Chapter 114 The Squad Firepower Problem

Compared to attending a banquet, Morin found he preferred contemplating unit organization and equipment issues.

And once he entered that state, he couldn’t help but keep thinking.

So, after considering the weapons for the assault team members, Morin felt that the riflemen should not be neglected either.

Currently, all infantry in the Imperial Army were equipped with bolt-action rifles. Their accuracy was indeed good, but the rate of fire was too slow.

In the increasingly fast-paced, rapidly changing close-quarters combat of the future, the time it took to cycle the bolt after firing a shot might be enough for him to be taken down by the enemy.

So, he still had to find a way to develop a semi-automatic rifle.

Morin had also considered going directly to an assault rifle…

But his knowledge of that weapon was limited to basic parameters and general principles. For him to actually build one was still a bit unrealistic.

“I need to take things one step at a time and develop a semi-automatic rifle first.”

Besides individual weapons, the platoon-level support firepower also needed to be prioritized.

The ‘air-cooled machine gun’ mentioned by the girl he met at the Imperial Patent Office, Helga Schmeisser, was a very suitable technological direction.

The MG08 water-cooled heavy machine gun currently equipped by the Saxon Army was excellent in sustained fire and shooting accuracy, but it was too cumbersome.

The gun body, tripod, ammunition box, and cooling water tank required several men to operate, making it impossible to keep up with the bounding overwatch speed of infantry squads and platoons.

A light, flexible, air-cooled light machine gun that could be carried by an individual or a two-man team was the future core of infantry squad firepower.

Speaking of which, Morin still felt that the six heavy machine gun teams of the 1st Company during the ‘Mackensen Offensive’ were Saxon supermen.

Although they had horse transport, for rapid formation of fire suppression during tactical maneuvers, the heavy machine gun teams had to physically carry the MG08 forward…

“Helga Schmeisser… Schmeisser, why does that surname sound familiar?”

Morin racked his brain for a long time but couldn’t recall.

However, he felt that any weapons designer who submitted a proposal for an ‘air-cooled light machine gun’ at this time was clearly very advanced in their thinking.

He could perhaps have Cecilia find someone to contact her later.

Morin, who had been lying in bed thinking, simply sat down at the writing desk, pulled out paper and pen, and began recording these ideas.

“Besides firearms, I could also try to develop some infantry support weapons…”

“A mortar? I can do that. I could even try to utilize the Magic Crystal Cannon’s powder-less propulsion technology…”

“Rifle grenades already exist in rudimentary form, but their reliability is poor. Perhaps I could figure out a way to develop a 40mm grenade launcher…”

“Individual anti-Armored Knight weapons must also be prioritized. We can’t let infantry keep carrying ‘Manure Forks’; the efficiency is too low.”

“If the Magic Crystal Cannon’s powder-less propulsion technology can be miniaturized, perhaps I could develop a rocket launcher tube?”

As the ‘scratch, scratch’ of the pen filled the paper, one page was quickly covered.

But these were just ideas; the actual implementation still required professionals…

After finishing his thoughts on individual firepower, he moved on to protection.

Besides the heavily criticized spiked helmet, which needed to be replaced no matter what, Morin had no immediate solution for torso protection.

The only personal bulletproof equipment related to this era in his mind was the lobster-shell-like, pieced-together steel armor.

But that thing was heavy and clumsy, and largely ineffective against rifle fire at close range. It made normal marching and combat impossible.

But Morin had no idea how to manufacture more modern body armor.

He studied command at the military academy before his transmigration, not material engineering. His professors hadn’t taught him how to develop bulletproof materials.

“But this world has magic, this inherently unreasonable thing.”

A flash of inspiration struck Morin.

Since Armored Knights could enchant cold weapons, and the armor and shields used by the General’s Guard soldiers also had protective enchantments, the technology must exist.

The reason it wasn’t widely adopted must be either that the cost was too prohibitive to be popularized or that there were certain limitations to its use.

Morin didn’t immediately know the specific reason, so he had to find an opportunity to learn more.

The human mind’s capacity for tangential thought can be quite dramatic.

Thinking of magic, Morin recalled another issue he had been ignoring.

Logically, he, a ‘wild Mage’ who awakened on the battlefield, should have attracted the attention of relevant authorities.

