Chapter 324: When Their Blood Dyed the Earth

One hundred and twenty meters.

For a well-trained athlete, this was just a sprint distance of a dozen seconds.

Even for fully armed soldiers, running on flat ground wouldn’t take too long.

But between two defense lines filled with barbed wire, shell craters, and mud, this one hundred and twenty meters was the absolute boundary between life and death.

The sharp whistle was still echoing in the air when those North American Legion soldiers in khaki uniforms vaulted out of the trenches and set foot on the muddy, crater-pitted ground…

What welcomed them was not glory, but the death fire net already set up by the Saxons.

There was no probing, nor any transition.

The battle directly entered its climax from the very first second.

“Fire!”

The officers on the Saxon defense line roared this word almost simultaneously.

The Saxon soldiers, whose fingers had long been resting on the triggers, pulled them without hesitation.

The crisp popping sounds of Gew.98 rifles instantly merged together. These rifles, known for their accuracy on the training ground, hardly needed aiming at this distance.

The soldiers only needed to point their muzzles at the khaki human tide ahead, pull the bolt, and pull the trigger.

The rifles in their hands seemed to become a part of their bodies. Every strike of the firing pin was accompanied by a 7.92mm Mauser full-power cartridge spinning out at high speed.

But this wasn’t the most deadly thing.

The most deadly were those MG08 heavy machine guns that had been waiting here for a long time.

The thick water-cooling jackets emitted steam under continuous firing. The canvas ammunition belts slithered rapidly into the receivers like greedy snakes.

Then turned into countless scalding casings ejected from the other side, clattering onto the wooden-paved ground.

“Tu-tu-tu-tu-tu-tu—”

This dull and rhythmic roaring sound was the nightmare of all infantry.

A rate of fire of 450 rounds per minute allowed each heavy machine gun to weave an insurmountable metal storm directly in front of it.

Coupled with the more rapid short bursts of MG14 light machine guns located throughout the trench, the entire Saxon position seemed to turn into a hedgehog spitting fire.

Before the North American Legion soldiers charging at the very front could even let out a battle cry, their bodies were torn apart by large-caliber machine gun bullets.

Bullets penetrated torsos and broke limbs. The huge kinetic energy dragged human bodies backward.

As soon as the front row of soldiers fell, the back row of soldiers had to step over their comrades’ still twitching bodies to continue advancing, and then suffer the same fate.

Those officers and non-commissioned officers trying to maintain formation became the primary targets of the Saxon sharpshooters.

A non-commissioned officer holding a revolver, trying to wave his arm to encourage soldiers to advance, had just shouted, “For the Queen…”

“Bang!”

His whole body violently fell backward.

Three huge bloody holes instantly appeared on his chest, and the revolver in his hand was blown into a muddy puddle several meters away.

In just dozens of seconds, the originally noisy charge was replaced by screams and groans.

No one could cross even a distance of 50 meters…

The remaining survivors instinctively wanted to lie down, looking for cover. But in the flat, open no-man’s land with no shelter whatsoever, lying down only delayed the time of death.

Moreover, they couldn’t retreat at all.

In the departure trench, the dark muzzles of the disciplinary squad were pointed straight at the rear.

Morin stood behind the firing port, watching this cruel scene expressionlessly.

Through the information on the system map, he could see that about three Britannian infantry battalions were launching an attack in waves, company by company, over a front line of about 1 kilometer long.

[Holy Britannia Empire – North American Colony Conscript Legion – 4th Infantry Regiment – 1st Battalion]

Looking at the designation displayed by the system, Morin understood in his heart.

Sure enough, it was not a domestic unit.

These young people from across the ocean probably wouldn’t know until they died that the trench defense firepower of the industrial age was a black hole that could never be filled with human lives…

On the system map, the unit cards of the first wave of companies sent by those three infantry battalions had begun to flash violently, and the color changed from bright red to pale white, representing rout.

This meant that the organizational degree of this unit had completely returned to zero, and their morale had collapsed.

According to common sense, the attackers should stop the attack at this time, or release smoke to cover the retreat.

But what surprised Morin was that no whistle sound to stop the attack came from the opposite trench.

