Chapter 77: Re-encounter with Mackensen

The Expeditionary Force Command, now under the regained leadership of General Mackensen, quickly issued new orders.

The heavily battered units from the Battle of Seville were to be rotated for rest and reorganization.

Two Saxon infantry divisions, fully manned and high in morale, plus a portion of the National Army forces, were grandly transported into Seville by military train, taking over the defense duties of the 16th Brigade and its allied forces.

The 16th Infantry Brigade, having suffered over fifty percent casualties, received a valuable opportunity for rest.

Since Seville was now firmly under friendly control and the railway was operating smoothly, Morin and his men were spared the hardship of a long march.

They were able to board the military train directly from the railway station within Seville.

Simultaneously, a notification flashed in the 【Intelligence】 tab.

The ‘Zeppelin-class’ Armored Airship L30 also left Seville, flying toward the Atlantic.

After completing a new round of maritime resupply, it would rendezvous with the Mediterranean Fleet passing through the Strait of Gibraltar.

“Are the Gauls trying to stir up trouble?”

Morin raised an eyebrow at the information, as the Strait of Gibraltar and North Africa were under Gaulish control in this world.

Although the Holy Britannian Empire had always suppressed the European continent single-handedly, the Gauls and the Saxons had not remained friendly under this external pressure.

Especially after losing Alsace, Lorraine, and access to the Mediterranean Sea during the ‘Saxo-Gaulish War,’ the relationship between the Saxon Empire and the Gallic Republic had been hostile.

Therefore, many predicted a future major war between the two, it was only a matter of time.

“Sigh, old Europe’s affairs are always so messy~”

On the platform, the incoming relief troops and the departing 16th Brigade officers and men crossed paths.

The newly arrived soldiers, all in high spirits and immaculate uniforms, curiously observed the city that had just endured a bloody battle and the soldiers behind it.

The officers and men of the 16th Brigade, however, mostly looked exhausted, their uniforms still bearing the indelible traces of gunpowder smoke and dust.

Although their formation was still maintained, the numbers in many companies were nearly halved, leaving conspicuous empty spaces.

Yet, the soldiers of the 16th Infantry Brigade stood tall. Having been baptized by fire and blood, these survivors carried a new sense of composure and tenacity.

The train slowly started, carrying the weary officers and men of the 16th Brigade toward the rear rest area.

Morin sat by the window, watching the Seville cityscape rapidly receding, his heart filled with emotions.

He had experienced the most brutal combat of his life here, and here, he had gained a new beginning…

“Sir, have some hot water.”

Morin’s habit of drinking hot water was well known to his non-commissioned officers.

Bowman somehow procured hot water on the train, filled it into a flask, and handed it to Morin.

The Corporal, who had served in the army for many years but used to have a slightly shy smile, now had a touch of world-weariness on his face.

“Thank you.” Morin took the flask and drank a sip.

The carriage was quiet. Most soldiers were slumped in their seats, deeply asleep.

The continuous days of fighting and the subsequent cleanup work had drained all their energy.

Now, they could finally let go of everything for a while and get some much-needed sleep.

The military train carrying Morin and his contingent finally stopped at a rear base near the Saxon Empire border.

This area was a rear base newly established by the Expeditionary Force, built around a small town. Large expanses of temporary barracks and warehouses had sprung up, bustling with busy soldiers and military vehicles coming and going.

The 16th Brigade was assigned a sizable encampment here.

According to the information Morin had gleaned from the brigade headquarters and from Ludwig, who had sneaked out to drink with him, the remaining forces of the 16th Brigade’s parent unit—the 8th Infantry Division—would soon be transferred from the homeland.

The 16th Brigade would then be reorganized and replenish its personnel and equipment losses from the Seville campaign via the reserve battalions.

This meant they wouldn’t have to return to the front line for quite some time.

Because replenishing personnel also required time for integration and training.

This news was great tidings for everyone.

However, the volunteers of the International Brigade did not rest in the rear for long.

After personnel and equipment replenishment, they returned to the front line via the railway.

For them, the war would not end until the Kingdom Army was destroyed and the Britannians were driven back into the sea.

Morin, having heard the news, settled his troops and then rushed to the station, where he ran into André and his men boarding the train.

Seeing Morin, the bearded André was somewhat surprised and also touched.

Although they hadn’t fought together for long, André could still feel genuine sincerity in Morin.

This was a stark contrast to the perfunctory politeness of other Saxon officers.

So André, who had already boarded the train, returned to the platform and gave Morin a strong bear hug.

The other International Brigade volunteers waiting to board the train, as well as the on-duty Saxon soldiers, all stopped and focused their attention on them.

Many of them were reminded of the times they had fought alongside these allied forces of various backgrounds.

In that moment, the camaraderie forged in battle was materialized into something that transcended nationality and identity, right there in the station of a foreign land for both of them.

“I don’t know when we’ll meet again, Second Lieutenant Morin. You are the first Saxon officer I’ve ever felt such an affinity for.”

“If fate allows, we will surely meet again.”