Yet, so far, no one from any Mage organization had contacted him, let alone asked any questions about his status.

It seemed there was no unified organization managing spellcasters in the entire Saxon Empire…

However, the reality was that an organization called the ‘Imperial Spellcasters Association’ did exist, specifically managing Mages within the Saxon Empire.

“Shit, are these Mages running an academic clique, playing at exclusion?”

Morin couldn’t help but complain inwardly.

He felt that the Mage community in this world was like a mysterious, closed circle, whose full picture was difficult for outsiders to grasp.

Just as he was deep in thought, a soft knock came from the door.

“Young Master Morin, the Madam is almost ready. Please wait in the hall downstairs for a moment.”

A maid spoke softly from outside the door.

“That quickly?”

Morin was surprised. He glanced at the clock on the bedside table. Only an hour and a half had passed.

His sister’s preparation efficiency was much higher than he had expected.

He tidied his uniform, put on his white gloves, grabbed his saber, and walked out of the room.

The moment he arrived in the main hall downstairs, he immediately drew everyone’s attention.

The butler and maids in the hall couldn’t help but let out small gasps of surprise when they saw Morin in his military attire and medals.

The sharply tailored uniform outlined his tall, straight physique. The Iron Cross on his chest gleamed under the light, and coupled with the saber at his waist and the immaculate white gloves, he exuded a powerful, imposing martial aura.

This was a stark contrast to the slightly frivolous noble young master they remembered.

However, this moment of awe did not last long.

Because when Cecilia’s figure appeared at the top of the spiral staircase, the entire hall instantly fell into complete silence.

Everyone’s eyes, like iron filings drawn to a magnet, were fixed firmly on her.

Even Morin felt his breath hitch at that moment.

Cecilia had chosen a deep purple, off-the-shoulder evening gown for the night.

The smooth satin fabric of the Parisian haute couture dress flowed with a mysterious, noble sheen under the light of the crystal chandelier, perfectly accentuating her breathtaking curves.

The skirt was not overly elaborate, yet it swayed gracefully as she walked, like an ephemeral Queen of the Night flower blooming in the darkness.

Around her neck, she wore a diamond necklace composed of countless tiny stones, with a sapphire the size of a pigeon’s egg suspended at the center. The deep blue of the gem perfectly complemented her gray-blue eyes, utterly captivating the audience.

Her honey-and-platinum mixed long hair was intricately pulled into an elegant and complex chignon, with a few subtly curled strands falling playfully near her ears, adding a touch of softness.

Morin had to admit that the ‘Morin’ of the past was indeed a man of great resolve.

As Cecilia slowly descended the stairs, step by step, leaning on the railing, the entire world seemed to become her mere backdrop.

Morin stood dumbfounded at the foot of the stairs, gazing up at her.

He felt his heart rate uncontrollably accelerate, and the blood seemed to rush to his head.

His meager sense of sibling affection seemed to be rapidly… spoiling?

At this moment, all thoughts of the assault battalion, the semi-automatic rifle, and the 20 million Marks were utterly forgotten.

Only one thought remained in his mind:

She is too beautiful.

By the time Cecilia reached the last few steps, Morin snapped out of his trance.

He instinctively took a step forward, straightened his chest, and elegantly offered his right hand.

It was a perfectly executed gesture to invite a dance partner.

Cecilia was momentarily taken aback by Morin’s action. Then, a captivating smile spread across her beautiful gray-blue eyes.

She gently placed her slender hand, encased in a long silk glove, in Morin’s palm.

“Shall we, my war hero?”

Her voice was soft and pleasing, carrying a hint of teasing.

Morin grasped her soft, boneless hand, guiding Cecilia down the last steps. The two stood side by side—though the description was inadequate, they truly looked like a pair of celestial lovers.

Luna, the Head Maid standing nearby, watched the oil-painting-worthy scene with eyes that almost glittered.

She couldn’t help but sigh inwardly, knowing that the Madam and the Young Master would undoubtedly be the most captivating attendees at the ball tonight.

As the carriage smoothly pulled into a brightly lit manor, Morin and Cecilia arrived at the venue of the ball.

The scale of this manor was not as grand as Cecilia’s residence, but it exuded an ancient, cultured elegance.

