Chapter 305: Assault Troopers’ Grand Study Session, Phase One

Over the next few days, Morin discovered that Guderian wasn’t the only one who had come to “get gilded.”

Besides absorbing a large number of replenishment soldiers and supplies, the entire garrison also received quite a few officers. Among them, those candidate officers who had just graduated from the military academy made Morin scratch his head.

Von Kleist, Von Arnim, Von Strachwitz…

At a glance, the concentration of “Von” in the names on the roster was terrifyingly high.

Most of these young men had just graduated from the military academy or were recently commissioned candidate officers. Each was dressed smartly, their leather boots polished to a shine, and that innate arrogance could be smelled from hundreds of meters away.

However, for the Saxon Empire, this was actually normal.

After all, Junker nobles were essentially military aristocracy, so the Saxon officer corps had always been largely composed of Junker officers.

Officers from ordinary backgrounds like Rommel were actually quite rare.

As for the “gilding” issue, Morin wasn’t surprised.

After all, Old European nobles… gilding their descendants was standard procedure.

“It seems we’re getting a lot of attention here.”

Morin sat behind his desk, handing the list in his hand to Manstein as he spoke.

Manstein took the list and glanced at it, frowning imperceptibly: “This isn’t surprising, sir… Not to mention your fame, just looking at the promotion speed demonstrated by our unit, using this place as a springboard is more than appropriate.”

“Springboard?”

Morin sneered, leaning back in his chair: “Did they only see the words ‘Imperial Guard’ and ‘Instruction,’ completely ignoring the most important word in our unit’s full name?”

“Assault…”

Manstein nodded, speaking calmly: “Perhaps in their view, as long as they follow behind you, battles can be won, and credit can be claimed. As for danger… that’s something soldiers should worry about.”

“Then they’re going to be disappointed.”

Morin stood up and walked to the window, watching those young noble officers on the playground who were still exchanging pleasantries as if attending a manor party. His gaze gradually turned cold.

“Sir, regarding the training arrangements for these people, what are your thoughts? Follow the standard procedure, or…”

Manstein asked tentatively: “Take care of them a little? After all, if we accidentally break a few heirs of great nobles, the Army Department might have complaints.”

This was indeed a practical problem.

Although Morin was now highly regarded by the royal family, offending a large group of Junker nobles at the same time would make his future days difficult.

Morin turned around and looked at this future strategic master, his eyes revealing an unprecedented seriousness.

“Erich, you’re still thinking with the mindset of the old aristocracy.”

Morin walked back to the table, hands supporting him on the surface, staring into Manstein’s eyes.

“Differential treatment? Of course, there must be differential treatment!”

Manstein was stunned. Before he could breathe a sigh of relief, he heard Morin say decisively: “Give them extra training! Train them to death!”

“Ah?” The always steady Manstein couldn’t help but open his mouth wide.

“As grassroots officers, they have to lead soldiers into battle! If the officer himself is a soft-legged shrimp who pants after running two steps and faints at the sight of blood, do you expect the soldiers to obey him?”

Morin’s fingers tapped heavily on the table, making dull “thud-thud” sounds.

“In my unit, soldiers’ obedience to officers must never be merely because of those two shoulder boards or the ‘Von’ in their surnames!”

“What I want is absolute strength, the kind of trust that makes soldiers willing to put their lives in his hands!”

“If they can’t do this, they should get out and go home early, don’t harm others and themselves on the battlefield!”

These words were forceful, vibrating Manstein’s eardrums.

Looking at this superior who was several years younger than himself, an inexplicable respect surged in his heart.

In this imperial army that valued family status and background, Morin was probably the only one who dared to speak like this and truly intended to do so.

Manstein nodded thoughtfully. Although he had reservations about this radical approach, reason told him Morin was right.

“Understood, sir. Then proceed according to the highest standards?”

“No, a bit higher than the highest standards.”

Morin grinned, revealing white teeth: “Train with the soldiers during the day, and extra training for all officers and non-commissioned officers alone at night. I will lead the team personally.”

