Chapter 26: Morin’s Efforts

It took quite a while for the air in the command post to resume its flow.

Major Thomas and Captain Hauser exchanged glances, both seeing the same realization in the other’s eyes—they had struck gold. This young second lieutenant before them was not only quick-witted and capable of adapting on the fly, but his professional competence was also, frankly, excessive—surpassing even that of veterans who had served for years.

Putting aside his exceptional performance during the morning’s battle, the value of the intelligence and tokens he had brought back from deep behind enemy lines far exceeded their expectations. And, of course, the morning’s battle could hardly be ignored.

Consequently, Major Thomas’s attitude toward Morin had shifted from simple appreciation to undisguised high regard. As for Captain Hauser, the look on his face was as if he had stumbled upon a gourmet feast—a metaphor, of course.

"Ahem."

Major Thomas cleared his throat, cutting through Hauser’s intense gaze, and turned to Morin. "Second Lieutenant Morin, mark the intelligence you gathered on the map."

"Yes, sir."

Morin did not hesitate. He took the pencil offered by a staff sergeant. Instead of working directly on the command post’s large map, he reached into the inner pocket of his uniform and pulled out a pocket-sized, hard-backed notebook and a folded map. These were his "backups."

Morin was not the type to put all his eggs in one basket; he didn't fully trust that his "cheat" would never malfunction. Following the standard map-marking protocols of the Saxon Army, he had copied the key information from his system interface during the reconnaissance. This served as a perfect explanation for how he could remember such complex details, heading off any unnecessary suspicion. After all, if he were to display a photographic memory and recreate vast swathes of enemy deployments out of thin air, Major Thomas and his staff would surely suspect he was making it all up.

Morin spread out his map and notebook, then began marking the large operational map in the command post with his pencil. His skill at map-marking was excellent—it had been before he transmigrated, and it remained so now. Red symbols representing enemy fire points and troop concentrations quickly took shape under his hand.

As more red marks appeared on the map, the expressions of Major Thomas and his men grew increasingly grave. When Morin drew the positions of the magic crystal artillery batteries located on the high ground, everyone fell silent. Senior officers knew that the Britannia magic crystal cannons had an effective range of nearly 4,500 meters.

If deployed in the positions Morin had marked, they would cover most of the area where they were about to launch their offensive, and the power of such artillery against infantry columns would be devastating.

By the time Morin finished, the battalion officers were all huddled around the map, speechless for a long time. The defenses of the Kingdom of Aragon and the Britannia Expeditionary Force in Seville were far more formidable and thorny than they had anticipated.

Major Thomas stared at the map, his brows furrowed. After a moment, he looked up at Morin. Morin knew it was his turn to speak.

"Sir, I believe we should not rush to launch an offensive," he said, his voice quiet but remarkably clear in the silent command post. "The enemy’s posture is clear. By tightening their defensive line and relying on the city and those magic crystal batteries, they are waiting for us to crash right into them."

Morin’s finger traced the dense cluster of red markings on the map. "If we attack recklessly now, even if we manage to take Seville in the end, the casualties for us and our allies will be immense! Once the enemy organizes an effective counter-attack, it’s uncertain whether we could even hold the position."

His words were logical and well-structured. Any rational commander, upon seeing this map, would be forced to consider the possibility. The look on Major Thomas’s face showed he had been swayed.

Morin struck while the iron was hot. "Sir, after the battle this morning, I believe you would not want the troops to repeat the same mistakes!" This final remark was a masterstroke.

Of course, Morin wasn't just spouting all this for the sake of grand tactical considerations. He had his own selfish motives. Having seen the defensive lines of Seville with his own eyes, he knew the upcoming siege would be a meat grinder. He had no intention of throwing away his life for the glory of the Saxon Empire. It was madness; why would he die for a country he had been in for less than twenty-four hours?

If he could delay the attack by a day, he would. If he could avoid it altogether, even better. He was doing everything in his power to push back an offensive that was almost certainly destined to become a bloodbath.

"You’re right..."

After a long silence, Major Thomas finally spoke with a heavy sigh. He was convinced, yet his face showed a hint of helplessness. "But, Second Lieutenant Morin, I am only a battalion commander. Whether or not we attack is not my decision to make."

He paced the command post a few times, then made up his mind. "Come with me. We are going to the regimental headquarters, and then to the brigade!" Major Thomas struck his fist lightly against the map. "Whether I can convince the regimental and brigade commanders is another matter, but at the very least, they must know the true situation in Seville!"

He looked at Morin with unprecedented solemnity. "Prepare yourself. We leave immediately!"

Soon, Major Thomas selected several skilled cavalrymen as guards, and with Morin in tow, the group galloped toward the brigade headquarters in the rear.

...

Hoofbeats thundered, and dust filled the air. By the time Morin and Major Thomas arrived at the 33rd Infantry Regiment’s headquarters, it was already dusk. They did not delay; once they found the regimental commander, Major Thomas concisely explained the severity of the situation.

Upon hearing the report and seeing the evidence Morin had brought back, the commander of the 33rd Infantry Regiment’s expression turned grim. He made an immediate decision and personally escorted the two of them to the 16th Infantry Brigade headquarters, located in the heart of the camp.

The atmosphere in the brigade command tent was grave. When Morin stood before the massive operational map once more, he noticed that this map, belonging to a brigade-level unit, was far more detailed than the battalion’s. Moreover, on the outskirts of Seville, there were already sporadic red enemy symbols; clearly, they were not the only team sent out for forward reconnaissance.

Before the brigade commander, his staff, and several liaison officers from the National Army and the International Brigades, Morin once again demonstrated his exceptional map-marking skills, documenting the intelligence he had gathered. He then recounted everything he had seen and heard in Seville, from the enemy’s defensive deployments to the state of their soldiers’ discipline.

Finally, he reiterated his recommendation, urging the command to carefully consider delaying the offensive.