On the contrary, a more urgent whistle sound rang out.

“Toot! Tu-toot! Toot—!”

That was the signal urging the follow-up troops to attack.

In the first departure trench of the Britannian Expeditionary Force, countless bobbing heads surged again.

The follow-up companies of these three infantry battalions had arrived.

These soldiers, who had just squeezed out from the rear communication trenches, couldn’t see the tragic situation ahead at all.

Their vision was blocked by the towering earth walls, and only deafening gunfire and the hoarse roars of officers could be heard in their ears.

“Quick! Quick! Keep up!”

“The first company has already broken through! Charge up and expand the battle results!”

“Don’t dawdle! Do you want to go to the military tribunal?!”

On the faces of those immature-looking soldiers, there was tension and fear, but more of it was a kind of blind obedience.

They trusted their superiors and believed the lies about the “breakthrough.”

So, the second wave of soldiers began to climb the wooden ladders.

The moment the first soldier’s head popped out of the trench, the expression on his face instantly froze.

What met his eyes was not some “broken through” position at all.

But hell.

Over a distance of more than a hundred meters, corpses lay haphazardly. Blood dyed the black mud dark red. The wounded, still groaning in pain, struggled in the muddy water, but no one paid them any attention.

He subconsciously wanted to shrink back.

“Bang!”

A gunshot came from the trench behind him.

This soldier’s helmet flew off, and he slid down limply.

A young soldier holding a gun trembled as he ejected the casing, while an officer standing next to him roared at the terrified soldiers around: “This is the fate of those who shrink back! Attack! Anyone who dares to retreat will be executed on the spot!”

Under the muzzles of the disciplinary soldiers, the second wave of soldiers let out despairing cries and braced themselves to vault out of the trenches.

However, their fate was also preordained.

The Saxon machine gunners had already loaded new ammunition belts, and the Reaper’s scythe swung again.

At the same time, behind the Britannian battle lines, in a reinforced bunker on the second defense line.

Several Britannians wearing well-tailored senior officer uniforms were holding high-power binoculars, carefully scrutinizing the opposite Saxon position through narrow observation slits.

They didn’t seem to have the slightest tension, even appearing somewhat casual.

A Lieutenant Colonel with a handlebar mustache, while watching the attack ahead, said: “See that? Eleven o’clock direction, under that earth mound.”

“Saw it, the muzzle flash is very obvious. It didn’t fire during the first wave of attacks just now, but couldn’t hold back now.” A Major holding binoculars beside him said in a low voice.

“Very good, William… record this position.”

A Captain beside them nodded, then drew a red circle at the corresponding position on the map and marked a number next to it.

“This is the third hidden firepower point.”

He moved the pen tip to another place: “Sir, what about the one at the two o’clock direction? There seemed to be movement just now too.”

“That one is fake. There was no flash of fire all along. It should be a decoy.”

The Lieutenant Colonel analyzed calmly.

“However, behind that abandoned carriage at four o’clock, a heavy machine gun just fired. The field of fire covers the entire right flank.”

“Write it down.”

The Captain recorded quickly in his notebook, the pen tip making rustling sounds on the paper.

“These colonial country bumpkins are still somewhat useful.”

After a while, the Lieutenant Colonel put down the binoculars, looking at the khaki figures being massacred outside the observation slit, even with a slight smile on the corner of his mouth.

“At least they helped us test out all the teeth of the Saxons.”

“Yes, if we let our domestic boys test these firepower points, the loss would be too heartbreaking.”

The others echoed just like that.

In this observation post, no one would care about those dying lives.

In the eyes of these domestic noble officers, those colonial people who sold their lives to obtain the status of “first-class citizens” were essentially no different from consumables.

Only slightly more expensive than artillery shells.

“Sir, it seems the second wave is about done.”

The Major put down his binoculars and pointed forward.

“The Saxons’ firepower is too fierce, they can’t rush through at all. Should we suspend the third wave?”

Hearing his words, the Lieutenant Colonel looked down at his watch, then looked at the attack formation outside that was already sparse beyond shape.

“Hmm, almost done… Are the main firepower points all marked?”

“Basically all marked clearly. The Saxons exposed many hidden firepower points this time in order to intercept so many people.”

