Chapter 154: Infiltration

While the Air Drop operation was launching, inside the Second Army Group Command Post, General von Bulow was anxiously reviewing the results of the ‘Meuse River Battle Group’s’ attack from today.

Smoke filled the Operations Room. The gigantic map on the wall was covered with marks from various red and blue pencils, but the red arrow representing the offensive spearhead was firmly blocked outside the Liège Fortress cluster.

The failure of the entire day’s offensive made the Army Group Commander’s face grim enough to drip water.

The timetable! That damned timetable!

The staff officers sitting in their offices at the General Staff had calculated every step of the entire Western Front campaign precisely down to the day. But they completely failed to understand that the frontline situation changes rapidly; it’s not that easy to follow a plan.

While the Second Army Group was stalled, the First Army Group, commanded by General Mackensen to the north, had an extremely successful day of fighting.

According to the battle report just received, even without the Armored Airship providing air fire support in the afternoon, General Mackensen still commanded the various units of the First Army Group to completely suppress the enemy forces in the north.

The Teutonic Knights tasked with countering the Grand Duchy of Flanders’ elite ‘Order of the Golden Fleece’ even engaged the enemy’s Armored Knights in a ‘massive melee’ involving nearly a hundred Armored Knights in the open ground.

In the end, relying on a newly commissioned armor-piercing weapon, the Teutonic Knights achieved a terrifying exchange ratio of one to twelve, virtually annihilating this elite Assault Force of the Grand Duchy of Flanders.

But the problem now was that no matter how smoothly the North was fighting, they would be dragged down by the stalled offensive here at the Second Army Group.

If he couldn’t capture Liège City, which was guarded by twelve fortresses, the First Army Group would be unable to advance confidently deep into Gaul. This was because their flank would be completely exposed to the threat of the Liège Fortress cluster, and the First Army Group’s supplies would be greatly affected due to the failure to open the railway line.

With this thought, General von Bulow irritably waved his hand, clearing the smoke in front of him.

He glanced at the wall clock; the hour hand already pointed to nine o’clock at night.

“Connect me to the front line. I want to speak with Ludendorff,” he ordered his Aide-de-Camp.

He needed to know how the mad Air Drop plan was progressing. He needed every detail.

To be honest, General von Bulow had completely disagreed with the plan from the start.

Especially when he learned that the unit executing the Air Drop operation was the treasured Instruction Assault Team, he nearly slammed the table in refusal.

Ludendorff, what kind of joke are you playing?

He himself was reluctant to commit this unit to a brutal siege battle, only wanting them to follow in the rear, guarding the Supply Train and acting as a mascot.

Yet, this Ludendorff fellow was preparing to throw the General Staff’s direct unit, the Crown Prince’s most precious ‘toy,’ directly into the enemy’s heartland?

If anything went wrong, how would he explain it to the Crown Prince? How would he explain it to the General Staff? By saying he had a moment of madness and directly sacrificed this elite unit?

But ultimately, due to Ludendorff’s insistence, von Bulow had no choice but to begrudgingly agree to the plan.

This was because Ludendorff told him that if they didn’t do this, they would have to wait for the national ‘Big Bertha’ super siege artillery to be transported to the front line before resuming the siege operation.

But in terms of time, the transport and setup alone would cause at least ten days of delay.

Ten days!

This number struck General von Bulow’s heart like a heavy hammer… He couldn’t bear the responsibility.

If the Instruction Assault Battalion was lost, the worst he would face was reprimand from the General Staff and the Crown Prince.

But if he jeopardized the entire operational plan, he would face a court-martial!

Soon, the wired telephone line to the front was connected. After a burst of static in the earpiece, Ludendorff’s calm but slightly weary voice sounded.

“General, it’s me, Ludendorff.”

“How is the plan progressing?” General von Bulow asked straight to the point.

“The Air Drop is complete. The Armored Airships have safely disengaged from enemy airspace,” Ludendorff’s reply was concise.

“What’s next? What are your plans?” General von Bulow pressed, his tone betraying an urgency he himself was unaware of.

The other end of the line was silent for a moment.

