Trench Bolts and Magic

Chapter 214 Mission Objective: Annihilate All

Just as the messenger who stayed behind was about to fall asleep, several figures finally appeared on the path in the distance.

When he saw that it was five people riding bicycles, wobbling back, the messenger felt as if he had seen long-lost relatives.

He jumped three feet high on the ground in excitement, then ran quickly to Morin, who was at the head, and relayed the orders from the army group command again.

Morin was stunned as he looked at the messenger who was so excited he was about to cry.

One reason was that he hadn't expected the First Army Group Command to specifically invite him, an 'outsider' who had been transferred from the Second Army Group, to a pre-battle meeting.

Another reason is that the person's appearance doesn't look quite right.

"That guy looks familiar... and that beard... Holy crap, it's Bradley."

Morin suddenly realized that the messenger in front of him might not be so simple.

However, he did not make a fuss, but instead accepted the order with apparent calmness.

In one afternoon, he and Manstein had already gotten a pretty good idea of ​​the general structure of the first line of defense outside the northern city of Amiens.

They also successfully marked many major heavy machine gun positions and suspected observation posts.

Now is the perfect time to go to the command post and report these fresh intelligence reports.

Everyone quickly boarded the truck, and the journey back to their base was smooth.

The cavalry patrols of the Brittany Expeditionary Force did not seem to dare to stray too far from their city and outer positions, so the close reconnaissance mission went unnoticed.

After returning to the camp with his men, Morin didn't even have time to rest. He immediately changed to a fast horse and, together with the relieved 'acquaintance' messenger, galloped towards the army group command post.

The sky was gradually darkening, and the horses' hooves kicked up a light dust as they trod on the dirt road.

As visibility decreased, Morin and the messenger dared not ride too fast. After slowing down, Morin deliberately had his horse ride side by side with the messenger's horse.

He secretly observed the other person's profile in the last rays of the setting sun.

It looks like it, it really does!
Morin muttered to himself.

The more he looked at the man, the more he resembled the famous mustache in his memory—although the mustache wasn't the iconic 'little mustache,' but rather a traditional Saxon handlebar mustache.

The other person seemed to notice that Morin had been looking at him, and a look of confusion appeared on his face.

"Sir, is there anything I can help you with?"

The messenger's voice was somewhat restrained, carrying a hint of insecurity.

Morin shook his head and made up an excuse: "It's nothing, I just thought you looked like an old acquaintance of mine, so I took a second look."

The messenger simply said "Oh" and didn't speak further, clearly indicating that he was not good with words.

Seeing that the other person was being taciturn, Morin simply took the initiative and asked, "Soldier, where are you from?"

This question seemed to surprise the messenger, who hadn't expected the officer to be interested in his background.

After a moment's hesitation, the messenger finally answered, "Sir, I was born in Austria, but I came to Saxony when I was very young."

Morin's heart skipped a beat.

Born in Austria, that makes sense too.

Oh no, could it really be him?
However, the person in Morin's memory should be a volunteer in a reserve regiment in Bavaria at this time. How could he have ended up as a messenger at the headquarters of the First Army?

The timeline and location don't match up.

"Maybe it's just that we look similar?" This thought flashed through Morin's mind.

After all, the world is so big, there are plenty of people who look alike.

Seeing that Morin was no longer speaking, the messenger wisely shut his mouth and focused on riding his horse.

Judging from his somewhat tense demeanor, he is indeed not very good at dealing with people.

The two rode in silence and soon arrived at the headquarters of the First Army Group.

The command post was set up in a clearing surrounded by trees. It was heavily guarded, with "plate armor supermen" patrolling back and forth and machine gun positions set up everywhere. A tense and grim atmosphere permeated the air.

The messenger led Morin to the largest military tent in the camp, dismounted nimbly, saluted Morin, then took his horse and turned to leave.

Two tall guards stood at the entrance of the tent. After carefully verifying Morin's identity documents and orders, they lifted the heavy curtain to indicate that he could go in.

Morin took a deep breath and stepped into the tent.

