Trench Bolts and Magic

Chapter 189 Licking the Wounds
"At this rate of attrition, we can at most withstand one more full-scale attack from the Gauls."

The quartermaster's expression was also somewhat grim, and he said with concern:
"At that point, we'll have no choice but to fight them with bayonets."

The atmosphere in the temporary camp headquarters suddenly became oppressive.

Kleist and Manstein both fell silent; they couldn't think of any solutions either.

Morin stared at the military map spread out on the table, his brain working at a rapid pace.

At this point, retreat was impossible; their mission was to hold back the main force of the Gauls.

Even if he wanted to cause trouble for Ludendorff and Bilough, he would have to wait until after this battle was over.

So now we can only try to solve the ammunition problem and continue the fight.

He glanced at the movements of friendly forces on the system map.

The huge blue arrow representing the main force of the 'Ludendorff Battle Group' has now formed a semi-encirclement of the 5th Infantry Division of the United Kingdom of Flanders, which came to reinforce them.

The battle was extremely fierce, with the unit cards representing both sides on the map constantly colliding and disappearing.

From the perspective of the battlefield situation, the Ludendorff battle group held an absolute advantage, but the soldiers of the United Kingdom of Flanders also had a huge morale boost while defending their country.

In the world before the time travel, these troops, known as 'chocolate soldiers,' knocked out several teeth from the German soldiers.

"It's clear that Ludendorff intends to use his numerical advantage to wipe out these 35,000 men in one fell swoop."

Morin thought to himself that as long as Ludendorff could deal with the enemy there as soon as possible, he could free up troops to support Charleroi.

But the question is, how fast exactly is "as soon as possible"? One day? Or two days?

They can't wait that long.

A new idea popped into Morin's mind, making him realize once again that his thinking was indeed becoming rigid.

"Summon the supply officer in charge of the convoy," Morin said to a messenger at battalion headquarters.

Soon, an officer in charge of managing the truck convoy jogged into the command post.

"battalion commander!"

"Immediately organize manpower, select one-third of the trucks in the best condition, and empty the cargo compartments."

Morin pointed to the map and said in a serious tone:

"I need you to personally lead the team back to the rear of the battle group and bring us a batch of ammunition."

The supply officer paused for a moment, a troubled expression on his face.

"Commander, should we go back now? We have absolutely no idea what the situation is outside the city. What if we encounter Flemish cavalry or patrols?"

"Give me your map, and follow the route I draw for you. You'll be absolutely safe."

Morin interrupted him, then took the map from the other party, picked up a pencil, and drew a route on the supply officer's map based on the situation shown on the system map.

This route perfectly avoids all known and potential enemy activity areas; only someone with a godlike perspective could have planned it.

The supply officer looked at the strange route on the map, and although he was full of doubts, he still chose to obey orders.

"Yes! I'll go prepare right away!"

Morin quickly walked to the table, picked up a pen and paper, wrote a short note, put it in an envelope, sealed it with sealing wax, and handed it to the supply officer.

"Give this to General Ludendorff personally, or have any senior officer you can meet, preferably the chief of staff, pass it on."

“Tell them that the situation in Charleroi is much more serious than they imagine.”

"Yes!" The supply officer solemnly accepted the letter and turned to leave.

To ensure everything went smoothly, Morin also dispatched several of his best messengers to lead the convoy on horseback, ready to respond to any unexpected events.

With the roar of engines, this hastily assembled small convoy, led by a few cavalrymen, quietly drove out of Charleroi South and disappeared into the distance.

Just as Morin's supply convoy quietly embarked on its journey, the atmosphere at the temporary headquarters of the 9th Infantry Division of the Gallic Army was even more oppressive than that at the training assault battalion.

Division Commander General Jean-Claude Fournier sat in his chair, his face ashen and his eyes bloodshot.

On the table in front of him were several battle reports that had just been sent back from the front lines, scattered haphazardly.

The staff officers at the division headquarters stood dejectedly to the side, not daring to even breathe loudly.

The command post was deathly silent, with only General Fournier's heavy breathing echoing in the background.

Half an hour earlier, when the second wave of attacking troops retreated in disarray from Charleroi, General Fournier could hardly believe the news he had heard.

Eight infantry battalions, more than 8,000 men, were deployed with immense confidence, aiming to break through the Saxons' weak defenses with a single blow.

When they retreated, they had less than five thousand men left, and they were all disarmed, dejected, and had completely lost the courage to fight again.

Now, a detailed casualty report is laid out before him.

"The second wave of attack suffered casualties, including killed, missing, and seriously wounded, totaling approximately 3,900. More detailed figures are still being compiled."

