Trench Bolts and Magic

Chapter 169 The Gauls' Cavalry
As the Third, Fifth, and Eighteenth Corps of the Fifth Gallic Army began their advance toward the border, Commander General Charles Langlezak continued to pace back and forth in his command post, his unease showing no sign of abating.

The descriptions of the Flemish messengers who had escaped from Charleroi echoed repeatedly in his mind.

"The enemy may have more than a dozen heavy machine guns."

Such a description was like a thorn, deeply embedded in Langlezak's heart.

How could a platoon-level unit be equipped with more than a dozen heavy machine guns?

This is completely illogical regarding the firepower configuration of Saxon infantry squads and platoons. The Gallic General Staff had conducted a detailed study on this, and according to the latest pre-war information, a dozen or so heavy machine guns would be the configuration of at least a division-level unit.

This also worried Langlezak greatly. The Flanders soldiers, whose quality was already low, completely misjudged the true size of the enemy amidst the immense chaos and fear on the battlefield.
This isn't him looking down on these 'allies,' it's just the truth.

Since the humiliating defeat in the Saxon War, the Saxon Empire has greatly improved its national strength in all aspects, including population, thanks to technological advancements in the crystal industry. This has allowed the Gallo Republic to survive these years under the pressure of near national extinction.

The length of military service has been increased to a stringent level of 5 years of active duty and 12 years of reserve duty, making the level of professionalism in the military vastly different from what it used to be.

The conscripts of the United Kingdom of Flanders, in terms of both training and will, could not compare with the veterans of Gaul.

"General, are you still worried about Charleroi's situation?"

An adjutant cautiously stepped forward and asked in a low voice.

Langlezak stopped and glanced at Charleroi's location on the map, nodding solemnly.

“I always felt that things weren’t that simple. Commander-in-Chief Joffre and his men were blinded by the ‘victory’ on the southern front. They didn’t understand that once a gap was torn in the northern front, all of Paris would be exposed to the Saxon forces.”

He pointed to the Sambour River on the map and continued:
"If the Saxons were truly just a small force, why would they risk being encircled and annihilated by our main force by venturing so deep into our territory alone? Their target must be these bridges! They want to open a passage for the main force that follows!"

The adjutant listened, a look of worry appearing on his face. "What should we do now? The Third Army won't arrive until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest."

"We can't wait that long!"

Langlezak stated unequivocally:
"I need to know immediately how many Saxons are in Charleroi, and what their firepower configuration is. I need precise intelligence!"

He turned around abruptly and gave a new order to his adjutant.

"Immediately order the 3rd Cavalry Division to advance towards Charleroi at top speed! I don't care what methods they use—armed reconnaissance or a probing attack—I must obtain an accurate report on the size of the enemy forces at Charleroi as quickly as possible!"

"Yes, General!" The adjutant straightened his chest and immediately turned to relay the order.

Under the cover of night, the camp of the 3rd Cavalry Division was bustling with activity.

The piercing bugle call shattered the silence, waking the sleeping cavalrymen.

The officers' urging, the clanging and jingling of the soldiers organizing their equipment, and the snorting of the horses mingled together, creating a unique pre-battle symphony in the cavalry camp.

Cavalry Captain Leo Bordela, as the commander of the 2nd Company of the 11th Dragoon Regiment under the 3rd Cavalry Division, was quickly putting on his uniform while loudly issuing orders to his sergeants.

"Hurry! Feed your horses, check the horseshoes and saddles! I want to see everyone on horseback in ten minutes!"

The cavalrymen were busy throughout the camp.

They first fed their horses some oats and hay to replenish the energy needed for the long march, and then carefully prepared the saddles for their warhorses, checking every buckle.
These horses are the cavalrymen's companions, their second life, and cannot be treated carelessly in the slightest.

The 3rd Cavalry Division was one of the most elite cavalry divisions in the Gallic Army, consisting of three cavalry brigades, one mounted artillery battalion, one bicycle battalion, and a communications platoon.

Each cavalry brigade was further organized into a heavy machine gun platoon and two cavalry regiments.

