Chapter 188: There Are Two Butchers in Charleroi

The Gallic soldiers who rushed into the alley were still wondering where the enemy had gone when they were met with a dense burst of gunfire.

“Da-da-da-da-da——!”

Bullets sprayed down from the second-floor window. The first few Gallic soldiers were instantly riddled with bullets, collapsing to the ground without a sound. The men behind them were terrified by the sudden firepower and instinctively tried to retreat.

Morin propped an MG14 Light Machine Gun on the windowsill, calmly engaging the crowd below with short, precise bursts. He had found this Light Machine Gun under a bed in this room.

In preparing the city’s defenses earlier, Morin and Manstein had considered the difficulty of logistics in Street Fighting and the possibility of needing to send out small units for harassment or even counterattacks to retake areas of the city. Therefore, they had specially instructed the companies to set up several caches containing ammunition, spare weapons, medicine, and food in concealed buildings within the city. The locations of these caches were clearly displayed on his system map after deployment.

The reason he chose this specific flanking route was to pass by this nearest cache to resupply his ‘individual equipment.’

After eliminating the unfortunate stragglers who chased him into the alley, Morin did not linger or pursue. He quickly pulled out an ammunition belt full of rounds from the cache and stuffed it into his empty backpack, then grabbed a few Submachine Gun magazines to replenish his chest harness.

Having completed this, he slung the submachine gun back over his shoulder, grabbed the still-hot MG14 Light Machine Gun, moved a large wardrobe blocking a hole in the wall, and slipped into the adjacent building. This was another one of the internal passages the Instruction Assault Battalion had prepared beforehand.

Traversing several dimly lit rooms, Morin soon arrived at another window overlooking the street. On the street below, the Gallic soldiers were in utter disarray, having suffered a pincer attack from the front and the rear. The survivors were either prone on the ground or hiding behind piles of corpses, with no semblance of formation left.

Morin set up the Light Machine Gun and quickly locked onto the two 75mm Magic Guided Cannons through the sights.

“Da-da-da——!”

A stream of bullets accurately swept the gun positions. Several artillerymen who had just managed to scramble up and try to operate the cannons were instantly cut down. Their blood sprayed across the gun carriages.

Confirming that no one could operate the two cannons for the moment, Morin immediately shifted his muzzle, beginning to ‘call the roll’ on the remaining Gallic infantry still putting up a futile fight.

These Gallic soldiers were truly having a miserable time now. They were unable to lift their heads against the fierce fire from the Saxon front line. Now, an elusive new fire point had popped up on their flank/rear, specifically targeting where they were grouped densely. How could they possibly fight this battle?

“He’s in that building! Quick! Get him!” a Gallic officer yelled hoarsely, pointing at Morin’s location.

Several soldiers attempted to return fire on his command, but the moment they raised their heads, they were dropped by bullets flying in from an unknown direction. Even if a few bullets luckily hit Morin’s window, they merely sparked a burst of blue light in the air in front of him before dropping weakly to the ground.

“It’s a Spellcaster! That Saxon Spellcaster has moved again!”

“Charge in! Charge in and kill him!”

Several desperate Gallic soldiers, their eyes red with fury, rushed toward the door of Morin’s building, violently slamming into it with their rifle butts and bodies.

“Boom!”

With a loud crash, the door was violently broken open.

“Charge inside!” the soldiers roared, intending to rush in with fixed bayonets.

However, they were met by Morin, who was waiting at the top of the staircase with his Light Machine Gun spitting fire.

“Da-da-da-da-da——!”

The dense stream of bullets formed an impassable wall of fire. The first few soldiers were instantly turned into bleeding wrecks, tumbling down the stairs. The men behind were terrified by the horrific firepower and pulled back, not daring to show their faces, only firing blindly into the building.

But Morin had already vanished from the staircase. Having dealt with these reckless young men, Morin did not linger. He knew his objective was to eliminate the enemy artillery, not get tangled up with the infantry here.