The division chief of staff stood to one side, reading the numbers from the report in a dry voice.

With each word uttered, General Fournier's expression grew increasingly grim.

"Most battalion and company commanders were either killed or wounded, and the organizational structure of many units has been completely disrupted."

"Enough! Stop reading!" General Fournier slammed his hand on the table and stood up abruptly. His bloodshot eyes were fixed on his chief of staff, then he looked at the other staff officers around him, like an enraged lion.

"Tell me! What exactly happened! Why did this happen! In less than a day... less than a day! My entire infantry division is almost decimated!"

His roar echoed in the command post, making everyone's ears ring.

The staff officers remained silent, none daring to provoke trouble at this time.

They also wanted to know why this was happening.

Before the battle, everyone thought it would be an easy fight.

The exact number of Saxon troops in the city is unknown, but they certainly wouldn't be many. Even if they were well-equipped, they would be no match for the overwhelming numerical superiority of the Ninth Division.

But reality gave them a resounding slap in the face.

"General."

The division chief of staff hesitated for a moment, but still mustered his courage and spoke:

"We seriously underestimated the enemy's firepower and their bizarre defensive fortifications; their tactics were completely beyond our expectations."

"Tactics?" General Fournier sneered. "That's what they call tactics? Hiding in the city to fire sniper shots, setting up those despicable traps! That's cowardly behavior!"

Despite saying this, for the first time, he began to waver in his belief in 'offensiveism'.

Are courage and bayonets really useful against the enemy's hail of bullets, which are like a storm of steel?
Not long after, new information reached the division headquarters, which made General Fournier feel that things were getting worse.

The field hospital has completely collapsed.

The number of wounded soldiers brought in today has far exceeded the capacity of the field hospital.

All the military doctors and nurses temporarily recruited after the start of the war were too busy to stop, and could only treat a small portion of the seriously wounded.

Medical supplies such as medicines, gauze, and bandages have reached the red line level.

Many wounded who did not receive timely treatment are dying in droves as their injuries worsen.

The hospital director pleaded with the division headquarters in an almost desperate tone not to send any more wounded soldiers to the rear.

General Fournier was devastated upon learning this news.

This battle can no longer be fought.

The soldiers' morale had plummeted, junior officers had been wiped out, and the logistics and medical systems were completely paralyzed.

He couldn't even imagine what would happen when the soldiers still struggling on the front lines learned that the rear could no longer treat the wounded.

"Stop. Cease all attacks."

Fournier's voice was so weak that it seemed as if a gust of wind could blow it away.

"Order all troops to hold their ground in the cities that have already been captured, gather the remaining soldiers, and treat the wounded."

He waved his hand, as if he had used up all his strength.

"Send a message to the Third Army Command; I need support."

After saying this, he closed his eyes and didn't want to say another word.

Shame, regret, and despair intertwined in his heart, causing him unbearable pain.

He couldn't understand why his entire division had suffered such a crushing defeat at the hands of a small city like Charleroi.

With General Fournier's order, the 9th Division's offensive came to a complete halt.

An eerie stillness enveloped the city of Charlerois throughout the afternoon and evening.

Only a few sporadic gunshots occasionally rang out from outside the city, along with painful groans that seemed to come from nowhere, echoing in the silent night sky.

The sentries of the training assault battalion kept a close watch on the enemy's movements on the position. They kept watch all night but found no sign that the Gauls were planning a night attack.

This rare period of calm gave the exhausted soldiers a precious chance to catch their breath.

Meanwhile, in the temporary camp headquarters, Morin kept staring at the system map.

As he looked at the tag representing the supply convoy, finally arriving behind the Ludendorff battle group at midnight, his tense nerves finally relaxed, and he let out a long sigh of relief.
August 8, early morning.

The sun rises, and golden sunlight shines on the ravaged city of Charleroi, but it brings no warmth whatsoever.

As the temperature gradually rose, an indescribable, strange smell began to waft from the streets of the south of the city and quickly spread throughout the entire urban area.

"vomit"

A young soldier who was eating black bread for breakfast behind a sandbag bunker smelled this odor and his stomach churned. He could no longer hold it in and began to gag violently, leaning against the wall.

"What is this smell? It's so strong!"

The old soldier next to him cursed and tore off a piece of cloth, dipped it in water from his canteen, and covered his mouth and nose.

Other soldiers on the position followed suit, covering their mouths and noses with whatever they could find, trying to resist the pervasive stench.

Even Morin, in the temporary camp headquarters, smelled the odor. He frowned, and immediately understood.

It's the smell of a corpse.

(End of this chapter)