In that instant, he clearly heard someone outside shout, "Ah** ***! Come here right now!"

Upon hearing the name, Morin involuntarily shuddered before finally entering the tent.

As soon as you enter, a strong smell of cigar smoke, sweat and leather hits you.

The tent was brightly lit, and a huge battle map hung in the deepest part. Around it, a large group of high-ranking officers in crisp military uniforms sat on the folding stools.

Morin glanced at them briefly and saw that they were all generals, or at least colonels, division and corps commanders of the First Army Group. It seemed that they were all present.

He was the last one to come in, so his appearance immediately attracted everyone's attention.

More than twenty sharp gazes were cast at him simultaneously, making Morin feel as if he were being watched by a pack of wolves.

He had no choice but to steel himself, walk behind the crowd, stand at attention with his feet together, salute sharply, and report in a loud voice:
"Captain Friedrich Morin, commander of the 1st Training Assault Battalion of the Imperial Guard, has been ordered to attend the meeting!"

A slight commotion and whispers arose inside the tent.

"Is he Morin?"

"The butcher of Charleroi? He looks way too young."

"I thought you'd have several scars on your face, but I didn't expect you to be so pretty?"

Most of the officers were seeing Morin in person for the first time, their eyes filled with curiosity and scrutiny.

They found it hard to connect the young man in front of them, who looked to be no more than twenty years old, with the legendary figure who was talked about like a god on the battlefield.

Standing in front of the map, General Mackensen, whose hair was already gray, looked up and glanced at Morin.

His bright, hawk-like eyes revealed no emotion; he simply nodded faintly.

“Captain Morin, we’ve heard about your ‘close reconnaissance’ this afternoon. You’ve got some nerve.”

General Mackensen's tone revealed no emotion:
"Let's find a place to sit down first, and then we'll hear about your findings in a bit."

"Yes, General!"

Morin responded, then quickly scanned the area and found an empty camp stool in the far corner of the tent.

He quickly went over and sat down, trying to minimize his presence.

Just kidding. This room full of big shots are at least colonels or staff officers. He, a mere captain, is under immense pressure sitting here.

Once General Mackensen saw that Morin was seated, he ignored him and turned back to the previous topic, as if Morin's arrival was just a minor incident.

"Gentlemen, let's continue." General Mackensen's voice echoed in the tent, drawing everyone's attention back, and the atmosphere became serious once more.

He picked up a long wooden command pole and pointed it to the area on the map that represented Amiens.

"Based on all the intelligence we have so far, we can confirm with 100% certainty that John French and his Brittany expeditionary force have all retreated to Amiens."

"The reason they chose this place as their defensive stronghold is quite simple."

Mackensen drew his baton across a river on the map and continued:

"The Somme River can be said to be the last natural barrier in front of Paris, the capital of the Gauls. If they give up even this, it is tantamount to opening the door to Paris directly to us."

"At the same time, Amiens is also an important railway hub with more than one railway line leading directly to Paris. By holding their position here, they can receive the fastest replenishment of supplies and subsequent reinforcements."

The generals in the tent all nodded; these were the most basic battle analyses, which they naturally understood.

General Mackensen's gaze swept over everyone present, and his tone suddenly became extremely serious and sharp.

"So our next task is not to defeat them, nor to drive them out of Amiens."

He struck the city of Amiens heavily with his baton.

"Our goal is complete annihilation! To wipe this Brittany Expeditionary Force, from commander to soldier, from this world!"

"hiss--"

A collective gasp filled the tent.

To annihilate a well-equipped and well-trained professional army of 100,000 men?

This goal is undeniably ambitious, even bordering on insane.

After a brief moment of shock, the generals' faces all showed expressions of excitement and fervor.

"This is absolutely a decisive battle!"

"Once we wipe out this expeditionary force, the outcome of the war on the western front will be completely decided!"

"The Gauls will lose their strongest ally, and Paris is ours for the taking!"

The generals began to discuss among themselves, each eager to make their move, as if an unprecedented and immense achievement was about to be laid out before them.