The carriage door was opened by a footman. Morin stepped out first, then turned, offering his hand in a perfectly natural gesture.

Cecilia placed her slender, silk-gloved hand in his palm, using his assistance to elegantly descend from the carriage.

The moment the two walked side-by-side toward the open doors of the ballroom, they instantly became the focus of everyone’s attention.

The loud hum of conversation seemed to momentarily quiet.

The gentlemen in the hall were all drawn by Cecilia’s mesmerizing beauty and nobility.

Their female companions, while awestruck, secretly cast assessing and comparative glances.

But soon, everyone’s attention was captured by the young officer at Cecilia’s side.

His perfectly tailored uniform, his sharply defined features, and especially the First Class Iron Cross gleaming on his chest under the chandelier, all proclaimed the young man’s extraordinary status.

“Is that… Madam von Falkenstein?”

“The young man beside her couldn’t possibly be that playboy, could he? He looks like a completely different person…”

“My God, is that a First Class Iron Cross! And he’s so young!”

Whispers arose from every corner of the hall.

Cecilia was clearly accustomed to being the center of attention. She entered slowly, a polite smile on her face, her arm linked with Morin’s.

As she passed Morin, she leaned close and whispered to him in a voice only he could hear, a playful sense of pride in her tone: “Do you see, Fritz… they are all looking at you.”

Morin gripped the saber at his waist, his back straight, his eyes fixed ahead. He only responded softly: “No, they are all looking at you. I am merely basking in my older sister’s reflected glory.”

Cecilia’s smile deepened.

Soon, the host of the ball, a white-haired but energetic old noble, proactively came forward to greet them.

“My dear Cecilia, you are radiant tonight! You have brought great honor to my manor.”

“You are too kind, Your Excellency,” Cecilia replied with a graceful bow.

The old noble’s gaze shifted to Morin, his eyes filled with undisguised surprise.

“Look who it is! Friedrich, you look like a completely different man!”

Morin exchanged humble pleasantries with him, then followed Cecilia to greet several other people, most of whom were Cecilia’s business associates.

The brief commotion created by the old noble quickly attracted the attention of other officers present.

Soon, several officers in various uniforms approached with wine glasses.

“Captain Morin, I’ve heard much about you.”

A Major, wearing his rank insignia, spoke first, his attitude very enthusiastic.

Morin glanced at his rank and immediately straightened: “Good evening, sir!”

He also noticed that the lowest rank among the officers present tonight seemed to be Major.

This meant that he, the lowest-ranking officer in the entire hall, would have to constantly salute everyone first.

“No need to be so formal, Captain Morin. This is a private occasion,” the Major said, smiling and waving his hand.

“We’ve all heard the news. His Imperial Highness the Crown Prince speaks highly of your performance on the Aragon front.”

Another Colonel also approached, looking at the First Class Iron Cross on Morin’s chest with a hint of envy:

“Captain Morin must be the fastest Saxon officer to ever receive the First Class Iron Cross. It seems the fighting in the Kingdom of Aragon was more brutal than we imagined…”

These officers, who were mostly stationed in the rear or the homeland, were clearly intensely curious about the war in the distant land.

They were more eager to hear the real stories from the battlefield from Morin, a firsthand witness, than to discuss the weather or stocks with the nobles and merchants.

A circle of officers quickly formed around Morin.

He stood composedly in the center, answering various questions with neither arrogance nor excessive humility.

He did not exaggerate, recounting only the publicly available information in a straightforward manner.

But even so, the stories of brutal close-quarters combat, whistling artillery fire, and the massive army’s rapid advance to the gates of Madrid still captivated the officers who hadn’t personally experienced the bloody battle.

Cecilia stood nearby, conversing softly with a few familiar noblewomen.

Her gaze, however, kept drifting toward Morin, who was surrounded by the officers, her pride and delight almost overflowing.

“Madam Falkenstein, your young brother is truly a credit to you,” one noblewoman said with envy.

“Indeed. He is not only handsome but also a war hero. His future is limitless.”

“You are too kind, too kind. The boy was just lucky…”

Whenever acquaintances praised Morin’s courage and youthful promise, she would humbly wave her hand, but the irrepressible smile on her lips betrayed her true feelings.

(End of this Chapter)

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