After several seconds, Ludendorff’s voice returned, though this time, it carried a hint of uncertainty.

“Next, we will have to see if Captain Morin can create this miracle for us.”

Inside the Liège Fortress cluster.

In the dead silence of the wilderness at night, Morin led the regrouped Assault Troops, hiding in a dense patch of shrubs, making their final combat preparations.

All twenty people, not one missing, had successfully assembled.

This brought a wave of relief to everyone and further deepened their awe for their elusive commander.

“Check your equipment, especially the ammunition,” Morin said in a low voice to the soldiers gathered around him.

“We are going to pull off something big next. No one can afford to fail.”

The soldiers immediately began checking their weapons and ammunition. Breeches rattled as they were pulled back, and magazines in their chest harnesses were inspected repeatedly.

In this twenty-man Assault Team, there were two Machine Gunners carrying MG14 Light Machine Guns, along with their two Assistant Gunners carrying MP14 Submachine Guns.

Each person’s backpack contained only two 250-round ammunition belts, besides their field water bottle; none of the bulky equipment used for daily marching was present.

The remaining sixteen people, including Morin and Manstein, were all armed with MP14 Submachine Guns, except for two soldiers with exceptional marksmanship who carried Lee-Enfield Rifles captured from the Grand Duchy of Flanders soldiers.

Besides the magazines and hand grenades in their chest harnesses, everyone’s backpack only contained a water bottle and a small hurricane lamp for illumination. The remaining space was used to carry extra ammunition for the Machine Gun Team and a quantity of Time-Delay Detonators.

Manstein crouched beside Morin, nervously checking the MP14 Submachine Gun in his hands.

He still felt like he was dreaming.

Jumping from hundreds of meters in the sky, landing unscathed in the enemy’s heartland, and then, in this pitch-black night, quickly finding all his scattered comrades as if guided by something.

All of this went against every military common sense he had learned in military school and the General Staff over the past two decades.

He secretly glanced at Morin beside him. The young Captain was calmly checking his gear, showing no sign of tension.

“Sir, are we really going to attack the fortress command post next?” Manstein couldn’t help but ask.

According to the original plan, they had three primary objectives: the fortress command post, the anti-air Magic Guided Devices, and the Magic Power Hub. Destroying the fortress command post would leave the cluster leaderless. Destroying the anti-air Magic Guided Devices would allow the Armored Airships to attack safely. Destroying the Magic Power Hub would paralyze all devices in the fortress that require magic power.

However, all three objectives sounded like they were on ‘Hell difficulty.’

“Of course,” Morin replied without lifting his head. “If we don’t pull off something big, how can we justify the massive risk we took jumping down?”

He snapped a carefully loaded magazine into the gun, then looked up at Manstein and grinned.

He was extremely confident and optimistic.

Manstein: “…”

The Operations Staff Officer wanted to say something, but looking at Morin’s face, which radiated confidence, the nervousness and fear he felt somehow genuinely dissipated a great deal.

Perhaps this commander really did have some unknown trump card.

Just then, the roar of a vehicle engine sounded in the distance.

Morin became alert almost instantly. He pressed down on Manstein, who was about to stand up, and at the same time signaled ‘concealment’ to the surrounding soldiers.

Everyone quickly lowered their bodies and hid in the shadows of the roadside woods.

On the system map, a token representing a Holy Britannian Empire unit was moving steadily along a country road in their direction.

The small print under the token clearly labeled it—‘Britannian Expeditionary Force Liaison.’

Britannian people?

Morin was somewhat surprised. He hadn’t expected the Britannian people to arrive so early.

He straightened up and raised his binoculars, looking in the direction of the sound.

Under the moonlight, two black four-wheeled sedans were driving with dim headlights on the bumpy dirt road.

Morin recognized the shape of the cars immediately—weren’t these the Luminacrystal-Powered Vehicles manufactured by Mercedes-Benz?

It seemed the Saxon Empire and the Grand Duchy of Flanders did have quite a bit of business before the war.

At the same time, a new idea flashed through Morin’s mind like lightning.

