Chapter 304: What-derian? What-mel?

The temporary military camp on the outskirts of Koblenz had been particularly lively since the instruction unit moved in.

With the issuance of the expansion order, the originally somewhat empty camp area was quickly filled up.

Veterans drawn from various war zones, reserve soldiers who had just graduated from training camps, and carts of military supplies being pulled in made every inch of land here kicked up with dust every day.

Morin stood in front of the window of the Regimental Headquarters office, holding a cup of somewhat cold coffee in his hand, watching the crowd surging on the playground outside.

“The General Staff’s efficiency is quite high this time.”

He took a sip of the bitter coffee and said to Manstein behind him: “I was originally worried they would just stuff some random people to me. I didn’t expect the quality of the personnel sent to be decent.”

Manstein, burying his head in a pile of rosters, replied without looking up: “After all, bearing the titles of ‘Imperial Guard’ and ‘Instruction,’ and being a unit personally decorated by His Majesty, the Army Department dared not be too perfunctory. However…”

He paused, looked up at Morin: “The veterans selected from major units also led to another problem, that is, the composition of personnel is too complex…”

“Currently, our soldiers come from at least six different military districts, and mix High German, Low German, Flemish, Swabian dialect… It’s not easy to mold this group of people into a whole.”

Morin smiled: “Being mixed is good. Only when it’s mixed will there be no factions… As for molding… that’s something to worry about on the training ground.”

Just then, a burst of noise came from the camp gate.

Another long convoy drove in.

More than a dozen four-wheeled heavy wagons fully loaded with supplies made dull sounds as their wheels rolled over the gravel road.

Following behind the convoy was a marching column of about two hundred people on foot.

“It seems today’s last batch of replenishment soldiers has arrived.”

Morin put down the coffee cup, picked up the military cap on the table, and put it on: “Let’s go, Erich. We should also go meet these new officers… Didn’t Kleist say there’s a good seedling this time?”

Manstein closed the file, stood up, and tidied his uniform: “Naturally, we hope for a few more capable ones. Now expanding into a regiment, the gap of company and platoon level officers is too big… Just relying on promoting non-commissioned officers is still not enough.”

The two walked out of the Regimental Headquarters, and Kleist was already waiting at the door.

The three walked quickly towards the playground, and then found that this group of people was also mixed.

Morin could tell at a glance that half of them carried that familiar smell of gunpowder smoke, obviously withdrawn from the front line.

And the other half, like those reserve soldiers before, had faces written with immaturity and curiosity.

There were only two officers leading the team, a Second Lieutenant and a First Lieutenant.

Because this kind of scattered replenishment soldier transport was usually temporarily organized at Koblenz station, and then the person with the highest rank was designated to lead the team.

Morin walked over with Manstein and Kleist.

Seeing the Lieutenant Colonel rank on Morin’s shoulder and the dazzling Blue Max on his chest, the two officers immediately straightened their backs and loudly ordered the team to stand at attention.

“Attention everyone!”

The command voice was loud and powerful, revealing a typical Saxon officer style.

Morin stood in front of the team, his gaze sweeping over these more than two hundred unfamiliar faces, and finally landed on the two leading officers.

One looked very young, probably the same age as Morin.

His figure was relatively lean and sturdy, about 1.75 meters tall, with a lean face and distinct cheekbones.

His eyes were narrow and sharp, eye sockets deep, jawline resolute, and pursed thin lips appeared restrained.

The other looked a few years older, but at most twenty-five or twenty-six.

He was taller than the former, with broad shoulders, appearing more robust.

His face was square and broad, forehead full, jaw wide and thick, giving a calm impression.

The two walked quickly to Morin, their movements so standard that textbooks couldn’t pick out any faults.

“Snap!”

The two saluted in unison.

“Sir!”

The older First Lieutenant spoke first, his voice steady: “Former Station Chief of the Wireless Radio Station, Communications Battalion, 5th Cavalry Division, First Lieutenant Heinz Wilhelm Guderian, reporting with replenishment personnel!”

Immediately after, the Second Lieutenant with sharp eyes also said loudly: “Former Second Lieutenant of the 124th Württemberg Infantry Regiment, Erwin Rommel, reporting with replenishment personnel!”

The moment he heard these two names, Morin felt his brain go “buzz.”

If meeting Manstein and Kleist before was considered good luck by Morin.

Then now, looking at these two young officers standing straight in front of him, Morin felt this was no longer just good luck.

He had obviously successfully “ascended from a non-European (unlucky) to a European (lucky).”

Guderian.

Rommel.

Plus Manstein standing behind him.

Good heavens… The “Three Phantom Gods” of the Third Reich Army, are they all gathered in his small instruction regiment now?

Morin tried hard to control the expression on his face, not letting himself appear too shocked or reveal some obsessive smile.

He first looked at that First Lieutenant named Guderian.

That slightly broad face, combined with that meticulous hairstyle, actually gave Morin an inexplicable sense of déjà vu.

“Wait, this guy looks… why does he look a bit like Verstappen who drives the ‘Mars Rover’?”

Morin ridiculed in his heart.