Since the start of the war, the First Army Group has been advancing triumphantly and invincible, which has fostered a sense of pride and underestimation of the enemy in the hearts of many generals.

They and Morin were also aware of why General Mackensen specifically emphasized annihilation rather than merely defeat.

Because if we merely defeat them, the enemy can easily regroup elsewhere and hinder our offensive.

Only by annihilating this expeditionary force can we avoid worrying about them causing other trouble when they attack Paris after the First Army.
"Quiet!"

General Mackensen gave a cold shout, and the tent fell silent instantly.

He looked at his generals, who were getting carried away, and his face showed no smile, but rather a coldness as if covered by frost.

"Don't let past victories go to your head!"

"I remind you, what we are about to face is not those Flanders soldiers or Gauls, but the professional soldiers of the Holy Britannian Empire! Their most elite expeditionary force! Their fighting spirit and tactical skills far exceed our imagination!"

“More importantly,” Mackensen’s tone became more serious, “there will definitely be mages in this expeditionary force, and most likely high-ring mages!”

The moment the word 'mage' was uttered, the somewhat heated atmosphere in the tent instantly cooled down.

The generals present had all heard of, or even witnessed firsthand, the terrifying power of the High Ring Mage on the battlefield.

That kind of power, capable of moving mountains and filling seas, and summoning wind and rain, has already exceeded the scope of conventional warfare.

"The Brittany's mastery of magic and the training of mages are undeniably world-class, a level of achievement we can hardly catch up to."

General Mackensen continued:
"If a high-level Evocation mage gets the chance to unleash a wide-area attack spell in our attack formation, an infantry regiment of over three thousand men could be completely rendered ineffective within minutes!"

"That wasn't a battle, that was a massacre! And we were the ones being massacred!"

The generals' faces turned grim, and cold sweat even broke out on their foreheads.

They finally realized that the battle ahead would be far more difficult and dangerous than they had imagined.

Seeing the changes in the expressions on everyone's faces, Mackensen knew that his words had worked.

He softened his tone and continued:

"Of course, we are not unprepared. I have already communicated with the Second Army Group and the L29 armored airship that was previously loaned to them will be returned to our operational order immediately."

"At the same time, I also sent an emergency request to the General Staff, requesting that another armored airship be dispatched to provide support."

"Two armored airships!" This news boosted the morale of the generals.

With two airships in the sky, they can at least effectively deter and suppress the enemy.

"However, don't put all your hopes on the airship."

Mackensen once again poured cold water on everyone's enthusiasm.

"The battle of the Second Army Group at the Namur Fortress complex taught us that armored airships are not invincible; they too can be shot down!"

"Ultimately, the outcome of the war depends on ourselves, on the rifles and artillery in our hands, and on the courage and blood of our soldiers!"

The atmosphere inside the tent shifted from initial fervor to a somber mood, and finally to a complex mix of excitement and determination.

Everyone understood that this would be a tough battle and an unprecedentedly fierce fight.

However, this was also a glorious battle that could secure victory and leave a lasting mark on history.

General Mackensen looked at everyone and nodded in satisfaction.

That's exactly the effect he wanted—to have both unwavering confidence in victory and sufficient respect for the enemy.

He placed the control stick back on the map, pointing it towards Amiens.

"Now, let's discuss the specific operational deployment."

General Mackensen cleared his throat, and all the generals in the tent held their breath, focusing their attention on the huge map.

"The specific timing of the attack will be issued to each combat unit later."

His command stick was first placed on the north side of Amiens.

"The Third Corps, the Fourth Corps, and the four divisions of the 'Assault Combat Group' will form our main frontal assault force."

Mackensen's gaze fell on the two corps commanders and the temporary combat group commanders, Linsingen and Ludendorff.

"Your mission is to break through the Britannians' outer defenses at all costs, and keep them pinned down inside Amiens, creating opportunities and time for our main force to infiltrate and encircle them!"

The four generals whose names were called stood at attention simultaneously and replied in a deep voice, "Yes, General!"

(End of this chapter)