He checked the system map, confirmed that the frontal assault by the 1st Company had been completely contained, and then, carrying the Light Machine Gun, quickly retreated through the building’s back door. He followed another hidden route toward his next target—the other two 75mm Magic Guided Cannons threatening the 3rd Company’s position on a different street.

While the battle on the 1st Company’s frontal sector intensified due to Morin’s involvement, the pressure on the 2nd Company and 3rd Company defending the city’s east and west flanks was significantly lighter. This was mainly thanks to the support from the 77mm Field Artillery Battalion outside the city. Since the battle began, this Artillery Battalion had continuously suppressed the Gallic Ninth Division’s assembly areas on the city’s flanks. Many Gallic attacking units were hit by artillery fire before they could even enter the city. This had indeed relieved much pressure on the 2nd Company and 3rd Company.

Nevertheless, describing the situation as merely ‘less pressured’ was only true in comparison to the 1st Company’s position. In reality, the brutality of the fighting in these two sectors did not diminish. On the 3rd Company’s eastern defense line, Gallic soldiers still surged forward like a tide, wave after wave, assaulting the Barbed Wire positions. Many of them were mowed down by intense crossfire before they could even locate the Saxon positions. Their bodies snagged on the sharp Barbed Wire, and they slowly bled out in agony.

But the soldiers behind them, urged and coerced by their officers, had no choice. They could only step on the still-twitching bodies of their comrades and continue to charge forward. Then, they too fell one by one under the cold, precise fire of the Instruction Assault Battalion soldiers.

The corpses piled higher and higher. Gradually, a half-man-high wall of bodies formed in front of the Barbed Wire. Gallic soldiers rushing up next found that to continue the assault, they first had to walk across the bloody street strewn with severed limbs, then step over the soft, sticky pile of their comrades’ corpses, and finally climb over this sickening ‘wall of bodies.’ This entire process inflicted immense psychological and physical trauma. Many hesitated the moment they reached the wall, stumbling or suffering a mental breakdown, and that brief pause was often fatal. A single shot from an unknown window was enough to easily end these Gallic soldiers’ lives. Then, they themselves became part of this high wall, adding their bodies to it.

Even in such brutal fighting, some Gallic soldiers quickly grasped a few ‘tricks’ of Street Fighting—for example, they would tear off the doors from nearby houses and place them over the Barbed Wire to create a relatively safe passage. Some junior officers also began changing tactics, no longer organizing large-scale dense charges, but instead opting for smaller, more frequent waves of attack, attempting to use this method to exhaust the defenders’ ammunition and energy.

But against the overwhelming difference in firepower between the two sides, these efforts were futile. At best, all they achieved was the creation of a new wall of corpses deeper into the street.

Time ticked by in this bloody tug-of-war. By around 2 PM, when the Gallic Ninth Division’s second wave of assault was firmly halted in front of the Instruction Assault Battalion’s second defense line, unable to advance another step, the chaotic command system of the Ninth Division finally issued the order to cease the attack.

When the retreat order reached the Gallic soldiers who were still struggling inside Charleroi City, they received it like a blessing, and immediately began to withdraw. They retreated like a tide toward the outskirts of the South City they had captured, leaving behind a chaotic mess and countless corpses.

Both sides were like wild beasts who had just fought a desperate battle, each retreating to their lair to tend their wounds.

On the Instruction Assault Battalion’s position, the soldiers leaned against the sandbag barricades, gasping for breath. Many were covered in blood and dirt, unable to distinguish their own from the enemy’s. Their eyes, besides being numb, contained a mix of relief at surviving and deep exhaustion. Medics moved between the positions, bandaging the wounded. The seriously wounded were quickly evacuated to the rear aid station, while those with minor injuries, after a quick treatment, remained on the front line.

Morin, after confirming that the threat to the 1st Company’s front was neutralized and successfully eliminating the other two 75mm Magic Guided Cannons threatening the 3rd Company, also returned to the 1st Company’s defense position. He had maneuvered along the flank, eliminating at least four full 75mm Magic Guided Cannon crews, plus countless Gallic infantry. The murderous aura around him was now palpable.

When he appeared at the 1st Company’s position carrying the still-hot MG14 Light Machine Gun, the surrounding soldiers all instinctively took a step back before rushing to greet him.