Morin smiled, then turned his head to look at the chemistry professor and the workers who were peering out of the train window.

“You all too. The next time we meet, I’ll treat you to Saxon beer.”

“Although I don’t drink much, it’s a deal…”

The chemistry professor said with a laugh, and the other workers also nodded and chuckled in agreement.

The steam locomotive began to emit plumes of white smoke, and the whistle sounded on the platform.

André said his goodbyes to Morin, nimbly jumped onto the slowly moving train, and waved to Morin, a thought flashing through his mind.

“Second Lieutenant Morin, I hope we don’t meet on the battlefield in the future…”

---

The day after the 16th Brigade settled into the camp.

Just as Morin and Klaus were patrolling the 3rd Company’s encampment and Morin was mentally planning the next steps for training once personnel were replenished, a messenger from the Expeditionary Force Command found him.

“Excuse me, are you Second Lieutenant Friedrich Morin?”

The messenger jogged over, saluted, and asked.

“Yes, that’s me.” Morin nodded, somewhat confused.

“Second Lieutenant, General Mackensen wishes to see you. Please come with me to the Expeditionary Force Command immediately.”

The messenger handed him a written order.

“General Mackensen?”

Morin took the order, a trace of doubt rising in his mind.

Morin had been 100% certain of the identity of Lieutenant General Mackensen, who had a close relationship with the original owner of this body, these past few days.

In the world before his transmigration, this man was the famous German Field Marshal, renowned for his campaign sweeping across the Balkan Peninsula during the war.

His rapid and decisive offensive style also earned him the nickname ‘Forward Marshal.’

Such a legendary figure, coupled with the complex relationship he had with the original owner of this body, made Morin somewhat nervous.

“Why would he suddenly want to see me now…”

Morin muttered to himself but did not dare to delay.

He briefly informed Klaus, then followed the messenger into the waiting car and sped toward the Expeditionary Force Headquarters.

The headquarters of the Saxon Imperial Army Expeditionary Force in the Kingdom of Aragon was established in a temporarily requisitioned manor.

The outside of the manor was ringed with barbed wire and multiple checkpoints, with guards posted at every short interval, creating a formidable atmosphere.

Morin, led by the messenger, passed through multiple layers of guard checks, his identity card and written order repeatedly verified before he was finally granted entry.

He followed the messenger across the courtyard to a secluded annex building in front of the main manor house.

This was General Mackensen’s residence and office.

At the courtyard entrance, two tall, heavily armored soldiers from the General’s Guard stood like statues, their eyes sharp, their greatswords resting on the ground, exuding an air of menace.

The messenger left after bringing Morin here.

Morin took a deep breath at the door, straightened his uniform, and then stepped forward to knock.

Soon, the door opened from the inside. It was General Mackensen’s aide-de-camp.

“Ah, Second Lieutenant Morin, please come in quickly. The General has been waiting for you for a while.”

The aide-de-camp smiled warmly when he saw Morin and invited him in.

The courtyard was quiet, with only the rustling of leaves in the wind.

The aide-de-camp guided him to the main house door, pushed it open for him, made a ‘please’ gesture, and then stood by the door, not following him inside.

Morin braced himself and stepped into the room.

The room’s furnishings were simple: a large oak desk, a few chairs, and a massive military map of the Kingdom of Aragon hanging on the wall.

General Mackensen sat at the desk, looking down at a document.

He wore a sharply pressed general’s uniform. His gray hair was impeccably combed, and his signature mustache was neatly trimmed.

Although over sixty years old, his posture was still perfectly straight, exuding the dignified aura of a seasoned veteran.

“Second Lieutenant Friedrich Morin, reporting as ordered!”

Morin snapped his heels together, gave a crisp salute, and reported in a loud voice.

General Mackensen looked up from the document, glanced at him, and slightly nodded, gesturing for him to sit down.

He did not say a single word.

Morin’s heart sank with a thump. He felt the atmosphere was off.

He cautiously sat down on the chair opposite the desk, instinctively only daring to perch on the front edge of the seat.

General Mackensen said nothing, continuing to look down at his document.

The room was eerily quiet, with only the monotonous ticking of the wall clock and the scratching sound of the General’s pen on paper.

Time ticked by, second by second. Morin felt as if he were sitting on pins and needles.

He dared not move or speak, keeping his eyes focused inward, trying to maintain steady breathing.

This silent pressure was even harder to bear than being directly reprimanded.

Morin could even feel sweat starting to bead on his forehead.

Perhaps the original owner of this body had always felt a genuine fear of General Mackensen, and this emotion was now influencing Morin.

He felt that the old General in front of him was like a silent volcano; he would never know when it might suddenly erupt.

Finally, just as Morin felt he was about to suffocate, General Mackensen finished reviewing the document in his hands.

He picked up his pen, signed his name at the bottom of the document, and neatly set the paper aside.

After doing all this, he finally looked up and directly faced the uneasy Morin.

“Why aren’t you speaking?”

The General’s voice was calm, betraying no emotion.

(End of this Chapter)