Trench Bolts and Magic

Chapter 211 Holy Land Tour
The soldiers of the company watched the enemy flee in disarray, but instead of cheering, they silently picked up their weapons and continued charging forward.

The drivers and machine gunners of the four tachankas were so excited that their faces turned red.

Before this, who would have thought that their heavy machine gun team could also participate in a 'big assault' alongside the infantry?
"Don't be too happy too soon!"

Although Morin was secretly pleased, he maintained a calm demeanor.

"Don't let them get away! Keep the pressure on, chase after them!"

He knew very well that opportunities to beat a dog when it's down were rare.

"Yes!"

Thus, a very peculiar scene appeared on the battlefield.

Two companies of Britannian soldiers ran for their lives ahead, followed by the soldiers of the 1st Company of the Training Assault Battalion led by Morin, who were also chasing desperately.

The four 'Saxon-style Tajonka' trucks, like four hunting dogs, would sometimes advance and sometimes stop on the flanks of the infantry.

Whenever the Brittany tried to stop and regroup, they would immediately turn around and drive them back to their escape route with a precise volley of fire.

The train station is located on the southwest side of Alaska city.

The station was already in a state of tension and chaos.

The platform was filled with Brittany soldiers armed to the teeth.

Several officers were loudly directing soldiers to load boxes of documents and equipment onto a pre-prepared special train.

Commander-in-Chief of the Expeditionary Force, Field Marshal John French, stood in the makeshift operations room of the headquarters, looking at the map with a grim expression.

The operations room was located in a small building next to the station, facilitating evacuation by rail at any time.

"Your Excellency Marshal, the delay has failed!"

A staff officer rushed in, sweating profusely, his voice trembling slightly:
"Our two companies were routed by a heavily armed Saxon force! They... they're charging towards the train station!"

"understood."

John French's reaction was surprisingly calm.

He sneered and muttered to himself, "Coming for me? Too bad, I won't be waiting for you here."

He had long anticipated that the Saxon assault force, which had appeared like a ghost on his flank, would ultimately target his command post.

Capturing enemy generals and flags is a choice that any commander with a brain would make throughout history.

But John French was no fool who would sit idly by and wait to die.

"Order the rearguard to hold the enemy outside the city no matter what! Buy the last bit of time for the headquarters to evacuate!" He raised his head and gave the order to the staff officer.

"Yes, Marshal!" The staff officer saluted, turned, and ran out.

"Gentlemen, it's time for us to go."

John French glanced around the operations room at the staff officers who were also busy tidying up documents, and said in a calm tone.

He picked up the military cap hanging on the coat rack, put it on his head, and even had time to tidy his military appearance before walking out of the operations room with steady steps.

It was as if he wasn't making a hasty retreat, but rather participating in a grand military parade.

On the platform, the special train's steam engine had already started, making a "whooshing" sound, and thick smoke billowed from the chimney.

John French boarded the last carriage of the special train under the escort of guards.

He stood at the door of the carriage, turned around, and took one last look at the city where he had only stayed for less than two days.

There was no trace of lingering affection in his eyes, only cold calculation.

"Saxons, see you in Amiens."

He said something softly, then turned and walked into the carriage.

"Woo——"

With a long whistle, the special train slowly started moving, departing from Alas train station and heading towards an unknown destination.

"Damn it! They got away!"

Morin lay on a sloping hill and, through his binoculars, clearly saw the train speeding away.

On his system map, the golden badge representing the 'Brittanian Expeditionary Force Headquarters' was moving away with the train.

Enraged, he slammed his fist into the soil beside him.

Just a little bit different!
If we were just a little faster, if we had even one cannon, even a mortar, we might have been able to stop that train!
Capturing the commander of the Brittany Expeditionary Force would have an immeasurable impact on the entire war effort!
But now, it's too late.

"Commander, what do we do now? There's a battalion of Britannians ahead of us. They've already dug their positions, and it'll be very difficult to charge them!" Klaus crawled up to Morin and asked anxiously.

On the way, they ran into a Britannian infantry battalion that had been ordered to cover their retreat.

This fresh force, having received a death order, quickly established a defensive line, relying on the buildings and terrain on the outskirts of the city, and firmly blocked Morin's company outside the city.

The previous probing attacks were all repelled by the enemy's dense rifle and machine gun fire, resulting in casualties among several soldiers.

Morin lowered his binoculars, glanced at the defensive line in the distance made up of houses, rubble, and makeshift fortifications, and frowned.

A direct assault won't work. He's not Gaul.

