Chapter 33: The International Brigades’ Support

Looking at this reinforced battalion of nearly a thousand men, Morin couldn’t help but inwardly mock how this was truly a Britannian battalion-level unit. The strength of one battalion was almost more than Li Yunlong’s early independent regiment.

This meant that the 1st Battalion, already heavily damaged on the high ground, was now facing an enemy several times their size, and an elite one at that. To be honest, even Morin felt a sense of despair at the sight of this force. The tactic of early armies sending entire battalions into a frontal assault was now precisely their most fatal weakness in terms of numbers.

His cards were played out. The Vickers machine gun had only one belt of ammunition left, nowhere near enough to turn the tide against such an overwhelming difference in strength.

What to do? Morin’s mind raced. After weighing his options for a few seconds, he gritted his teeth.

“Traverse the machine gun!” He pointed at the assembling Britannian unit. “Aim the muzzle at those Britannians! As for the Royal Army soldiers, leave them to the riflemen! And trust our comrades on the high ground!”

Receiving Morin’s order, the machine gun team frantically adjusted the gun’s aim. The drumming of The Grenadier’s March grew more intense. The two enemy forces on the slope had completed their assembly, and the dark masses began to slowly move upward.

“Listen up!” Morin’s voice was unusually serious as he instructed his men: “When the machine gun runs out of ammunition, we retreat from the side-rear of the high ground! Don’t be foolish and charge up to the crest; that’s just making yourselves targets for the enemy!”

“Yes, Platoon Leader!”

The newly reorganized Royal Army soldiers on the slope below were clearly still shaken by the previous flanking fire. Morin could clearly see them casting cautious glances toward the area where the machine gun had previously been positioned as they advanced. They never dreamed that the machine gun that had slaughtered so many of their comrades had quietly moved and was now aiming at their allies from a different angle.

Morin had everyone keep low, using the fallen tree trunks and shell craters to conceal themselves perfectly. The two enemy armies drew closer. Morin’s heart pounded faster, mirroring the rhythm of the military drum.

He felt uncertain. He had witnessed his own heavy armored units withstand point-blank pistol fire when he was captured. So, he was worried about how effective the Vickers’ .303 bullets would be against the Britannian ‘Iron Cans’.

The drums of the military march abruptly accelerated, and the two enemy columns began to jog. At the top of the high ground, the remaining soldiers of the 1st Battalion had begun sporadic firing, attempting to slow the enemy’s momentum. The Royal Army soldiers also returned scattered rifle fire.

The moment was right. Morin did not hesitate any longer.

“Fire!”

At his command, the silent temporary position was instantly engulfed in gunfire.

“Dakka-dakka-dakka-dakka-dakka—!”

The Vickers heavy machine gun’s last remaining ammunition was unleashed without reservation, transforming into a deadly whip of fire that viciously lashed the ranks of the Northumberland Fusilier Regiment.

On the other side, the over twenty Gew.98 rifles held by Platoon Sergeant Klaus and the others also opened fire simultaneously. The accurate bullets crossed the less than two-hundred-meter distance, striking the charging Royal Army soldiers.

The Royal Army, who had just been shattered by heavy machine gun flank fire, suffered a familiar blow once again. Although there were only twenty-something rifles this time, the killing efficiency was far lower, but the familiar, unavoidable attack from the flank still threw their advance formation into confusion. Soldiers at the front fell one after another, while those behind instinctively sought cover, stalling the momentum of the charge.

Meanwhile, a burst of gunfire erupted from the crest of the high ground, a clear sign that the remaining 1st Battalion soldiers were consciously attempting to create a ‘crossfire’ with Morin’s position.

But Morin was more focused on the situation with the Britannians.

The machine gun bullets struck the armor of the Heavy Armored Soldiers in the front ranks of the Northumberland Fusilier Regiment, sending up a dense shower of sparks and a sharp ‘clanging’ sound, momentarily freezing the armored soldiers’ movements.

