Trench Bolts and Magic

Chapter 170 Combat Reconnaissance
Just as the three commanders were at a loss about how to deal with the silent city, a sentry responsible for perimeter security quietly sneaked back.

"Captain!" the scout reported to Leo, "We found a number of residents who fled from Charleroi on the eastern path. It looks like they've gone to their relatives' homes in the countryside for refuge."

"Did you get any results?" Leo's spirits lifted.

“I asked.” The scout’s expression turned somewhat strange. “But… their answers were all different.”

"What do you mean by different? Explain yourself!" Marchand urged impatiently in a low voice.

"That's right, sir." The scout gathered his thoughts and began to report in detail.

“We stopped a group of citizens who looked very panicked. They said there were Saxon soldiers everywhere in the city, at least several hundred, maybe even a thousand. They also said their guns were terrifyingly powerful. Yesterday, when they fought the garrison in the city, their gunfire was like thunder, and the garrison couldn’t even raise their heads.”

"Then we asked a merchant who seemed calmer. He said he didn't see many Saxons, maybe only one or two companies. The soldiers guarding the bridge over the river warned them that there would be fighting in the city soon and that they should leave quickly."

Upon hearing this, the three captains exchanged bewildered glances; the two accounts were far too contradictory.

"Is there anything else?" Leo pressed.

"Have!"

This time, the scout's expression became even more serious.

"We also met a lame old man who said he used to be a soldier and told us with great certainty that there were definitely more than a few hundred Saxons in the city, possibly a whole division!"

"A division?!" Captain Lafontaine exclaimed. "What gives him the right to say that?"

He said he heard the sound of heavy machine guns.

The scout swallowed hard, clearly unsure whether the old man's statement was true or false.

"He said he heard intense gunfire in the city yesterday. He had never heard such dense gunfire in his life. It was definitely not the sound of rifles, but the sound of many, many heavy machine guns firing at the same time! Only a division-level unit could be equipped with so many heavy machine guns."

The atmosphere on the earthen slope froze completely.

The Saxons had a division in Charleroi?

The thought sent chills down the spines of the three experienced cavalry captains; if a full-scale Saxon division was indeed hiding in the city, the situation would be entirely different.

"Can we trust this old man? Could it be that he's getting old and his hearing isn't good, and he misheard?" Captain Lafontaine was still somewhat skeptical.

"I do not know."

Captain Marchand shook his head, then continued:

"But the only thing that is certain is that the enemy in the city has very strong firepower. All the civilians who escaped mentioned this."

Captain Leo remained silent, holding up his binoculars and scanning every corner of the city again and again.

In his eyes, that quiet city was like a lurking beast, its jaws wide open, waiting for its prey to walk into its trap.

The unease in his heart grew stronger and stronger.

"We can't wait any longer."

Leo put down his binoculars and made a decision.

“The situation is unclear right now, so we can’t rush into the city of Marshan. You should immediately send a capable messenger back to report the situation here to the regimental commander and the division headquarters, and tell them exactly what the civilians have to say.”

"Then tell them my suggestion—the division should send more troops to Charleroi for a probing attack to find out the enemy's strength and weaknesses."

“I agree.” Marchand nodded.

“Let’s do it your way, Leo,” Lafontaine said affirmatively.

After the order was given, a messenger spurred his horse and galloped towards the location of the division headquarters.

Leo and two other cavalry officers lay back down on the earthen slope, the former feeling his palms were already sweaty.

He didn't know what kind of enemy he was facing, and the pressure from this unknown was more terrifying than any known danger.

Not long after, the messenger who had been sent out returned in a flash, but he was not alone.

Behind him, a larger cloud of dust rose.

Accompanied by the rhythmic and powerful sound of hooves, a formidable cavalry force appeared on the horizon.

In the sunlight, the traditional blue cavalry uniforms, the flamboyant mane-adorned helmets, and the gleaming steel breastplates on their chests reflected a dazzling light.
They are cuirassiers!
Leo and the other two officers were somewhat surprised. The cuirassiers were the elite striking force among the Gallic cavalry, the hammers used to launch decisive charges at crucial moments—at least so far.

The 3rd Cavalry Division has two cuirassier regiments, each composed of elite warriors selected from among hundreds, riding carefully chosen steeds.

Following the three squadrons of cuirassiers was a company of soldiers who rode bicycles instead of horses.

This is a company under the newly established bicycle battalion from the past two years. Their mission is to use the speed advantage of bicycles to quickly follow up and provide infantry support for the cavalry units.