His original plan was to disguise themselves as Grand Duchy of Flanders soldiers and try to sneak into Liège City.

But now…

Morin looked at the two approaching cars, and an even bolder, crazier plan quickly formed in his mind.

What if they could replace them?

Disguise themselves as Britannian Liaisons and enter Liège City directly to the Command Post with the escort of Flanders officers…

At this thought, Morin’s heart started racing.

The risk was enormous, but the potential reward was equally huge!

Let’s do it!

“Attention, everyone!”

Morin whispered, quickly issuing the order.

“The two Machine Gun Teams, immediately find positions by the road and prepare to provide fire cover! Absolutely do not fire without my command!”

“The rest of you, take off your chest harnesses and follow me onto the road!”

Soon, Morin led the remaining sixteen Assault Troops to block the middle of the road, deliberately placing the soldiers with the Lee-Enfield Rifles at the very front.

He spoke softly to the group: “Maintain composure, act on my command, and absolutely do not speak first. Keep your submachine guns hidden behind your backs!”

Although the Assault Troops didn’t understand what their commander was doing, they executed the order without hesitation.

They all held their breath, their hearts pounding, waiting for the two cars to arrive.

The headlights grew brighter, and the roar of the engine became clearer.

Morin took a deep breath, adjusted his ill-fitting Flanders uniform, and then, carrying a hurricane lamp, strode into the middle of the road.

“Stop!”

He shouted loudly in fluent Netherlandic.

A screech of brakes broke the silence of the night.

The two Luminacrystal-Powered Vehicles stopped less than ten meters from Morin.

The door of the first car opened, and a Flanders officer wearing a First Lieutenant’s rank stepped out of the passenger seat.

He looked young, with a hint of displeasure and vigilance at being stopped.

“Who are you? Why are you setting up a checkpoint here?” he asked in Netherlandic with a strong Southern accent, his hand unconsciously resting on the pistol at his waist.

Morin walked over slowly, holding the hurricane lamp. The dim light made his face hard to see clearly.

“Sir, we are from the 11th Brigade.”

Morin replied in equally fluent Netherlandic, though his accent was noticeably Northern.

“The Saxon airship just bombed Liège, and the city is in chaos! Command Post ordered us to intensify road patrols and check all passing vehicles and personnel!”

He then ‘kindly’ warned: “We are only the first sentry post here. There are two more temporary checkpoints ahead, and the inspection will be even stricter.”

Hearing Morin’s explanation, especially the pure Northern accent, the young First Lieutenant’s vigilance visibly lowered. In this nation with sharp North-South tensions, an accent often represented one’s allegiance more than a uniform.

“The 11th Brigade?” the First Lieutenant asked casually. “Which regiment are you from?”

(End of this Chapter)

Chapter 155: I’m Striking the Friendly Forces

‘Here it comes. It seems this officer won’t be easily fooled.’

This thought flashed through Morin’s mind.

However, he was prepared and answered without changing his expression: “24th Regiment, Sir… We just withdrew from the front line during the day and were sent to perform this mission before we even had a chance to catch our breath.”

This unit number was the unit number of the owner of the captured uniform. Morin even had an ID card with a replaced photo in his pocket. However, Morin would not pull out the ID unless absolutely necessary, as there hadn’t been time to put a new seal on the photo.

“24th Regiment?”

A look of realization appeared on the First Lieutenant’s face. After seemingly recalling something, he asked:

“I know your Regiment’s Quartermaster, Lieutenant Vanderwelle, a very capable fat man.”

The moment he spoke this name, a new piece of information popped up in Morin’s [Intelligence] tab.

[The current Quartermaster of the Grand Duchy of Flanders Army’s 11th Brigade, 24th Regiment, is Lieutenant Hendrik de Vries. Former Quartermaster Brahms Vanderwelle was transferred last month.]

‘Good grief, that was close!’

Morin cursed inwardly, but his face remained impassive. He even put on a look of regret.

“You mean Lieutenant Vanderwelle? He was transferred last month, Sir. The one who replaced him is Lieutenant De Vries, a tall, thin man who doesn’t talk much.”