It was effective!

Joy surged through Morin, but his heart quickly sank again. The killing efficiency was too low. The Heavy Armored Soldiers mostly only fell after enduring multiple direct hits from the machine gun fire. Through his binoculars, Morin clearly saw one soldier with a two-handed sword whose chest plate only completely shattered after enduring five or six direct hits. Only then could the bullets that followed penetrate his body. This level of casualties was merely a pinprick to a force of nearly a thousand men.

After a brief commotion, the Northumberland Fusilier Regiment soldiers not only did not retreat but accelerated their charge. The khaki wave was surging toward Morin’s position with an unstoppable momentum.

“Gunner! Stop sweeping! Just pick off individual targets! Focus on those Iron Cans!”

Hearing Morin’s order, the machine gunner immediately stopped the lateral sweeping fire and began aiming at individual Heavy Armored Soldiers. However, the rapidly shrinking ammunition belt meant this attack could not last much longer.

Just as despair set in, a turning point appeared in an unexpected way.

From the corner of Morin’s eye on the system map, the unit marker for the International Brigades’ ‘Eastern Europa Brigade, 2nd Regiment, 1st Battalion’ was rapidly closing in on his position. Since the two forces were only about 600 meters apart, the several hundred International Brigades soldiers appeared on the Northumberland Fusilier Regiment’s side-rear flank in the blink of an eye.

Immediately after, a loud bugle call sounded from that direction.

“Charge—!”

“Urah—!”

A cacophony of battle cries followed.

This sudden turn of events clearly caught the charging Britannians off guard. They were forced to hastily divert a portion of their force to meet the surprise attack.

The loud bugle call not only ignited the fighting spirit of the International Brigades volunteers but also completely set Morin’s blood boiling.

“Dakka-dakka-dakka… Click!”

The machine gunner finally fired the last bullet in the canvas belt.

“Second Lieutenant, are we still retreating?” Platoon Sergeant Klaus asked the crucial question. However, everyone, including Klaus, already knew the answer. Their hands were already reaching for the bayonet scabbards at their waists.

“Fix bayonets!” Morin virtually roared the command, smoothly drawing his own bayonet and fixing it to his rifle.

The cold touch in his palm brought a degree of calm to his chaotic mind. It was clear that the International Brigades fighters were coming to relieve the pressure on Morin’s team. Under these circumstances, Morin absolutely could not abandon them and retreat.

The battle had reached the point where they had to fight.

“Charge!”

Morin did not hesitate, leaping out of cover first. He held his bayonet-fixed rifle and led his remaining two dozen soldiers in a counter-charge against the enemies on the slope below.

When the distance closed to about fifty meters, Morin roared again.

“Grenadiers, throw!”

The few soldiers carrying ball-type grenades immediately pulled the pins and threw the deadly iron spheres with all their strength. Thanks to the elevation advantage, the grenades flew much farther than usual, landing accurately in the front ranks of the Northumberland Fusilier Regiment’s formation.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

A series of explosions erupted. The Heavy Armored Soldiers at the front and the infantry behind them were instantly thrown into chaos. While the thick armor had blocked most of the shrapnel, they were not ‘True Iron Cans’ like the Astartes, and sharp fragments still found their way into areas not protected by the armor. More importantly, the immense shockwave and sound from the close-range explosions left the Iron Cans temporarily stunned and disoriented.

Now was the time!

Morin and the International Brigades volunteers, like two sharp daggers, stabbed into the Northumberland Fusilier Regiment’s formation from two directions.

At the crest of the high ground, the struggling soldiers of the 1st Battalion saw the change in the battle. As the Royal Army soldiers charged to within a hundred meters of the position, Major Thomas drew his pistol and let out a thundering roar.

“Soldiers of the Saxon Empire! For the glory of the Black Eagle banner! Counter-attack!”

(End of Chapter 33)