“Battalion Commander!” Klaus was relieved to see Morin return safely. He hurried over, his voice trembling slightly. “Are you alright?”

“Don’t worry, I’m fine.” Morin shook his head, handing the Light Machine Gun he was carrying to a nearby soldier. “Have the Machine Gunner check it, see if it’s still usable.”

He scanned the position. Although the soldiers were exhausted, their morale was stable. However, there was a noticeable absence of many familiar faces on the line.

“What are the casualties?” Morin asked in a heavy voice.

The joy on Klaus’s face instantly vanished, replaced by a grim expression. “The casualties this time are not small.” He paused, then continued: “There are still several Assault Squads that were scattered during the melee and haven’t linked up yet. The preliminary estimate for the 1st Company is fifty-four men killed and severely wounded. The detailed report has been sent to Battalion Headquarters by Dispatch Rider.”

Morin maintained an impassive expression on the surface, but inwardly he sighed. One company, losing one-fifth of its strength in half a day, and this was even with a massive firepower advantage and sturdy fortifications. Furthermore, the 1st Company was composed of the most experienced veterans. This loss genuinely pained Morin. The Gallic attack, although lacking in tactics, was relentless in its use of manpower and displayed a terrifying disregard for death. That human-wave strategy had put immense pressure on the Instruction Assault Battalion.

“Have the men rest and replenish their ammunition quickly. The Gauls could attack again at any moment.” “Understood.” Klaus nodded.

Morin did not linger long at the 1st Company’s position. He needed to return to Battalion Headquarters to understand the battle situation for the entire battalion.

When he returned to the temporary Battalion Headquarters in the core area of the South City, Kleist and Manstein were huddled over a map, their faces grim as they discussed something. Seeing Morin return, they were both startled, then quickly rushed over.

“Battalion Commander! You’re finally back! What is the situation on the front line?” Manstein asked urgently.

“It’s stable for now.” Morin walked to the table, picked up a canteen, and took several large gulps. “The Gauls have retreated… Have the total casualties for the battalion been compiled?”

Kleist handed him a newly summarized casualty report, his tone heavy: “Battalion Commander, you better be prepared… Since this morning, our entire battalion has sustained 71 killed and 111 severely wounded, totaling 182 combat losses.”

“Hiss…” Even though Morin had expected it, he couldn’t help but gasp when he saw the number. One hundred and eighty-two men! This was nearly one-fifth of the battalion’s total strength gone! The total combat losses for the entire battalion up to this point had reached almost one-fifth of its manpower!

Although this technically counted as the second day of holding the line as per Ludendorff’s order…

“Damn it, these Gallic savages truly don’t value human lives,” Morin cursed under his breath, slamming the report onto the table.

“In addition,” Kleist added, “half of the forty-six sets of Enchanted Cuirasses we captured earlier have had their Enchantment effect completely fail because the damage received exceeded the threshold.”

“According to the company reports, the remaining ones also have faint Magic Aura and probably won’t withstand many more hits.”

Morin wasn’t sure if this counted as good news or bad news. Although half the Cuirasses were lost, the captured armor had indeed played a significant role in the battle just now. Several soldiers wearing the Cuirasses had survived fatal attacks thanks to them; otherwise, the casualty count would have been even higher.

Just then, the Battalion Headquarters’ Quartermaster approached with a ledger.

“Battalion Commander… I have bad news to report. Our ammunition consumption is too high!” He handed the ledger to Morin, pointing to the rows of numbers, his voice trembling: “Look, the ammunition we transported from Liège Fortress was supposed to last us three or four days.”

“But in just half a day, rifle and machine gun ammunition consumption has reached half! Hand grenade consumption is even higher—two-thirds have already been used!”

Morin took the ledger and quickly scanned it. The numbers were alarming. In just a few hours of high-intensity fighting, the Instruction Assault Battalion had consumed nearly the amount of ammunition a regular infantry regiment would use in several days of combat. The automatic weapons were indeed fierce, but their ammunition consumption was equally bottomless.

(End of this Chapter)