The enemy was a complete infantry battalion, several times the size of our own, and they held the advantage of terrain.

They only had one company of soldiers on their side, with three more companies behind them. Even if the Taqiangka had fierce firepower, it was still just a converted horse-drawn cart. Carts are bulletproof, but horses aren't. Charging forward like this would be suicide.

"Sigh, if only we had cannons that could accompany the infantry," Morin sighed helplessly once again.

If the reinforced artillery battalion assigned to him could catch up, and bombard this position with twenty cannons for ten minutes, it would blow up any defensive line.

Unfortunately, letting the artillery rush in like that was somewhat reckless.

"Order the troops to cease the attack! Construct defenses on the spot and maintain contact with the enemy!" In the end, Morin made the most rational, yet also the most helpless, decision.

He looked at the train, which had become a tiny black dot, and felt a deep sense of resentment.

The battle in Alas did not last long.

Faced with overwhelming troop superiority and artillery fire, the Breton unit responsible for covering the rear put up a fierce resistance while protecting its own men, but ultimately could not hold out alone.

As dusk fell and the last gunfire subsided, the flag of the Saxon Army was raised over the roof of the Arras City Hall.

The entire 'Assault Combat Group' and the First Army successfully captured this important transportation hub, annihilating and capturing nearly 8,000 Britannian soldiers, including rearguard troops.

Just as the Saxons were celebrating their victory in capturing Arras and preparing to launch a new pursuit.

The atmosphere at the headquarters of the Gallic Fifth Army in San Quentin had become incredibly tense.

One piece of bad news after another kept coming from the front lines.

The staff officers were in complete disarray, their faces filled with panic.

"General, what should we do? We're surrounded!"

"Let's ask Commander-in-Chief Joffre for reinforcements! Let him send troops from Lorraine!"

"It's too late!" Langlezak suddenly stood up, interrupting the staff officers' argument.

There was no longer any anger in his eyes; he knew he couldn't rely on that stubborn butcher in Paris.

Now, the only one who can save the Fifth Army is himself.

Is it to stand here, fight to the last man like a 'hero,' and then be written into a Saxon military textbook as a negative example?
Or should we try to take as much of this force as possible out?

He glanced at the map at the rapidly closing encirclement.

An idea became crystal clear in his mind.

"Pass on my orders!" Langlezak's voice was exceptionally clear in the chaotic command post.

"All troops, abandon Saint-Quentin! Head south immediately and break out at full speed! Fight your way out at all costs!"

"We must break out before the encirclement is completely closed!"

When the Gallic Fifth Army began its desperate breakout southward, the right flank of the Saxon Army had completely transformed into an unprecedented pursuit.

However, the targets of the pursuit were divided into two.

The main forces of the Second and Third Armies held fast to the Gallic Fifth Army, which was fleeing south in disarray and collapse.

The pursuit battle yielded little result; the Gauls abandoned a large amount of heavy equipment and supplies, and organized units were continuously annihilated and captured under the combined air and ground attacks of the Saxons.

On the other hand, the pursuit led by the First Army Group, with Morin's training assault battalion as the vanguard, was more like an armed cross-country race.

Their opponents, the Brittany Expeditionary Force commanded by John French, displayed exceptional military skill.

Although their retreat was hasty, it was orderly despite the chaos.

"These Brittanyans are really troublesome!"

Sitting in the bumpy passenger seat of the truck, looking at the road ahead with a huge crater blown out by the explosion, Morin couldn't help but curse.

Since leaving Alaska, they haven't traveled many good roads.

Bridges were blown up, roads were destroyed; the Britannian engineering corps had taken the sabotage work to the extreme, creating enormous trouble for their pursuit.

"Battalion Commander, they are so professional."

Kleist sat next to Morin, looking at the map with a serious expression.

"Their rearguard provides cover for each other, and they hit and run without lingering. It's very difficult for us to keep up with their main force."

“Yes, this is a true professional army.” Morin nodded, inwardly marveling that the Britannians were indeed more difficult to deal with than the Gauls.

They did not panic because of the collapse of their allies, nor did they lose their fighting spirit because of the unfavorable situation in the war.

John French was truly remarkable for organizing such a textbook retreat under such a passive situation.

And their destination, unsurprisingly, was a place that Morin knew all too well.

Amiens.

"Countless of my cyber comrades have fallen here."

"Huh? What did you say, Battalion Commander?"

"Nothing, just remarking that I'm about to embark on a pilgrimage to these sacred sites~"

"."

(End of this chapter)