After the Gallic Republic announced a general mobilization, these cavalry regiments quickly expanded from the usual four squadrons to six squadrons, with each squadron normally consisting of 150 cavalrymen.

In total, the cavalry division had nearly 5,400 cavalrymen and more than 400 infantrymen, making it one of Langlezak's valuable mobile forces.

The main force of the dragoons were primarily armed with the Bettier carbine, with 96 rounds of ammunition, for use in small-scale skirmishes.

Of course, for cavalry, the long lance remained their most reliable partner when launching a charge.

The officers carried revolvers and sabers, symbolizing their status and command authority.

The division's most relied-upon support firepower consisted of the twelve precious 75mm magic cannons of the cavalry artillery battalion, and the six Saint-Étienne M1907 heavy machine guns belonging to the two brigade headquarters.

Once the division headquarters confirmed the marching route, the massive cavalry force, organized by regiment, merged into the night, forming a long marching column.

Captain Leo, with his second squadron, hung up lanterns and followed closely behind the first squadron ahead, advancing along the road toward Charleroi, a straight-line distance of fifty-five kilometers.

The summer night breeze brushed against his face, blowing away the scorching heat left by the day, but it couldn't calm the boiling blood in Captain Leo's heart.

He could feel that he, like his soldiers, was experiencing an irrepressible excitement about the upcoming first battle.

This is the first battle to avenge the Saxons!
He took a deep breath and tried to calm his excited emotions. As a commander, he had to remain calm.

He strictly controlled the marching speed during the first hour after departure, allowing the horses' muscles and joints to 'warm up'. This was a golden rule in cavalry combat regulations, which could effectively prevent horses from being injured during long marches.

Marching at night makes all the work more challenging.

Leo and his adjutant rode back and forth through the ranks of the squadron, carefully inspecting each soldier and his mount.

He didn't want any of his men to fall behind or miss out on this significant battle because of equipment issues.

"Lieutenant, go check the back and see if anyone has a problem with their horseshoes or if their saddles are rubbing too badly," Leo instructed his adjutant.

"Yes, Captain!"

As night deepened, only the flickering light of the kerosene lamp illuminated the uneven dirt road beneath our feet.

The dull thud of thousands of iron hooves pounding the ground carried far and wide through the silent countryside.

The first hour of marching passed quickly, and the troops stopped for their first short rest.

The cavalrymen dismounted, allowing their horses to catch their breath.

By the dim light of the lantern, they checked and adjusted the tightness of their girths again, and straightened the equipment that had shifted slightly from the jostling.

Apart from the heavy breathing of the horses, there was almost no other noise in the entire group; everyone maintained a solemn silence before battle.

"How are you feeling, guys?" Leo asked in a low voice as he rode slowly past the group.

"Excellent, Captain!" came several equally hushed replies from the ranks, their voices brimming with barely suppressed enthusiasm. Leo nodded, pleased with his second company, composed of experienced veterans who maintained an exceptionally high level of discipline even during this nighttime forced march.

The ten-minute break passed in the blink of an eye. As the unified order from the regimental headquarters came, Leo once again urged the squadron members to set off.

He reached out and turned the knob on the lantern counterclockwise, adjusting the wick to its longest setting to make the light brighter so he could see the road ahead more clearly.

The march that followed became tedious and long.

Aside from the monotonous sound of hooves, the only other sounds were the clanging of equipment. The cavalrymen rose and fell rhythmically on their horses, their eyes scanning the darkness on both sides of the road with vigilance.

Three hours later, the entire division simultaneously entered a long rest period.

This time, everyone dismounted, and the first thing Leo and his soldiers did was remove the heavy saddles to allow the horses to breathe and cool down.

Prolonged pressure from the saddle can easily cause saddle sores on a horse's back due to sweat, which can result in non-combat casualties for a warhorse.

After removing the saddles, they did not immediately stop the horses, but led them and walked slowly in place for more than ten minutes.

This helps the warhorse's muscles recover from prolonged stress and prevents stiffness.

Only after doing all this can these precious companions truly stand and rest.

