Chapter 32: Encountering the Northumberland Fusilier Regiment

The flanking fire from the heavy machine gun was devastating to the dense infantry formation. They were completely exposed to the machine gun’s field of fire: advance meant death, retreat meant death, and staying put meant death. The gentle slope in front of the high ground became a veritable slaughterhouse.

Platoon Sergeant Klaus and Corporal Jonah’s faces were etched with shock and a kind of fierce euphoria. They mechanically worked their bolts, aimed, and fired, sending round after round into the enemy’s bodies. They had never imagined that a battle could be fought like this. Platoon Leader Morin’s decision felt like a stroke of genius to them! Because no one would ever take a cumbersome heavy machine gun on a tactical maneuver. To 99% of Saxon Army soldiers, a machine gun was a purely defensive weapon, never to be used offensively.

The Royal Army’s first charge ended in utter defeat after more than 70% of the first three ranks were killed instantly. The dense company column that followed them even attempted to launch a charge at Morin’s position. However, their even denser formation made shooting even easier for the gunner; sometimes, a single .303 bullet could pierce two enemies in a row. The entire dense column broke and scattered just seconds after the machine gun’s line of fire turned toward them.

Morin even saw a sinister smile gradually appear on the face of the machine gunner, who had looked anxious and timid before opening fire.

It was the smile unique to those who wield overwhelming firepower.

Facing the machine gun’s utterly merciless fire suppression, the surviving Royal Army soldiers completely collapsed. Crying out, they abandoned their weapons and scrambled back down the slope, their morale shattered. A few officers who tried to maintain order frantically brandished their swords—yes, Royal Army officers still maintained the tradition of carrying swords—but these highly visible actions quickly got them shot down by the accurate fire from Sergeant Klaus and the riflemen.

The tide of Royal Army soldiers that had surged up the hill now retreated like the ebb tide.

Seeing this, Morin breathed a sigh of relief and stopped the machine gunner from continuing to fire. “That’s enough, conserve ammunition! We’ve got more fighting ahead!” After that, he looked around at the rest of the men. “Everyone check for injuries, then check your ammunition levels!”

They quickly confirmed that no one was injured. The Royal Army had been unable to mount any effective counter-attack. However, everyone had expended nearly a sixth of their ammunition, and the Vickers machine gun had nearly emptied its first canvas belt.

“The Regimental Machine Gun Company should have been deployed to the front line. We have so few already, and they’re not even using them…” Morin lay flat on the ground, allowing his tense body to relax slightly, muttering his complaint.

“Platoon Leader, what’s the next move?” Platoon Sergeant Klaus crouched beside Morin, his eyes shining.

“Prepare to change positions. We’ve exposed our firepower here, and the enemy’s next attack might target us.” Morin climbed to his feet and focused on the ‘system map’ to find a new temporary machine gun emplacement.

He found an even more suitable location. It was slightly further from the crest of the high ground, but several large trees, toppled by artillery fire, lay scattered across the ground, providing perfect natural cover.

He immediately sent a soldier to scout back to the high ground crest to check on the situation of the rest of the battalion and relay his intentions to Captain Hauser.

Having done this, Morin and the remaining men quietly began to move, carrying the heavy Vickers machine gun. The defeated Royal Army soldiers were still scattering and fleeing down the slope, completely oblivious to the small unit’s movement. The entire relocation was surprisingly smooth.

Once they reached the new temporary position, Morin immediately ordered everyone to disperse, find cover, and check their weapons one last time.

“Drink some water, and catch your breath quickly. We probably have a tough fight coming up.” Morin took a gulp from his own canteen, then took advantage of the rare lull to immerse himself completely in the system map in the upper-left corner of his field of vision.

As friendly forces advanced along the entire front, the fog of war surrounding Seville was pushed back significantly, revealing the entire battle line. Red unit markers representing Royal Army units were flashing and disappearing. The main attacking force, centered on the 16th Infantry Brigade, had already secured all the high ground areas with wide fields of view southeast of Seville. The two 77mm field cannon battalions were now slowly advancing, preparing to occupy new positions to provide closer fire support for the subsequent offensive. The three less-mobile 105mm howitzer batteries continued their attack from their original locations.

The overall situation appeared very favorable. At this rate, it seemed only a matter of time before the Saxons completely broke through Seville’s outer defense line.

But the feeling of unease in Morin’s heart intensified. He clearly remembered that the intelligence he had brought back explicitly mentioned several elite enemy units: Highland Mages, Order of Garter Armored Knights, and the Northumberland Fusilier Regiment. The enemy unit that had captured him upon his arrival was also from the 4th Battalion of the Northumberland Fusilier Regiment. Yet, none of these Britannian elite units had appeared on the map until now.

Did the enemy really intend to abandon the outer positions and stake everything on urban warfare?

The thought crossed Morin’s mind, but he immediately dismissed it. That would be entirely inconsistent with the mainstream military thinking of this era; relying on strong city defenses for urban combat would only be a choice made when facing overwhelming disadvantages.

Before Morin could finish his thought, a new development occurred.

“Platoon Leader! They’re coming back up!” Platoon Sergeant Klaus, prone behind a fallen tree, spoke in a low voice. “The routed soldiers have been stopped by their officers and are re-forming!”

Almost simultaneously with Klaus’s report, a brand new military unit appeared in Morin’s field of vision below the high ground. Their uniforms were khaki-colored, distinctly different from the Royal Army’s black uniforms. A brisk, rhythmic trumpet call, mixed with the sound of a military drum, floated up from the slope. The melody was all too familiar to Morin—The Grenadier’s March.

His heart skipped a beat. He quickly darted over to Klaus’s side and raised his binoculars.

Through the lenses, the newly arrived Britannian unit looked almost identical to the British forces of WWI in his memory. Khaki uniforms, and the distinctive ‘saucer helmet’ so often favored by Hong Kong film directors.

The only difference was that at the very front of their formation stood a rank of soldiers clad in heavy armor. Some held massive two-handed swords, while others carried kite shields in one hand and longswords in the other, exuding a cold, intimidating presence.

The system map immediately displayed detailed information on this unit.

[Holy Britannian Empire – Northumberland Fusilier Regiment – 4th Battalion]

[Officers: 30 men]

[Soldiers and NCOs: 997 men]

(End of Chapter 32)