This seamless reply completely dissolved the Flanders First Lieutenant’s final doubts.

Manstein, behind him, also chose the right moment to engage in light conversation with the drivers and soldiers in the rear car in Netherlandic, making the atmosphere appear very relaxed.

“I see.”

The First Lieutenant nodded, then pointed to the car behind him, speaking with some urgency:

“We are on urgent official business. Onboard are the Liaisons sent by the Holy Britannian Empire Expeditionary Force, and they must report immediately to General Leman in Liège City.”

“Oh? Allies of the Holy Britannian Empire?”

Morin feigned surprise, then snapped to attention and saluted.

“Sir, we certainly don’t wish to delay your duties, but as per my duty, please present your identification and that of your Allies in the car. We will conduct a quick check and then immediately let you pass.”

“That is fair enough.”

The First Lieutenant was quite appreciative of Morin’s conscientious attitude.

“We need soldiers like you to keep those damned Saxons out of our nation!”

With that, he took his officer ID from his coat and handed it to Morin.

The others in the car, including the two Britannian officers in the back seat who had remained silent, also began to prepare their identification.

However, none of them noticed that Morin and the other ‘sentries’ had subtly surrounded the two cars and were now within arm’s reach.

The moment Morin reached out to take the officer ID.

The unexpected happened!

Morin’s left hand clamped directly onto the officer’s wrist. At the same time, his right hand swiftly drew the MP14 Submachine Gun he had been concealing behind his back, pressing the dark muzzle directly against the Flanders First Lieutenant’s forehead!

Simultaneously, Manstein and several other Assault Troops pulled out their weapons almost instantly, aiming them at the seven other people inside and beside the cars.

“Don’t move!”

The entire scene instantly froze.

The smile on the Grand Duchy of Flanders Army First Lieutenant’s face solidified. He widened his eyes, unable to believe what was happening.

The others in the cars were equally astonished and confused.

They couldn’t comprehend why the ‘dutifully loyal’ friendly forces from one second ago had turned into enemies wielding deadly weapons the next.

“You… are you mad?!”

The Britannian officer in the back seat, wearing the rank of Major, was the first to react. He angrily denounced them in heavily accented Netherlandic:

“Look at the identification clearly! We are allies! Attacking allied forces is a capital offense!”

Morin ignored him, staring only at the terrified Flanders First Lieutenant before him, and spoke coldly.

“I am not mistaken.”

His voice was quiet, but in the deathly silence of the night, it carried clearly to everyone’s ears.

“I’m striking the friendly forces—that’s exactly who I’m hitting.”

The moment the words left his mouth, he unhesitatingly brought the wooden stock of the MP14 down hard onto the back of the First Lieutenant’s neck.

The First Lieutenant collapsed limply without even a groan.

“Move out!”

With Morin’s command, the Assault Troops descended like tigers from the mountain, efficiently dragging the remaining seven people out of the cars and knocking them unconscious one by one with rifle butts and fists.

The entire process took less than thirty seconds, and not a single shot was fired.

Before being knocked out, the Britannian Major was still bitterly muttering: “You people will pay the price for your stupidity…”

Morin walked over to him, squatted down, and patted the face that was a mask of anger and confusion.

“Don’t worry, Major, a price will certainly be paid, but it won’t be by us.”

He then efficiently knocked out the Britannian Major and waved his hand at his subordinates.

“Come on, strip the uniforms off these two Britannian men!”

A rather comical scene unfolded in the woods by the road.

The eight captured soldiers were trussed up tightly like rice dumplings with ropes found in the cars and thrown onto the cold grass.

Two of the unlucky men were left wearing only their underclothes.

Morin personally demonstrated a special binding technique he had learned in military school in his previous life to his soldiers.

“Watch closely. This binding method is called the ‘Pig’s Trotter Knot.’ It’s specifically designed to deal with strong captives.”

He explained as he demonstrated.

“The knot needs to be tied like this, passing under the wrist, then looping around the ankle—like so. I guarantee that the more he struggles, the tighter the rope will cut in. Not even God could break free.”