“That will do.”

The Lieutenant Colonel picked up the still-steaming black tea beside him, drank it in one gulp, stood up, and tidied his uniform.

“Notify the front, stop the attack, let the remaining people withdraw… if there are still people alive.”

With the issuance of the order, the third wave of North American Legion soldiers, who were originally geared up and ready to step into hell over there, were called off at the last moment.

When the frontline officers told them the attack was canceled, many young soldiers simply slumped at the bottom of the muddy trench, panting heavily, rejoicing that they had picked up a life from the gates of hell.

And on the opposite Saxon position, the gunfire finally completely ceased.

The trench after the battle fell into an eerie dead silence.

The smell of gunpowder smoke and blood permeating the air grew stronger, choking people breathless.

Except for a few observation posts, everyone else jumped down from the firing platforms.

No one spoke. Soldiers leaned silently against the earth walls, sitting or standing, looking forward with hollow eyes.

Such a battle could not produce any sense of honor. Not only Morin, but even the other soldiers around had very complex expressions on their faces.

Especially the machine gunners on several machine gun emplacements, who in the end couldn’t even help roaring, hoping the enemy opposite would stop such an attack.

It was just that in this environment, their voices were destined not to reach the ears of those attackers.

In the no-man’s land, mountains of corpses formed a hellish picture.

Occasionally, one or two not completely dead wounded could be seen twitching in the muddy water, but soon, their movements gradually stopped, completely blending into this land of death.

The mental impact brought by this scene was far greater than a bloody battle between evenly matched forces.

That was not a battle, but a slaughter.

And they were the butchers executing the slaughter.

“What are you all staring blankly at? Stay alert! Observation posts, watch the opposite movement! Others, clear casings, check weapons! Who knows if those lunatics will do it again!”

The roars of the non-commissioned officers broke the silence. They forced a stern demeanor, walking past soldier after soldier.

They patted the soldiers’ helmets, trying to use this method to awaken them from that oppressive emotion.

Morin put down the binoculars he had been holding, looked at the tragic scene ahead, and frowned slightly.

“Stopped?”

The Captain company commander beside him sighed, while also somewhat puzzled: “They just… aren’t fighting anymore?”

With that posture just now, he thought the Britannians were going to launch a general offensive.

As a result, two waves of charges threw away hundreds of people, and then it ended so anticlimactically?

“Of course they’re not fighting.”

Morin looked at the no-man’s land full of corpses, his tone calm: “Their purpose has already been achieved.”

“Purpose?” The Captain was stunned, “They didn’t capture anything.”

“They didn’t come to attack the position; they came to find your firepower points.”

Morin pointed to the hidden firepower points exposed just now: “Just now, to intercept those charging people, you had all the hidden machine gun positions fire, right?”

The Captain’s face changed, and cold sweat instantly came down.

“This… the situation was too urgent just now, I was afraid we couldn’t hold…”

“It’s not your fault, Captain…”

Morin shook his head and continued: “In that situation, any responsible commander would make the same choice.”

“The enemy already had the knife to our necks. You couldn’t give up the position in front of you and the soldiers’ lives just to avoid exposing the machine gun positions.”

“The ones who truly deserve to be spat on are those guys hiding in the back, using human lives as bait.”

He raised his head, looking at the silent position opposite, and a thought flashed through his mind—perhaps in the eyes of those Britannian domestic officers, the value of these colonial “servant armies” was limited to this…

This kind of thing was also common in the history of the world before his transmigration.

Those lofty empires were always accustomed to letting the people of the colonies bleed and sacrifice.

While they themselves safely enjoyed the dividends brought by war.

It seemed that no matter which world, the ugliness of human nature was interlinked.

And there was no doubt about the inhumanity of the Great British (referring to Britannia).

After speaking, Morin also nodded to this company commander, then jumped down from the firing platform and turned to leave with the “Plate Armor Supermen.”

When walking out of the communication trench, Morin looked back at the dead silent position that could no longer be seen.

Hundreds of lives were buried there, just to scout out a few hidden firepower points.

This was war.

In front of this huge meat grinder, human lives were truly just a number.