Soon, the reinforcements arrived near the cornfield. A burly colonel with a thick, upturned mustache rode a magnificent black warhorse to Leo and his men.

His breastplate was more ornate than that of ordinary soldiers, and it was engraved with the family crest.

"Colonel Molière, commander of the 4th Cuirassier Regiment."

The newcomer glanced down at them, his tone clearly arrogance.

However, Leo and his two companions were already used to the personality of these 'elite cavalrymen,' and since their rank was several levels higher than theirs, they quickly stood at attention and saluted.

"Sir!"

Colonel Molière nodded in return.

He took out a document from the leather pouch beside the saddle and said as he looked at it:
"The division headquarters has received your report and considers the information you have gathered to be very important. Moreover, General Langlezak's orders before we set off last night were to ascertain the enemy situation in Charleroi as soon as possible."

"Therefore, the division commander ordered me to lead three companies of the 4th Cuirassier Regiment, in coordination with your three dragoon companies, to launch a combat reconnaissance mission against the southern city of Charleroi!"

"Combat reconnaissance?" Captain Marchand hesitated. "Colonel, the civilians say the enemy firepower in the city is extremely heavy."

"civilian?"

Colonel Molière let out a sneer, this time without any attempt to hide it.

"You can believe what a bunch of cowards who've been scared out of their wits by gunfire say? A whole division, a dozen heavy machine guns—that's utter nonsense!"

"The Saxons don't have wings. Marching is a scientific and systematic thing, so there was at most a Saxon vanguard of about one battalion in the city. They scared those Flemish fools with just a few machine guns."

His words were filled with contempt for the enemy and absolute confidence in his own military strength.

"Obey my orders!"

Colonel Molière didn't give Captain Leo and his men a chance to object and immediately began issuing orders.
"Next, we will conduct combat reconnaissance from the southeast of the city. You three dragoon squadrons will launch a feint attack from the front of the southeastern outskirts of the city and the right flank along the river to draw the enemy's attention."

"I will lead my cuirassiers in a direct charge from the open area on the left flank, directly towards the enemy's exposed firing positions, and break through their lines in one fell swoop! The bicycle company will follow behind us, responsible for mopping up the remaining enemy, entering the city, and then capturing the bridgehead!"

The plan was simple, brutal, and full of the style of a traditional cavalry commander—to crush everything with sheer force.

Leo's heart sank; he felt the plan was far too risky.

Sending precious cuirassiers to charge when the enemy situation is unclear is simply gambling.

"Colonel, shouldn't we be a little more cautious? At least send the cavalry artillery battalion up to provide fire coverage over the suspicious area?" Leo couldn't help but suggest.

Colonel Molière gave him a cold glance. "Captain, are you questioning my orders? Or are you intimidated by the stories of those peasants?"

"No, sir, I just..."

"Then obey orders!" Colonel Molière interrupted him rudely. "Remember, we are Gallic cavalry! Our mission is to charge and win, not to cower in the back like cowardly rabbits!"

"Moreover, time is of the essence now. If the Saxons control the bridge and allow their main force to cross the river, that would be the real crisis!"

After saying that, he ignored Leo, turned his horse around, and returned to his own troops.

"Brothers! Prepare for battle! Let the Saxons taste the power of our breastplates!" Molière drew his sword and shouted.

"For Gaul!" the cuirassiers shouted in unison, their voices thunderous.

Leo and the other two company commanders exchanged helpless glances, both seeing worry in each other's eyes.

But military orders are absolute, and they had no choice but to obey.

He led his squadron and deployed on the right flank of the cavalry attack force.

He felt his heart pound in his chest, but this time it wasn't from excitement, but from nervousness.

Suddenly, a feeling of being watched washed over Captain Leo, making him feel like he was being watched by a thorn in his side.

He subconsciously looked up at the quiet buildings on the edge of the city in the distance, as if countless eyes were coldly watching them from behind those dark windows.

"Maybe... I really am just too nervous?"

He muttered to himself, trying to convince himself with this reason, then pulled on the reins and looked back.

Behind the dragoons were three squadrons of cuirassiers, their polished breastplates, weighing 10 kilograms each, reflecting a cold metallic luster in the dim sunlight.

The cavalrymen rode silently on their horses, the tall warhorses snorting and their hooves pounding the dirt road with a dull, rhythmic sound.

Everything seemed orderly, but the feeling of being watched was like an invisible venomous snake coiling around his neck, almost suffocating him.

(End of this chapter)