Watching Morin’s incredibly skilled technique, the surrounding Assault Troops were all stunned.

They truly couldn’t figure out what their commander had done before.

Putting aside everything else, how was he so professional even at tying people up?

“Don’t ask. If you ask, the answer is personal hobby.”

Seeing the curious expressions of the Assault Troops under the lamplight, Morin clapped the dust off his hands, looking profound and mysterious.

The soldiers’ gaze toward their commander grew even more respectful.

He spoke multiple languages, understood tactical command, could ascend to the heavens and descend into the earth, and now was professional even at bondage… Was there anything their commander couldn’t do?

After dealing with the prisoners, Morin ordered the soldiers to gag them with socks and then scatter and hide them deep in the woods.

“Mark this location.”

Morin told Manstein: “These Britannian men are important prisoners. After we are done, let the Second Army Group receive them. We should be able to pry something useful out of them.”

Manstein nodded heavily. His admiration for Morin had reached an inexpressible level. In his eyes, his commander was practically a descent of the God of War. Any seemingly insoluble predicament always seemed to have an unexpected way out when faced by Morin.

Morin carefully examined the Britannian Major’s uniform; the size was about the same as his.

He unceremoniously claimed it as his own, and while doing so, found an officer ID card printed with an exquisite crest, and a letter sealed with wax, in the man’s pocket.

“Cavendish…” Morin muttered, looking at the name on the ID. “Hey, seems like a noble.”

He tucked the ID and the letter into his pocket, then selected a soldier whose build was similar to the other Britannian First Lieutenant and had him change into the other officer uniform.

“You, from now on, are my Aide-de-Camp.” Morin patted the soldier’s shoulder.

The soldier’s face flushed with excitement. He straightened his posture and replied loudly: “Yes, Sir!”

“No, you need to say ‘Yes, sir!’”

Hearing Morin’s correction, Manstein said with some concern:

“Sir… will this work? What if we encounter a checkpoint and need to converse?”

“It’s fine.”

Morin waved his hand, looking fully confident.

“When the time comes, I’ll be responsible for looking aloof, and you’ll be responsible for negotiating in Netherlandic.”

“You need to remember that Britannian noble officers like me look down on everyone else. We don’t bother speaking to ordinary soldiers. Just tell them we have an urgent military matter, and anyone who stops us is delaying military intelligence.”

“Besides, if we really run into an emergency, I also speak Britannian [English], so don’t worry~”

With Morin assuring him, Manstein naturally had no further objections.

He quickly changed into the captured Flanders First Lieutenant’s uniform, transforming into the escorting officer for the ‘Allies.’

All preparations were complete.

The two Luminacrystal-Powered Vehicles restarted, though the occupants were now a different group of people.

Morin and his ‘Aide-de-Camp’ sat in the back seat of the front car, and Manstein sat in the passenger seat.

The other four Assault Troops who didn’t look quite as ‘Saxon’ sat in the rear car.

The remaining men placed their Light Machine Guns and chest harnesses on the cars, then followed quickly on foot along both sides of the road.

“Move out!”

Morin leaned back in the seat, a smile unconsciously forming on his lips as he watched Liège City draw closer.

“Watch me deliver a knockout blow for you.”

Under the cover of night, the two Luminacrystal-Powered Vehicles drove steadily along the country road. To accommodate the teammates running alongside the road, the vehicles’ speed was not fast.

The group proceeded with stops and starts, finally reaching the outskirts of Liège City around midnight.

Due to the recent air raid, especially the aerial bombs dropped by the Saxons, which had caused some chaos and damage to the city, the overall atmosphere in Liège City was somewhat tense and disorganized.

The guards at the city gate were clearly also in disarray, with incomplete checkpoints. The presence of Manstein’s First Lieutenant’s uniform in the front car’s passenger seat prevented much scrutiny.

Manstein simply roared a few phrases in his heavily Northern-accented Netherlandic about “Urgent Military Matters, and no one can afford the responsibility of causing a delay,” and the guards easily let them through.

The vehicles and the surrounding Assault Troops successfully entered Liège City.

