Chapter 206: A Familiar Face

Morin looked at the unit operating like a precision machine and couldn’t help but nod. See, this is what an elite force looks like.

Just then, he remembered the three letters he hadn’t yet mailed. Morin found the Sergeant in charge of camp duty and asked about the status of the entire battalion’s mail.

“Reporting, Battalion Commander, the last batch of letters collected from the entire battalion has been packed and is ready to be sent to the Army Group’s Field Post Office.”

“Wait a moment!” Morin stopped him. “I’ll take them myself.” He felt these three letters were too important and preferred to hand them over personally.

Morin took a guard, grabbed the massive mailbag containing over a thousand letters, found a standby Military Truck, and drove straight to the Field Post Office sorting center at the Army Group Headquarters camp.

Because the Instruction Assault Battalion and Morin himself were now famous in the Second Army Group, and General von Bulow had specially instructed the staff to provide ‘special care’ to the Instruction Assault Battalion, the officer in charge of the sorting center was unusually enthusiastic when he saw Morin personally carrying the mailbag.

“Well, if it isn’t Captain Morin? Why have you come yourself?”

“Captain Karl, it’s a bit of a personal matter…” Morin smiled, placing the mailbag on the table. “Our battalion is about to move out. This is the last batch of letters home, and I’d appreciate it if your center could process them quickly.”

“No problem! It’s a small matter!” The Captain patted his chest, guaranteeing: “Your unit is a combat hero of our Second Army Group; we must process this with Highest Priority!”

As he spoke, he skillfully stamped the Instruction Assault Battalion’s mailbag with a red ‘Highest Priority’ stamp.

“Of course, there is one thing I must mention,” Captain Karl added. “While we can skip some of the initial processes and move directly to sorting, content censorship of the letters is still mandatory according to regulations. I hope you understand.”

“I understand, those are the rules.” Morin nodded.

Seeing that Morin didn’t make any unreasonable demands, Captain Karl was naturally relieved: “Don’t worry. Even with the censorship time, it will be much faster than regular delivery. Depending on the letter’s destination, the quickest ones will reach the recipient within about a week.”

“Thank you very much, Captain Karl!” Morin was overjoyed. He subtly pulled out several packets of cigarettes captured from Gallic officers and slipped them into the officer’s pocket. “These Gallic cigarettes are for everyone at the Post Office and sorting center to try.”

Captain Karl looked at the packets of Gallic cigarettes in his hand, his smile becoming even brighter. “Captain Morin, you are too generous! I wish you good luck in your battles!”

After thanking the enthusiastic officer, Morin left the sorting center and returned to the camp.

August 17th, 11:30 AM.

The entire Instruction Assault Battalion was assembled. All vehicles and personnel were combat-ready. With Morin’s command, the massive convoy, composed of over a hundred Military Trucks and carriages, kicked up clouds of dust and began moving toward the southwest.

According to the destination given by the Army Group Headquarters before departure, this temporary Battle Group, commanded personally by General Ludendorff, would link up with forces from the First Army Group in the area between Arras and St. Quentin. The two forces would then jointly launch a fatal strike against the flank of the Britannian Expeditionary Force.

Since the Gallic Fifth Army Group had fully retreated to the St. Quentin line after abandoning the assault on Charleroi, the Instruction Assault Battalion encountered no significant resistance on their journey. Before long, the forward column of the Instruction Assault Battalion convoy successfully caught up with the main force of the Ludendorff Battle Group—the two infantry divisions—who were still advancing on foot.

The massive marching column stretched for several kilometers. Soldiers advanced slowly along the road with weary but relatively neat steps. Morin’s convoy caused quite a stir as it sped past them. The infantry soldiers looked on with envy.

“Look! It’s the Instruction Assault Battalion’s convoy!”

“My God, so many Military Trucks! Did they put their entire battalion on wheels?”

“I wish I could ride in one. My feet are completely numb.”

Morin sat in the passenger seat of the lead vehicle, looking at the allied forces marching on foot outside the window, feeling a mixture of pity and pride. This was the allure of motorization and mechanization. If they wanted to execute a rapid maneuver or an operation like the ‘Assault Battalion Grand Assault,’ mechanized transport was indispensable.

He quickly located General Ludendorff’s temporary headquarters—a few Model 1913 Staff Cars—in the middle of the marching column. The vehicles of both sides pulled over to the side of the road, and Morin disembarked to report to Ludendorff.

Meeting the Deputy Chief of Staff again, Morin found the General’s attitude to be more friendly and polite than it was in the headquarters.

“Captain Morin, you are very fast.” Ludendorff looked at the passing column of Military Trucks behind Morin and commented.

“Reporting, General, we are just benefiting from our equipment.”