However, looking closely, this “Father of Armored Warfare” of the Third Reich in another timeline didn’t have that fanaticism of wanting to drive tanks to the seaside in his eyes yet.

More of it was the rigor and calmness of a rear technical officer.

Then, Morin turned his gaze to Rommel beside him.

This “Desert Fox,” equally famous in another timeline, was just an infantry Second Lieutenant now.

But standing there, he was like an unsheathed dagger, exuding a strong aggressiveness all over his body.

A fire of longing for battle and longing to establish merits burned in his eyes.

This was the look only a natural war animal would have.

But Morin also had to admit that young Rommel’s appearance still had some gap compared to his “Field Marshal makeup photo”…

“At ease.”

Morin returned a standard military salute, trying to make his tone sound calm and majestic—with the Three Phantom Gods gathered under his command, it was hard not to be excited.

“I am Lieutenant Colonel Friedrich Morin, welcome to the Imperial Guard Instruction Assault Unit.”

Hearing Morin’s name, a glint flashed in the eyes of both Guderian and Rommel.

In the past month, Morin’s name had been thunderous on the Western Front battlefield.

Especially for a grassroots officer like Rommel who advocated offense, Morin, who dared to withstand a division with a battalion in Charleroi and dared to drive straight in at the gates of Paris…

Was simply an idol-level figure.

“I’ve heard of your prestigious name long ago, sir.”

Rommel couldn’t help but speak, with unconcealable admiration in his tone: “Your defensive battle in Charleroi was simply textbook level!”

Morin felt his expression management was about to go out of control.

Damn, Rommel standing in front of him with a face full of admiration… If not for Morin’s deep cultivation, he would have burst out laughing by now.

“Textbook?”

Morin smiled and shook his head: “If textbooks taught you to fight like me, then the person who wrote the book must be a lunatic.”

The people around let out a burst of good-natured laughter.

The atmosphere relaxed a bit.

Morin turned his head and instructed Kleist behind him: “Kleist, arrange for someone to take everyone to the barracks, still according to the old rules…”

“Yes, sir!”

Kleist responded and started greeting the non-commissioned officers to take people away.

The “old rules” Morin mentioned were actually breaking up the people and reorganizing them.

Only after the soldiers lined up and left did Morin look at these two “UR Cards” in front of him again.

“First Lieutenant Guderian, Second Lieutenant Rommel.”

Morin looked at them and said seriously: “Since you were recommended to this unit, I believe you are all elites in your respective fields… So I also sincerely hope you can successfully pass the ‘Officer Assessment’ of the instruction unit and truly become a part of this unit.”

He pointed to the medals on his chest, then pointed to the training ground in the distance, and the battlefield even further away that couldn’t be seen.

“In this unit, there is only one requirement… able to fight, and win battles.”

“Yes!” The two responded in unison.

“Alright, Captain Manstein will take you to handle the officer reporting procedures and pick up new equipment by the way…”

“Yes, sir!”

Watching the retreating figures of Manstein taking Guderian and Rommel away, Morin stood in place, couldn’t help taking a deep breath, and then rubbed his face vigorously.

“I#…”

He finally couldn’t help but curse, revealing a silly smile like winning five million in the lottery on his face.

“Don’t tell me I really gathered the All-Star lineup!”

Just think about it.

Manstein responsible for formulating combat plans and grand strategy.

Guderian responsible for studying armored assault theory and Blitzkrieg.

Rommel responsible for leading the charge, frontline command, and on-the-spot adaptation.

If this lineup were taken out, let alone in this WWI plane, even in WWII, it would be a Dream Team that makes one’s scalp numb.

“Sir, are you okay?”

Kleist came back after handling the soldier placement. Seeing Morin standing there giggling, he couldn’t help asking with some concern: “Are you too tired?”

“I’m fine, I’m good… very good.”

Morin asked casually while walking back with him: “By the way, how was that First Lieutenant Guderian transferred here? Logically speaking, a communications officer in a cavalry division is a technical post, rarely transferred laterally to an infantry assault unit, right?”

Kleist looked left and right, lowered his voice, and leaned close to Morin’s ear.

“Sir, I just looked at his file. This First Lieutenant Guderian’s background is not simple.”

“Oh?” Morin raised an eyebrow.

“His father is Friedrich Guderian.” Kleist reported a name, “A retired Army Lieutenant General due to injury.”

Morin’s footsteps paused, and the expression on his face became somewhat strange.

“Son of a retired Lieutenant General?”

Morin rubbed his chin, thoughtful.

“No wonder he could jump out of a place like the cavalry division where ‘noble masters’ gather.”

In the Saxon army of this era, cavalry was still regarded as the most glorious and traditional branch, usually only noble children could thrive in it.

“I heard it was because he always made some strange suggestions in his original unit and wasn’t very popular.”

Kleist continued to gossip: “Also, his father seemed to hope he could train in a frontline unit. It happened that the instruction unit is famous now and is in the expansion period, so he got him over.”

Morin instantly understood the key point.

“Damn, the Father of Blitzkrieg ran to me to get gilded?”