The situation inside the city was worse than it looked from the outside. Soldiers were extinguishing fires everywhere, and civilians were rushing about. The air was filled with a scorched smell.

Morin’s group did not linger in the city, driving directly towards the fortress command post located in the city’s core area.

The remaining twelve Assault Troops quietly peeled off from the convoy once the vehicles entered the core area, finding concealed spots in the nearby streets to wait for the signal to begin the operation.

According to the plan, upon hearing gunfire from the direction of the command post, they would immediately launch a supporting attack from the perimeter.

Soon, the vehicles carrying Morin and Manstein arrived at the entrance of the Liège Fortress.

The fortress was less of a standalone bastion and more of a city within a city with tall walls, serving as the core and brain of the entire Liège Defense System.

“Stop! Submit to inspection!”

Several sentries at the fortress gate blocked their path.

Manstein tried his previous tactic, leaning out and launching a verbal assault on the sentries.

“Are you blind! Can’t you see who is in the car?”

He pointed to Morin, who was sitting upright in the back seat.

“This is Major Cavendish, Liaison from the Holy Britannian Empire Expeditionary Force! He has an extremely urgent military matter that must be reported to General Leman immediately! If you cause a delay, all of you will face a court-martial!”

His heavily Northern-accented Netherlandic, combined with his arrogant demeanor, made him the perfect image of a Northerner officer.

The Flanders sentries were indeed intimidated by his display. They exchanged uncertain looks. After all, the person in the car was an ‘Ally of the Holy Britannian Empire,’ and he clearly seemed to be in a hurry.

Just as they hesitated, Morin seized the moment and added an arrogant prompt in Britannian [English].

Although the sentries didn’t understand the language, seeing the ‘Allied Officer’ displeased, they dared not obstruct them further and waved the cars through.

As the vehicles slowly drove past the checkpoint, Morin clearly heard one of the sentries muttering under his breath.

“Damned Northerner, showing off…”

After passing this checkpoint, the road ahead was clear.

The vehicles drove along the wide flagstone road inside the fortress. Morin observed the surroundings, simultaneously integrating the simple map he had obtained from the Army Group’s military intelligence personnel with his internal system map.

Soon, the system map clearly displayed the locations of all key buildings, even thoughtfully marking the entrances and exits of the fortress’s main structure.

Morin’s attention was drawn to the three massive, crystal-lens-like objects on top of the main building.

According to the map’s notation, those should be the ‘Large Anti-Air Magic Guided Devices’ that launched the attack during the day.

“That’s the place.”

Morin pointed to the main building, speaking to the Assault Trooper driving the car.

The vehicles sped along, finally stopping at the entrance of the command post, the main building.

A row of armed guards stood at the entrance; the atmosphere was noticeably more heavily guarded than outside.

Manstein took a deep breath, pushed the car door open, and stepped out.

He straightened his uniform, strode up to a Guard Captain, and repeated his earlier lines.

“I am here by order to receive the Britannian Liaison. Major Cavendish has an urgent matter and needs to see Major General Leman immediately!”

The Guard Captain looked at him, then at Morin sitting in the car. Although he was suspicious, he dared not be negligent.

“Please wait, I will notify them now.”

He turned and walked into the command post building.

Everything seemed to be going very smoothly.

Morin and the other team members in the car were already prepared to alight and storm inside, opening fire.

However, just then, something unexpected happened.

A tall Flanders Captain followed the Guard Captain out of the command post.

He appeared to be the officer specifically in charge of reception.

The Captain politely saluted Morin in the car, then turned his gaze to Manstein.

When he clearly saw Manstein’s face, his brow instantly furrowed. His eyes scrutinized Manstein up and down, filled with doubt and suspicion.

“The person I sent to receive them was Lieutenant Liam.”

He stared at Manstein and spoke slowly, his voice low.

“Who are you?”

In that instant, the air seemed to freeze.

Morin’s heart sank.

‘Damn it, the cover is blown.’

The officer he had sent to receive the Liaisons and Manstein’s appearance clearly did not match.

(End of this Chapter)

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