Trench Bolts and Magic

Chapter 175 The Test Ends (Bonus Chapter 1010 for the Silver Alliance)

The soldiers of the guard detachment leaped up from behind the earthen embankment without hesitation and turned to run wildly toward the town of Charleroi.

Their faces were covered in gunpowder and dust, and many of them were still bleeding from the wounds inflicted by military knives. Their eyes were filled with exhaustion and fear.

Even in such a disheveled state, this small unit did not lose its composure.

Instead of scattering like headless flies, they instinctively maintained their battle formation.

One squad was running and retreating, while another squad opened fire from behind to provide cover for their comrades.

This tactical skill, ingrained in their very being through training, allowed them to maintain considerable combat effectiveness even during a retreat.

The surviving cuirassiers were stunned and disoriented by the final volley of grenades.

By the time they recovered from the shock of the explosion, the Saxon soldiers had already created a distance of nearly 100 meters.

Most of the cuirassiers, in their pursuit of speed during the earlier foot charge, only carried sabers and pistols, leaving their heavy carbines discarded beside their dead horses.

Now, they could only watch helplessly as the enemy ran further and further away, their revolvers posing no threat whatsoever from a hundred meters away.

Several angry cuirassiers chased after them in vain for a few steps, but how could two legs outrun an enemy providing cover fire? They were quickly shot in the head and fell to the ground by several accurate rifle shots.

On the other side, the 2nd Platoon of the 3rd Company, which was responsible for providing flank support on the earthen slope, also immediately began to move after seeing the friendly forces begin to retreat.

This platoon also faces enormous pressure.

Although the cuirassier squadron charging towards them suffered heavy losses under their firepower, with almost all of their horses killed, several dozen cavalrymen still managed to reach them thanks to the protection of their enchanted breastplates.

The platoon leader directed his soldiers to engage the enemy in close combat, taking advantage of the undulations of the earthen slope.

The best way to deal with these cuirassiers was to continuously throw grenades and sweep submachine gun fire down to their abdomens.

After suffering more than ten casualties, they relied on automatic weapons to forcefully knock down the charging cuirassiers—most of the cavalrymen were hit in the hips and legs, losing their ability to move.

"First and second squads, provide cover! The other two squads, retreat!" the 2nd platoon leader shouted.

After confirming that the distant guard unit was out of danger, he immediately organized his troops to take turns providing cover as they retreated towards the city.

From a distance, the entire battlefield appeared to be a scene of utter devastation.

The fields southeast of Charleroi have now been transformed into a massive slaughterhouse.

Everywhere were the corpses of warhorses, their black blood soaking the earth and emitting a strong, pungent stench.

Hundreds of corpses dressed in blue cavalry uniforms and gleaming breastplates lay scattered haphazardly across fields, village ruins, and riverbanks.

The two platoons from the training assault battalion, although they eventually managed to escape from the nearly formed massive encirclement, suffered considerable casualties.

In particular, only about 20 members of the guard unit managed to escape back to the city.

"Huhu."

The sergeant in charge of command ran into the main position on the edge of the city. When he saw the familiar faces and the heavy machine gun positions that had been set up, his tense nerves finally relaxed, his legs went weak, and he collapsed to the ground.

He leaned against a broken wall, panting heavily, his chest heaving like a bellows.

He subconsciously touched the magazine pouch in his chest strap; it was empty. He then took off his backpack and glanced at the spare magazines, which were mostly empty as well.

The brief but intense battle just now had almost exhausted all the ammunition he was carrying.

He looked up at his comrades running past him; each of them, like him, had faces etched with exhaustion.

But in the eyes of these survivors, there was something indescribable—a look that only comes from experiencing the baptism of blood and fire.

As the smoke from the shelling gradually dissipated, Captain Leo gathered his surviving men back together from the devastated ruins.

His second dragoon squadron suffered nearly a third of its men dead or wounded in the brief but intense bombardment.

Most of the remaining men were also injured, looking disheveled and demoralized.

Captain Leo's heart was bleeding. These were highly trained and skilled cavalrymen, the elite of the Gallic army's cavalry, yet they were being wiped out in droves in this inexplicable battle.

He led the remaining troops and carefully retreated from that hellish village.

Raising his binoculars and looking at the main battlefield in the distance, Captain Leo gasped at the sight before him.

The once proud cuirassiers were now fleeing towards their assembly point. They had lost their horses and their commander, and were like a flock of lost lambs, bewildered and helpless.

The three companies of the entire Fourth Cuirassier Regiment were almost decimated. The carcasses of horses and the gleaming cuirasses scattered on the ground silently testified to the ferocity of the charge.

