin turned to look at the squad around him. With the machine gun’s silence, these soldiers were already restless and eager for action, but Morin raised his hand to stop their impulse to rush directly into the farmhouse.

“Don’t be in a hurry to die.” His voice was low, but it instantly sobered the few hot-headed soldiers. “Grenadiers, over here!” The two soldiers who had silenced the machine gun with their grenades immediately stepped forward.

“Listen up. Once I pull the door open slightly, roll your grenades through the gap.”

This was an unheard-of command, which seemed strange to the two Grenadiers. But based on the trust that had just been established, the soldiers didn’t hesitate, taking the ball-shaped grenades from their belt clips and holding them ready to throw.

Morin took a deep breath. After confirming everyone was ready, he cautiously pulled the farmhouse’s wooden door open just a crack, keeping his neck tucked in. Almost simultaneously, the two Grenadiers pulled the pins on their grenades and rolled them, one after the other, through the gap.

Morin immediately slammed the door shut and quickly retreated.

“Boom! Boom!”

Muffled explosions came from inside the farmhouse, accompanied by the sound of splintering wood and something heavy falling.

“Big guy, kick the door!” The tall, powerfully built soldier standing opposite Morin received the signal and unhesitatingly delivered a flying kick, completely shattering the already shaky wooden door.

“Fire!”

At Morin’s command, the soldiers behind him immediately unleashed a synchronized volley into the dark doorway. The crisp gunfire echoed outside the farmhouse. Bullets struck the walls and surrounding wooden farm tools, kicking up dust. The men quickly shrank back behind the wall, working their bolts. The hot casings jumped out, clattering onto the ground.

When they next peered out, they found that the first floor of the farmhouse was silent. Three soldiers in Royal Army black uniforms lay sprawled on the ground and near the staircase leading to the second floor. Their bodies were riddled with bullet and shrapnel wounds; they were clearly beyond saving.

“End their suffering.” Morin sighed faintly and gave the order. Three soldiers stepped forward and ended their pain with bullets.

“Careful, up to the second floor!”

Hearing the new command, the soldiers accompanying Morin aimed their rifles at the second floor and cautiously climbed the creaking stairs. When the lead soldier peered out from the landing, he found the scene on the second floor even more gruesome. In the cramped space, the power of the Grenadiers’ grenades had been maximized. The one tossed through the machine gun port, judging by the scorch mark on the floor, had landed right at the gunner’s feet.

The gunner, assistant gunner, and the two riflemen tasked with security were all dead, lying in pools of blood. The Vickers machine gun, however, seemed largely undamaged, having been shielded by the two gunners who absorbed most of the grenade shrapnel.

Morin stooped down beside the window and briefly inspected the Vickers machine gun. The weapon was covered in dust and wood chips, but the water cooling jacket and the receiver did not appear to have suffered fatal damage. This relieved him. If there were no other issues, this Vickers machine gun would be 3rd Platoon’s first spoils of war. Although compatible ammunition might be scarce, a force-multiplier like the Vickers machine gun, known as the ‘best derivative of the Maxim,’ was always valuable in this era.

“Get this machine gun and the ammunition boxes down to the first floor. Keep your heads down and stick to the sides of the windows—don’t let our comrades outside mistake us for the enemy.” Morin left three soldiers with this instruction and then headed downstairs.

Outside the farmhouse door, the three squads who had been dispersed along the riverbed had been recalled by the messenger and had linked up with the soldiers who remained behind. Dozens of men crowded around the farmhouse, their faces visibly cheerful. The soldiers from Sergeant Klaus’s squad were even bragging to their comrades about their recent success.

Morin watched the chaotic scene, his temples throbbing. If the enemy suddenly counter-attacked, or if a shell landed nearby, the casualty count could be astronomical.

(End of Chapter 14)