Manstein nodded, silently starting to pray for those proud noble young masters in his heart.

Being personally “tutored” by this physically abnormal superior… the taste… would probably be more exhilarating than going to the front line.

Just as Manstein prepared to turn and leave to arrange the training plan, Morin suddenly seemed to remember something and stopped him.

“By the way, Erich.”

“Any other instructions, sir?”

Morin looked at him with a smile, then glanced at Kleist, who had just walked in the door preparing to report on work.

“Since we want to lead by example, the officers of our Regimental Headquarters cannot be left behind.”

Morin pointed at Manstein, then at the bewildered Kleist.

“Those old officers and non-commissioned officers who didn’t go to the military academy for further study and stayed behind, plus you two… come for extra training together at night.”

Manstein stumbled and held onto the door frame directly.

The folder in Kleist’s hand almost fell to the ground.

“S-Sir?” Kleist asked stammering, “We… also have to train?”

“Nonsense!” Morin said as a matter of course, “Staff officers are also officers. If one day the headquarters gets raided, do you intend to use fountain pens to poke the enemy’s ass?”

Seeing their expressions as if they had lost their parents, Morin was in a great mood.

“Alright, don’t look so mournful. This is for your own good~ Look at your small frames, then look at me… We are going to be the benchmark for the whole army; physical fitness must be nailed down!”

Manstein and Kleist looked at each other, seeing deep despair in each other’s eyes.

They knew very well that since the start of the war, Morin’s physical fitness had been rising ridiculously fast.

If Morin hadn’t widened the gap in physical fitness with others when the Instruction Assault Battalion was just established.

Then now, he had completely reached the next level…

Yesterday, right after the new 400-meter obstacle course was set up, Morin couldn’t wait to run a lap.

In the eyes of others, that speed was almost like flying. In the end, his face wasn’t red, and he wasn’t panting, and he could even grin and ask others nearby if they wanted to follow him for another lap.

Train with him?

This wasn’t extra training; this was clearly execution!

But military orders were like mountains. Apart from standing at attention, saluting, and shouting “Yes,” the two had no room for rebuttal.

After walking out of the office, Kleist looked at Manstein resentfully: “Manstein, I heard everything outside the door just now. Why did you mention differential treatment? If you…” Manstein sighed, looked up at the sky, with a face full of lovelessness.

“I didn’t expect the fire would eventually burn onto ourselves either…”

The next morning, the last batch of replenishment soldiers and officers finally arrived.

Morin led Manstein and Kleist to welcome them as usual.

Since it was the last batch and there was a delay of a few days in between, Morin had received the list of this batch of officers in advance.

So when he saw the two First Lieutenants standing in the formation, his heart beat wildly a few times again.

“Former Battalion Adjutant of the 2nd Battalion, 111th Infantry Regiment, First Lieutenant Friedrich Wilhelm Paulus, reporting for duty!”

The speaker was a tall, neatly groomed officer.

He stood straight, every button buttoned tightly, exuding a rigorous to rigid temperament.

Morin quickly scanned the file in his hand, which contained a comment from his former superior:

[First Lieutenant Paulus performs excellently at work, acts very methodically, and strives to avoid making enemies with colleagues… but his actions are slightly slow, tending to spend excessive time analyzing the situation before issuing orders.]

A typical staff officer talent, the commander of the Sixth Army in another world, the field marshal who hesitated and finally surrendered in Stalingrad…

Morin silently labeled him in his heart: Useful tool man, but someone needs to push him from behind at critical moments, or simply don’t let him make final decisions.

Immediately after, another voice sounded.

“Former Battalion Adjutant of the 1st Battalion, 52nd Infantry Regiment, First Lieutenant Otto Moritz Walter Model, reporting for duty!”

Compared to Paulus’s gentleness and elegance, this First Lieutenant Model gave a completely different feeling.

He wasn’t very tall and was relatively young, but he wore a monocle maturely—just like other older traditional Saxon officers.