The surviving Gallic cavalry eventually bypassed the battle zone and returned to the cornfield where they had started. The cavalrymen gathered in twos and threes, their faces filled with bewilderment and fear.

Their organization has been completely disrupted, and many people can't even find their commanders.

Leo found Captain Marchand and Captain Lafontaine, who were equally disheveled.

The dragoon squadrons led by the two captains were hit by artillery fire before they could charge, and suffered heavy losses as well.

"Where is Colonel Molière?" Leo's voice was a little hoarse.

Captain Marchand shook his head silently.

This arrogant and reckless man ultimately paid the heaviest price for his arrogance with his own life.

"We...we lost."

Captain Lafontaine said, distraught, that he couldn’t believe that six squadrons of elite Gallic cavalry had been routed so badly before even reaching the enemy’s main position.

“No, we didn’t lose, we ran into an iron wall.” Captain Leo’s eyes were extremely solemn.

He now finally understood why the lame old soldier had said there was a division of Saxons in the city.

That kind of automatic firepower, like a thunderstorm, that kind of artillery with lightning-fast reaction and precise coverage, is definitely not a force that a small unit can possess!
Colonel Molière's arrogance turned what should have been a cautious combat reconnaissance mission into a complete disaster.

Leo sent someone to do a quick count of the casualties, and the result chilled him to the bone.

Three cuirassier squadrons, totaling 450 men, suffered more than half casualties, and all their warhorses were wiped out. They had completely lost their ability to fight as cavalry.

The three dragoon squadrons fared slightly better, avoiding being wiped out by machine gun fire, but still suffered over a hundred casualties from the artillery barrage.

"We must retreat immediately and report the situation here to the division headquarters and the general!" Captain Leo, who had become the surviving cavalry commander, made the decision without hesitation.

He knew that there was no point in staying any longer.

The Saxons had already shown them, through bloody facts, that Charleroi was not a place to be trifled with. It was like a colossal steel beast with its jaws wide open, waiting for the next prey that dared to challenge it.

"Messenger!" Leo shouted at a relatively calm soldier beside him.

"Return to division headquarters immediately! Tell the general! The enemy firepower in Charlerois is far beyond our expectations! They possess an astonishing number of automatic weapons and rapidly responding artillery! Our unit suffered heavy losses during combat reconnaissance, and Colonel Molière was killed in action! Requesting further instructions!"

The messenger dared not delay, immediately mounted a warhorse that was in relatively good condition, and galloped away without looking back.

Leo watched his departing figure, then glanced back at the city that appeared unusually quiet in the morning light, and a thought flashed through his mind.
This war, starting today, will be completely different from what they all imagined.

When the messenger brought back the battle situation, everyone in the temporary command post of the 3rd Gallic Cavalry Division seemed to be stunned.

The commander of the 3rd Cavalry Division stared at the map on the table with a somber expression, as if the messenger's report was still echoing in his ears.

"Colonel Molière was killed in action; the 4th Cuirassier Regiment suffered more than half its casualties, and its warhorses were almost completely wiped out. The dragoon force suffered over a hundred casualties."

Each shocking word struck the heart of everyone in the command post like a heavy hammer.

This is beyond just 'heavy losses'; it's an utter and complete defeat!

Six squadrons of elite cavalry, including three squadrons of cuirassiers that served as the core of the assault, were almost decimated in a small 'reconnaissance' operation!
"The enemy possesses an astonishing number of automatic weapons with an unprecedented density of firepower, capable of organizing precise artillery fire coverage within ten minutes."

The division commander's expression grew increasingly grim.

He finally realized that what they were facing this time was not a 'small harassment force' at all.

The Saxon troops in Charleroi are a well-trained and well-equipped elite force! They have turned the edge of the city into a meticulously planned death trap.

Molière's recklessness and arrogance caused his cuirassiers to ram headlong into the enemy, resulting in severe head injuries.

"Idiot! Utter idiot!"

The division commander muttered a curse under his breath, it was unclear whether he was cursing Molière or himself for sending them to their deaths.

He knew very well that attacking Charleroi with only cavalry would be tantamount to suicide.

This was only in the open area outside the city—and they fought like this even on their home turf where the cavalry had a clear advantage. Imagine what would happen if they entered the city.
The commander of the 3rd Cavalry Division dared not think any further.

"Immediately! Report the entire situation to the army group headquarters, word for word!"

The division commander gave the order to the chief of staff:

"Here's my opinion—the attack on Charleroi must be launched with a large number of infantry under artillery cover! Any form of cavalry charge is just suicide!"

(End of this chapter)