Chapter 39: 3rd Platoon, Time to Eat!

Upon receiving the order, the troops, who had just been reveling in the joy of victory, immediately reassembled. The atmosphere on the battlefield quickly became tense and orderly once more.

The bearded commander of the International Brigades located Major Thomas. After a brief discussion, they agreed to temporarily operate with the 1st Battalion and continue the advance toward Seville. Ludwig also confirmed that the Teutonic Knights were there for cooperative combat and would join the push into the city. The attitude of these two commanders relieved Major Thomas, as he would have been nervous pushing forward with his heavily damaged 1st Battalion alone.

Morin took advantage of the time to quickly assess his platoon’s casualties. Looking at the sparse formation before him, his heart sank. After the battle for the high ground, his previously full-strength 3rd Platoon was now down to only 48 men. Corporal Jonah, who had fought bravely by his side, had fallen in the final hand-to-hand combat and failed to get back up. The brutality of war was presented to Morin in the most direct way possible. This was the first time Morin had personally experienced the feeling of a soldier under his command being killed in action.

After leaving the severely depleted platoon behind, waiting for the medical NCOs and stretcher teams from the rear to recover the fallen, Major Thomas led the troops in a pursuit toward the Seville urban area, supported by the International Brigades and the Teutonic Knights, following the trail of destruction left by the enemy.

Although it was called a ‘pursuit,’ much to everyone’s surprise, they advanced without meeting any resistance. Major Thomas sent a messenger to Regimental Command with a real-time progress report. Morin didn’t know the exact content, only hearing Major Thomas say, “My battalion has an unimpeded advance! An absolutely unimpeded advance!” They did not encounter any resistance until the International Brigades advance guard of over ten men stepped onto the stone pavement at the edge of Seville. The enemy hadn’t just conducted a ‘full-line retreat,’ as the regimental order stated; they had abandoned the entire city.

“Something isn’t right. No one fights a war like this…” Morin frowned, looking at the city, which was eerily quiet. Based on his earlier reconnaissance, the Royal Army and the Britannians had garrisoned heavily here, building strong defenses and preparing for a final showdown with the Coalition forces. How could they simply abandon the city after only one failed offensive? This was too illogical unless it was a trap.

Morin tried to find his direct superior, Captain Hauser, but couldn’t locate him for a while. He eventually went directly to Major Thomas, who was speaking with the bearded International Brigades commander, and voiced his concerns.

“Major, I think this could be a trap. The enemy is clearly trying to lure us into the city…”

“Morin, your concern is valid,” Major Thomas interrupted him. “But I believe it’s more likely that the enemy was simply unprepared for urban warfare. After their line was breached, continuing to defend the city became pointless.”

The bearded commander nodded in agreement.

Just then, Ludwig, who was having his attendants and technicians check the damage to his Armored Knight, walked over and overheard the conversation.

“I believe their losses were simply too great,” Ludwig’s voice caught the attention of the three men. “Setting aside the casualties of those irregular Royal Army units, the Britannian Northumberland Fusilier Regiment alone was decimated by over half a battalion on the high ground.”

“More importantly, they also lost two Armored Knights and all their Knight Attendants. For the generally arrogant Britannians, this is a defeat they haven’t suffered in years.”

Ludwig paused, continuing his analysis: “I don’t believe they will just let this go. This retreat is more like a tactical contraction. They will likely reassemble their forces outside the city and launch a counter-attack against us.”

Major Thomas, catching the implications, interjected, looking up at Morin. “That means the enemy is confident in doing so, and they seized upon one point we cannot refuse…” “The importance of Seville makes it impossible for us to retreat as easily as they did.”

“This also means we are fixed here. Second Lieutenant Morin, your concerns are indeed valid. It seems we must remain vigilant. More difficult fighting may still be ahead.” Ludwig summarized.

Soon, the follow-up forces of the National Army, the International Brigades, and the 16th Infantry Brigade entered the city and began a thorough sweep. After a period, it was finally confirmed that the enemy had indeed completely withdrawn.

Once the city was deemed safe, the Baggage Train unit, the Field Hospital, and the Field Kitchen quickly followed, setting up camp in an open area on the city’s outskirts.

Morin first made sure to send the few seriously wounded soldiers in his platoon, who had only received emergency treatment, to the Field Hospital. This immediately reduced the number of able-bodied men under his command to 42. Then, he called Platoon Sergeant Klaus aside.

“Klaus, tally the ammunition consumption of each squad, then take a few men to the Company Quartermaster and fully replenish our ammunition.”

“Yes, Platoon Leader!”

“Especially the grenades. Find a way to get more. If we face urban warfare next, these things will be the most useful weapon we have.” Platoon Sergeant Klaus quickly took the order and left.

“Corporal Bowman!”

“Here!”

“You are responsible for listing all the fallen and wounded personnel in the platoon, making sure every detail is accurate, and submitting it to the Company Clerk.” Morin looked at the young Corporal, his tone unusually serious. “Be meticulous. Don’t miss a single name, not a single letter can be wrong. This affects whether the families of the fallen soldiers receive their pensions, and their future lives. Understand?”

“I understand! Don’t worry, sir!” Corporal Bowman nodded heavily. The soldiers around him, including some International Brigades volunteers who were listening intently, looked at Morin with a subtle shift in their expression.

After dealing with these trivial but important matters, Klaus returned with the ammunition and two crates of grenades, and Bowman and the others returned to their posts. A tempting aroma soon drifted over from the nearby Field Kitchen. The hunger in the soldiers’ stomachs quickly displaced the grief over their fallen comrades. While cruel, this was often a reality on the battlefield. If one were to weep uncontrollably and lose their appetite every time a comrade fell, the war would never be fought.

Morin looked at the hungry, surviving soldiers of the 3rd Platoon and finally waved his hand.

“3rd Platoon, all men! Time to eat!”

After a full morning of intense fighting, both Morin and his soldiers were ravenous. Today’s combat meal was richer than anyone could have imagined. ‘Erbswurst’ thick soup was now made with potato chunks and had been long-simmered, making it even more viscous. The main staples of black bread and hot coffee were also plentiful. In addition to these ‘three old standbys,’ the Field Kitchen had lavishly prepared fried sausage, with each man receiving a whole one.

The Saxon Empire was clearly not yet in a period of resource scarcity, so the supply of military provisions was robust. It was unlike the German Second Empire in the other timeline, where soldiers were forced to eat bread mixed with wood chips after the sea routes were blockaded and supplies ran low.

The Saxon fried sausage was not sliced open. The cooks simply placed the whole sausage in a flat pan, frying it in butter until it sizzled and the skin turned golden-brown and crispy. This method preserved the most juice and fat inside the sausage, ensuring the purest flavor.

As the ‘Company’s Eating Champion,’ a nickname he had quickly earned, Morin finished getting his food and eagerly found a place to sit. He blew lightly on the steaming sausage and immediately took a huge bite.

“Crunch.”

“Hiss—ha—”

Although scalding hot, as his teeth broke through the crispy skin, the boiling hot juice mixed with the rich, meaty flavor burst into his mouth. In that instant, Morin felt that his weary body and spirit were completely healed by the unparalleled taste. He quickly recognized it as a classic Thuringian sausage—one of the German sausages most palatable to Chinese tastes.

The surrounding soldiers watched their Platoon Leader’s blissful eating, all swallowing hard. Their own appetites were fully roused, and they buried their heads in their food, eating heartily.

(End of Chapter 39)