According to the file in Morin’s hand, Model’s unit also participated in all previous battles under the First Army Group.

He was even one of the officers personally selected by General Seeckt, Chief of Staff of the First Army Group, which was enough to prove his excellent performance.

“Lion of Defense,” “Firefighter”…

Morin looked at this young man who was still slightly immature but already showing his sharpness, suppressing the impulse to shout “Mo Bu Gong” (Model Doesn’t Attack – a nickname referring to his defensive prowess).

Good heavens, now the set is really complete.

Kleist, Manstein, Guderian, Rommel, and now adding Paulus and Model…

What kind of configuration for a regiment-level unit is this?

This is simply stuffing half the sky of the future Third Reich Army in here!

Morin tried hard to maintain his facial expression management, said a few simple words of welcome, and asked Manstein to take them to handle the enrollment procedures.

After everyone left, Morin couldn’t pretend anymore.

He rushed back to his office almost at a race-walking speed.

“Bang,” closed the door, locked it.

“AWESOME!!!”

A suppressed low roar echoed in the room.

Morin waved his fist fiercely, even throwing a set of chaotic combination punches on the spot.

This is the “Dream Team”… As long as he can train this group of people, will he still need to worry about fighting wars in the future?

Directly divide the tasks: Manstein makes plans and grand strategy; Guderian leads future motorized or even mechanized troops; Rommel leads frontline assaults; Model is responsible for defense; Paulus and Kleist are responsible for logistics and staff work…

He can just be a hands-off boss and lead assault teams on the front line without distractions!

Is this the feeling of a “European Emperor” (someone extremely lucky)?

Loved it, loved it!

Just as Morin was immersed in beautiful fantasies about the future, Kleist, passing by the door, suddenly stopped.

He looked at the closed door in confusion.

Just now… did some strange sound come from inside?

Like the roar of some beast, or like… a moan of extreme excitement?

“Is the Commander… under too much pressure?”

Kleist shook his head, didn’t dare to ask more, and left quickly.

Inside the room, Morin, having vented, sat up again and tidied his somewhat messy uniform.

Excitement aside, he knew in his heart that these people were just unpolished jades now, not yet truly polished.

Especially those “gilded” nobles mixed in the team needed to be cleaned up properly.

“Since everyone is here…”

Morin walked to the mirror, looked at the young and vibrant face in the mirror, and the corner of his mouth curved into a cruel arc.

“Then let’s begin, Hell Week… no, Hell Month.”

On the first day of the full regiment joint training, a good show was staged on the instruction unit’s training ground.

After the soldiers started basic training like formation and shooting, the new officers and non-commissioned officers were uniformly taken to the 400-meter obstacle course.

Cloud ladders, single-plank bridges, high walls, low crawl nets… every obstacle looked full of malice.

The new officers and soldiers formed a circle, looking at these strangely shaped facilities, their faces full of bewilderment.

A few were even somewhat disdainful.

“This is the so-called training? Crawling around like monkeys?” A Second Lieutenant from a famous family muttered softly, with a bit of contempt in his tone.

His voice wasn’t low; many people around heard it and let out low laughs.

Morin stood in front of the formation, his ears twitched, and a smile that sent chills down one’s spine appeared on his face.

“It seems someone thinks this is very simple.”

He unhurriedly took off his jacket, threw it to Kleist beside him, wearing only a thin training shirt, and moved his wrists and ankles.

“Since it’s simple, I’ll demonstrate it to you all once… Watch carefully, I only teach once.”

“Kleist, start timing!”

“Yes, sir!”

As soon as the voice fell, Morin shot out like a cannonball leaving the chamber.

100-meter sprint, the speed was so fast it brought up a gust of wind.

Immediately followed by the cloud ladder. He used both hands and feet, his movements so fast that only afterimages remained, flipping over in a few strokes.

Walking on flat ground on the single-plank bridge, not even decelerating before the high wall, kicking the wall with one foot to borrow force, propping up with both hands, his body drew a perfect arc in the air, landing steadily.