The soldiers took oats from the horses' feed bags and fed them small amounts frequently. Meanwhile, the supply train that followed brought many canvas folding water troughs and poured a lot of water into them.

Leo and his cavalry only had time to attend to themselves when their warhorses began to drink and eat quietly.

They took out their water bottles and dry rations, and stood beside their companions, sipping their food in small bites.

After Captain Leo finished his food in a few bites, he half-squatted down and began to carefully inspect the hooves and horseshoes of his horse.

This is also the most important task during the entire rest period.

A loose horseshoe or a small stone stuck in a horse's hoof can immediately pull a valuable warhorse out of the fighting ranks.

The other cavalrymen around them also began to do the same thing one after another.

With only the dim lighting provided by lanterns and the few magic lamps provided by the guild, this work was much more difficult than during the day.

But for the elite cavalrymen of the 3rd Cavalry Division, they had long been accustomed to all of this through countless night training sessions.

The Operations Training Department of the General Staff of the Gallic Republic has always been committed to forging them into a sharp dagger capable of quickly penetrating the enemy's vitals.

To this end, they developed numerous operational plans for long-distance night raids followed by a surprise attack on enemy camps at dawn, and conducted repeated drills.

"You mean the Saxons of Charleroi are really just a small group, as those soldiers from the United Kingdom of Flanders say?"

The adjutant leaned closer again and asked in a low voice.

"Who knows."

Leo didn't even look up, continuing to clean the mud from the horse's hooves with a special knife.

"But no matter how many people they are, they have occupied our allied cities and are at our borders. We must drive them out."

“That’s right!” The adjutant nodded vigorously. “It’s time to let those arrogant Saxons taste the might of our Gallic cavalry!”

After a long march through the night and several rests, this massive cavalry force finally crossed the border between Gaul and Flanders on the morning of August 9.

As the first rays of sunlight touched the earth, the 3rd Cavalry Division had already reached a position only two kilometers from the southern city of Charleroi.

A tense atmosphere finally began to fill the air; everyone knew that a battle could break out at any moment.

The 3rd Cavalry Division headquarters quickly issued orders for all units to take cover and await further reconnaissance results.

Captain Leo also received orders to lead his dragoon squadron and two other squadrons to form a forward reconnaissance unit and conduct a probing reconnaissance towards Charleroi.

"Cavalrymen! Move out!"

Leo mounted his horse and looked at the city silhouette that was faintly visible in the morning light in the distance.

The dragoons let out a low shout, spurred their horses, and followed their commander toward the unknown city.

The three dragoon squadrons did not take the main road, but instead chose to traverse fields and forests, using the terrain to conceal their movements, cautiously approaching the outskirts of Charleroi.

Finally, the troops stopped in a dense cornfield, where the tall corn stalks provided them with an excellent natural barrier.

"Everyone dismount! Take cover where you are! Send out scouts to keep watch around!" After giving the order, Leo dismounted himself.

He and two other company commanders, along with their respective adjutants, walked across the cornfield and then came to a slightly higher earthen slope at the edge of the field.

They lay on the ground, raised their binoculars, and carefully observed the city in the distance.

Charleroi was unusually quiet, even deathly still.

The streets on the outskirts of the city were deserted, with no pedestrians or vehicles in sight, and the doors and windows of the houses were all tightly closed, making it seem like a ghost town.

Something's not right.

Captain Marchand of the First Squadron lowered his binoculars, his brow furrowed, and said:
"It's too quiet, there's not a soul in sight. Even if the Saxons are stupid, they couldn't possibly leave no outer sentries, could they?"

"Maybe they've already withdrawn?" Captain Lafontaine of the Third Squadron speculated. "Perhaps they were just making a feint, grabbing some supplies and running away."

"impossible."

Leo shook his head, immediately rejecting his opinion:

"It's about 90 kilometers from Liege to here. Why would they go through all that trouble just to rob us? Their target must be the bridge over the Samble River. Once they control the bridge, their main force can advance unimpeded."

"Where are they?" Captain Marchand shrugged. "They can't all be hiding in the city sleeping, can they?"

"Hard to say, what are Saxon barbarians incapable of?"

(End of this chapter)