“No need to be modest. Your combat effectiveness is recognized by the entire Army Group.”

Ludendorff waved his hand, then looked toward the southwest and continued: “Since you’ve caught up, don’t stop. Continue to advance as the vanguard of the entire Battle Group. Proceed as quickly as possible to the predetermined rendezvous point and establish liaison with the First Army Group’s forces.”

“Yes, General!” After a brief exchange and receiving new orders from Ludendorff, Morin returned to his convoy.

With two infantry divisions backing him up this time, Morin felt more confident than ever before. At least he wasn’t advancing alone anymore. The convoy continued west, unimpeded.

After a day and a night of forced marching, by the twilight of August 18th, just before the last light disappeared below the horizon, the Instruction Assault Battalion, led by Morin, finally arrived at the predetermined rendezvous point southeast of Arras.

The rendezvous point was a wide plain, where a massive temporary camp had already been established. Countless tents were scattered across the field. Cooking smoke was rising, and soldiers in Saxon Army uniforms were bustling about everywhere. The perimeter of the camp was heavily guarded, with patrolling sentries and established machine gun positions everywhere.

Morin’s convoy was stopped by a patrol of cavalrymen as they approached. After verifying the password and identification, a Major Staff Officer from the First Army Group greeted them warmly.

“Welcome, Captain Morin! We have been waiting for you for a long time!”

Under the Major’s guidance, the Instruction Assault Battalion’s convoy slowly drove into the camp and parked in a designated open area. Soldiers jumped out of the trucks and began setting up camp, preparing for a brief rest.

Just as Morin was considering finding someone from the First Army Group to coordinate with, a familiar tall figure suddenly emerged from a nearby tent and stood behind him.

“Morin?!”

Hearing the extremely familiar voice, Morin turned around. When he saw the man’s face, his expression instantly lit up with surprise and joy.

“Lieutenant Colonel Seeckt?! What are you doing here?”

The man before him was none other than Ludwig von Seeckt, the Teutonic Knight he had fought alongside in Seville, and the brother of Patricia!

“Why shouldn’t I be here?” Ludwig laughed, stepping forward and giving Morin a strong hug, forcefully patting his back. “The main force of our Teutonic Knights is attached to the First Army Group this time! And my squadron will participate in this operation as the armored component!”

“Long time no see, you old dog!” Morin laughed, punching his chest. The joy in his heart was palpable. It felt wonderful to see an old friend after such a long time on a foreign battlefield.

As the two were catching up, several officers in Teutonic Knights uniforms emerged from the tent behind Ludwig. Seeing their Squadron Commander hugging a young-looking Captain, they curiously sized up Morin, secretly wondering about the relationship between the young Captain and their commander.

“Come, come, let me introduce you.” Ludwig released Morin, pulling him forward to introduce him to his knights: “Gentlemen, this is Captain Friedrich Morin, my brother-in-arms from Seville!”

Then, he introduced them to Morin: “These are the commanders of my assault sections.”

The Knight officers politely saluted Morin, but the curiosity in their eyes did not diminish.

“Morin… that name, isn’t he that Morin?” one officer muttered softly.

Ludwig seemed to notice their confusion, adding with a smile: “You guessed correctly. This Captain Morin is the infamous ‘Butcher of Charleroi’ who has been causing such a sensation across the entire right-wing front lately.”

“What?!”

At this declaration, the Knight officers, who had previously maintained their aristocratic composure, instantly erupted. Their eyes wide, they stared at Morin as if he were a monster, their mouths agape, large enough to fit an egg.

“My God! He’s the ‘Butcher of Charleroi’?”

“Good heavens, he looks so young! I thought he’d be a massive brute with a scarred face!”

“It is him! The one who, with one battalion, broke a Gallic division’s attack!” one officer exclaimed, unable to control the volume of his whisper.

He was not losing composure deliberately. The exploits of the Instruction Assault Battalion and Morin had, through widespread and exaggerated rumor, become increasingly outlandish and legendary on the Western Front. In the ‘gossip’ circulating from the Second Army Group, Morin and his Instruction Assault Battalion were nothing less than a unit of devils climbed out of hell. Some versions claimed that his single battalion had gone toe-to-toe with a full Gallic corps at Charleroi, leaving mountains of corpses and rivers of blood. Other versions claimed his few hundred soldiers were not ordinary men, having directly shattered the charge of over a thousand Gallic Cuirassier Heavy Cavalry in a frontal assault.

Even more preposterously, some sources emphatically claimed that Captain Morin possessed prodigious talent and an astonishing appetite, capable of eating two hundred Roasted Pig Knuckles in a single sitting—more than a bear could consume.

(End of this Chapter)