Chapter 28: Long Range Equals Invincibility

Extreme exhaustion plunged Morin into a deep slumber that felt endless, until a protest from his stomach finally roused him.

He opened his eyes. The tent was pitch black, with only a stubborn sliver of light filtering in from an oil lamp hanging outside.

“Platoon Leader, you’re awake?” A hushed voice sounded from the tent entrance; it was Hans, his orderly.

“Why does it feel like I’ve slept for ages… What time is it now?”

“It’s just past midnight. Here, eat something.”

“It’s this late already. What a sleep…”

Seeing he was awake, Hans immediately handed him a mess kit, warmed by the fire’s embers, and a piece of black bread. Morin took the still-warm container; the rich aroma of meat broth hit him immediately. It seemed the field kitchen had a bonus for dinner tonight—’Bouillon Cubes’ enhanced with canned beef. Having not had a proper meal all day, except for the bite he took before the reconnaissance mission, Morin didn’t care about appearances. He quickly finished the food with the black bread, consuming it like a whirlwind. Hans watched his Platoon Leader eat with such fervor, further solidifying his impression of him as the ‘Company’s Eating Champion.’

“Oh, right, Platoon Leader, the Company messenger came by an hour ago. He said we are to break camp at 04:30 sharp.”

“What?” Morin looked up in surprise, wiping his mouth. “Why didn’t you wake me when the messenger came?”

Hans scratched his head, a little embarrassed. “The Platoon Sergeant said you were too tired and needed the rest… The messenger also said Captain Hauser specifically instructed that if you were still asleep, you should be left alone to rest, not to be disturbed.”

Morin’s hand, holding the empty mess kit, paused. He realized that in this army, which was still unfamiliar to him, something other than discipline and orders seemed to be quietly emerging.

“Thank you, both of you. But since I am the military commander of the 3rd Platoon, you must wake me the next time a messenger arrives, understood?”

“Yes, Platoon Leader!”

After eating, Morin did not go back to sleep but got up and left the tent. He first walked a circuit through the 3rd Platoon’s temporary position, checking the sentries’ posts. After confirming that the soldiers who had been with him during the day, including Corporal Bowman, were all soundly asleep in their tents, he felt relieved enough to return to his cot to rest.

At 03:50 AM, Platoon Sergeant Klaus appeared outside his tent precisely on time, just as Morin was climbing out of his folding bed. The two had a brief discussion, and at 04:10, they blew the assembly whistle together, rousing the sleeping soldiers to pack their gear and dismantle their tents.

At 04:30, the 3rd Platoon was assembled at the designated company meeting point on time. Soon, the entire company merged into the 1st Battalion’s massive marching column, moving under the cover of night like a silent, inky-black river flowing toward the designated attack position.

It was also at this time that Morin noticed the new piece of intelligence in the system’s ‘Intelligence’ tab.

“Wait, Armored Airship??? What kind of unit is that? Do we have war behemoths entering the field?”

The sky began to lighten with the pale glow of dawn. Outside Seville, the Royal Army’s reveille bugle call broke the silence of the morning.

Soldiers at the Aetherium Crystal Cannon emplacement on the high ground grudgingly climbed out of their makeshift shelters and began the maintenance work for the new day.

“Damn it, this thing is harder to serve than my old woman,” one seasoned veteran complained, carefully wiping the complex runes on the cannon’s body with a soft cloth soaked in a special liquid. Another man checked and cleaned the core Aetherium Crystal, ensuring it was free from contamination.

These soldiers were utterly unaware that behind a slightly elevated patch of woods about four kilometers away, a Saxon Field Artillery Battery had already targeted them.

On a hastily erected earthwork, the Captain commanding the Saxon Field Artillery Battery stood atop a two-meter-high observation vehicle, conducting a final range measurement with a scissor-style artillery scope. After obtaining the rough distance and location information, he used a temporarily laid short-range telephone line to relay the information to the howitzer firing position.

Four leFH 98/09 105mm howitzers were lined up at the firing position, along with an artillery NCO in direct command of the firing and a messenger responsible for receiving information from the observation post.

When the artillery NCO relayed the coordinates and distance provided by the Captain, the gunner of the leftmost howitzer immediately looked at the dial sight used for indirect firing, furiously turning the elevation and traverse wheels.

As time ticked by and reached the designated moment, the artillery NCO sharply swung down the red flag in his hand.

“Number One Gun, Sighting Shot, Fire!”

“Boom!” The howitzer on the far left of the battery roared, the deafening sound of the shell leaving the barrel tearing through the morning quiet.

Ten seconds later, a small plume of dust rose from the distant hilltop. The Royal Army’s Aetherium Crystal Cannon emplacement was thrown into chaos; through the observation scope, they looked like a swarm of ants suddenly stirred into motion.

“Too far! Keep the azimuth, shorten the range by a hundred!” the Battery Captain shouted without lifting his head from the observation scope.

The corrected information was quickly relayed. The gunners rapidly adjusted the angle of elevation, reloaded, and the second shell followed immediately. This time, the round landed right in front of the Aetherium Crystal Cannon emplacement.

“Got the bracket!” The Captain’s mouth curled into a smile on the observation vehicle. After two sighting shots, he had determined the target’s precise range was within this hundred-meter bracket. “Keep the azimuth, add fifty to the range! Battery, One Round Salvo!”

Shortly after the order was given, all four 105mm howitzers fired simultaneously. The shells roared through the still-damp morning air with the shriek of death, landing accurately on the now-panicking Royal Army Aetherium Crystal Cannon emplacement. In the violent explosion, mud, gravel, and human remains were all hurled into the sky. One meticulously maintained Aetherium Crystal Cannon at the front of the position was utterly blasted into twisted scrap metal in that first salvo.

The Captain saw from his scope that the average point of impact was slightly forward, and he made one last adjustment. “Battery, add twenty-five to the range! Three Rounds of Rapid Fire!”

“Boom-boom-boom-boom—!”

This time, the entire plateau was completely engulfed in fire and thick smoke. The surviving Royal Army Aetherium Crystal artillerymen were completely broken. They abandoned their weapons, no longer caring about the precious Aetherium Crystal Cannons, and fled to the rear of the position, crying out in utter disorder.

And this was merely the prelude to the overture of the entire battle.

Across the outskirts of Seville, every Aetherium Crystal Cannon emplacement marked by Morin and other reconnaissance teams was now under devastating attack from two battalions of 77mm field cannons and three batteries of 105mm howitzers.

The Saxon artillery proved the axiom that the truth lies only within the range of the cannon. While the Britannian Aetherium Crystal Cannons might indeed be powerful, they lagged behind the Saxon Empire in terms of range and artillery doctrine development. Consequently, the Royal Army artillerymen, trained by the Britannians, failed to mount any effective counter-fire during the initial attack specifically targeting the Aetherium Crystal Cannon positions.

Furthermore, for Saxon Empire units where direct line of sight was limited, massive observation balloons were being raised near the constrained artillery positions. These behemoths floated nearly three hundred meters in the air, not only precisely guiding the Saxon artillery fire but also allowing the observers in the baskets to overlook the entire battlefield.

In their eyes, the Royal Army units on the outskirts of Seville were scurrying like ants on a hot plate, panicked and disorganized. An observer turned his binoculars toward the farther outskirts.

Across the farmlands, woods, and winding country roads, a vast gray arc, composed of soldiers in field gray uniforms and those in mismatched civilian attire, was now visible. This arc, like a tightening noose, was slowly but irresistibly closing in on Seville.

(End of Chapter 28)