Crawling forward, he was like a flexible alligator on the muddy ground. The iron wire on the low crawl net was only a few centimeters from his scalp, but his speed didn’t decrease at all.

The whole field was silent.

Those faces originally with mocking smiles were all frozen now.

Guderian’s eyes widened, mouth slightly open;

Rommel’s eyes flashed with fanatical light;

Model put away his monocle with a solemn expression;

Even the always calm Paulus unconsciously clenched his fists…

When Morin crossed the finish line, stood still calmly, not even panting much, Kleist’s hand holding the watch shook.

“1 minute 30 seconds…”

This result, placed in the world before Morin’s time travel… would also break the whole army record of 1 minute 31 seconds 34.

Placed in this era where most countries were still practicing line formation attacks, it was simply a dimensionality reduction strike.

Morin took the jacket, his gaze swept across the audience, and finally fixed on the Second Lieutenant who spoke rudely just now.

“This is called like a monkey?”

The Second Lieutenant’s face was flushed, wishing he could find a crack in the ground to crawl into.

“From today on, this is your compulsory course.”

Morin’s voice spread throughout the field: “Whether soldier or officer, anyone who can’t run within 2 minutes 30 seconds, don’t think about eating dinner. As for officers…”

He paused, revealing devil-like fangs: “8 PM, we continue.”

The next month was a nightmare that no one in the instruction unit could wake up from.

On the outskirts of Koblenz, from early morning to late night every day, roars, whistles, and retching sounds due to exhaustion echoed.

Those noble young masters who originally just wanted to come for “gilding” finally realized what kind of fire pit their parents had sent them into.

There was no afternoon tea, no balls, only endless physical extraction.

The training plan formulated by Morin was simple and crude—benchmarking against the peak of light infantry with “red collar patches, green uniforms, semi-squatting horse stance, and slanted guns” (referencing the PLA).

Note that the food of the current “Imperial Guard Instruction Assault Unit,” strengthened by Morin’s own pocket, had already surpassed the troops of that era.

So there was no material gap, and Morin’s requirement was only to let the instruction unit reach 80% of that level, which was enough.

Five-kilometer cross-country was the appetizer, 400-meter obstacle was the main course, and tactical interspersing and live-fire shooting were desserts.

And Morin, this pervert, gave the officers “extra tutoring” every night.

On the dark training ground, a group of company officers and non-commissioned officers, already tired like dead dogs during the day, were tortured by Morin until they crawled all over the ground.

“Fast! Faster! That’s the enemy’s machine gun position. Are you crawling so slowly to save bullets for the other side?”

“Lower your ass! Do you want to be turned into a sieve?”

“Running so slowly, how can you be assault troopers?! Do you want me to rush at the very front?!”

Under this high-pressure environment, elimination began.

As Morin expected, the first ones who couldn’t hold on were indeed those noble children who came with a “gilding” mentality.

Some couldn’t stand the smell of mud and sweat, some fell on the obstacle course crying for their parents, some cried and shouted to find their uncles in the Army Department to transfer away…

For these people, Morin didn’t retain them at all, waving his pen to return them all to their original units.

“Those who should get out, get out quickly. The instruction unit wants steel, not scrap iron.” This was what he said during a roll call one evening.

With the peeling off of the “gold-plated” layer, the remaining “real gold” was slowly refined bit by bit in the daily training…

At the same time, the study personnel sent by various combat units also arrived successively and joined the physical, tactical, and theoretical training together.

Morin didn’t hide anything and emphasized many times that “physical fitness is the foundation of all tactics.” Talking about tactics without physical fitness was completely empty talk.

And all trainees could obtain materials such as “Assault Unit Combat Regulations” and “Assault Unit Training Syllabus” compiled by Morin, Manstein, and Kleist, as well as specific blueprints for the 400-meter obstacle run after all courses ended.

After all, it was an instruction unit; people came to truly learn things to take back.

And just during the process of reorganization and training in full swing, Morin suddenly received an invitation from the Teutonic Knights.