Chapter 29: Such a Wonderful Beginning?

General Jose Sanjurjo, commander of the 24th Division, was a man who enjoyed excellent sleep. Even as the thunder of artillery rattled the outskirts of Seville, he remained sound asleep, lost in the comforts of his bed.

It was not until his chief of staff burst into the private villa he had "requisitioned" and roughly dragged him from the arms of his mistress that the Kingdom Army division commander learned the enemy had launched an offensive. When he heard from his chief of staff that 70 percent of their artillery positions outside the city had been neutralized by precision strikes, he completely froze. He shoved his mistress off the bed and sprang to his feet, his face etched with disbelief.

"What did you say? Seventy percent of the magic crystal artillery positions are gone?!"

"Yes, General... the enemy’s fire was too accurate. And for some reason, they seemed to have perfect knowledge of our battery locations..."

Sanjurjo felt the world spin. He had intended to force the enemy's main force to cluster together for an attack by withdrawing into Seville, then utilize the crushing power of the magic crystal cannons to inflict massive casualties—a tactic that had yielded excellent results against both the Nationalists and the International Brigades on other fronts. The Brittanians had also assured him that even Saxon infantry would suffer heavy losses when faced with magic crystal artillery barrages. However, what the Brittanians had failed to mention was that Saxon artillery would not be so easily suppressed.

The battle had only just begun, and his most vital heavy firepower had already suffered catastrophic losses. Sanjurjo felt a sudden sense of helplessness. He forced himself to stay calm and roared at his chief of staff:

"Pass the order! All units move to their designated positions immediately! Organize the defense according to the original plan! Do not let the enemy get anywhere near Seville!"

The chief of staff nodded, about to speak, when the bedroom door was kicked open again. A messenger stumbled in, his voice trembling with a hint of a sob.

"General! It’s a disaster! The main enemy ground force is launching an all-out assault on our southeastern perimeter!"

***

As the whistling of the final round of artillery faded, the sharp blast of a charge whistle pierced the brief silence of the battlefield.

"Company, advance!"

Captain Hauser’s roar echoed across the 3rd Company's position. Immediately, a multitude of figures in field-gray uniforms leaped from behind mounds of earth and shell craters. The three companies of the 1st Battalion deployed into multiple skirmish lines, each soldier spaced four to five paces apart. The entire formation looked like a thin gray line, surging toward the ridge ahead, which was still smoldering with black smoke.

On this front outside Seville, the Saxon Expeditionary Force, the International Brigades, and three infantry brigades and two cavalry regiments of the Nationalist Army—a total of 20,000 troops—were participating in the offensive. Morin’s 1st Battalion of the 33rd Regiment was merely one tactical unit within this massive assault. Looking out, the entire horizon was filled with rushing soldiers; the shouts of combat, the commands of officers, and the thunder of heavy footsteps blended together.

This was a symphony unique to war. Morin was but one note in that symphony. It was the first time since arriving in this world that he had personally participated in a charge of such magnitude. Or rather, under the military technology and doctrines of his previous life, such large-scale charges were a thing of the past. Until the very moment of his transmigration, Morin had planned his career to involve graduating from a military academy, joining the army to be tempered, and steadily honing his professional skills. He had envisioned a future where he would command the strongest heavy combined-arms battalion on Earth, galloping across the battlefield, training in the vast plains, and pushing the limits of his craft.

But why, then, was he now on a strange battlefield, clutching a long, heavy, obsolete rifle, charging at the risk of being struck by bullets at any second? He was even wearing that damn spiked helmet, which provided no protection and lacked any ventilation...

He gripped his rifle tightly, his heart pounding in his chest. He could not tell if it was anger, nervousness, or excitement. On the system map in the upper-left corner of his vision, countless blue arrows representing the 16th Infantry Brigade and friendly forces were combing through the land outside Seville like a giant rake. The 33rd Infantry Regiment held the extreme left flank of the brigade, and his 1st Battalion was on the extreme left of the regiment.

As a unit that had already suffered casualties, the 1st Battalion was tasked with capturing a magic crystal artillery position that had already been softened by their own artillery. The effect of the 105mm field howitzers was evident; they met almost no decent resistance while ascending the ridge. On the ruined battery positions, the twisted corpses of Kingdom Army soldiers and weapons blown to pieces were scattered everywhere. The air was thick with the acrid stench of gunpowder, soil, and blood.

Morin led the soldiers of the 3rd Platoon, stepping over the soft, scorched earth, and quickly seized the position that had belonged to the enemy only moments before. Those magic crystal cannons that had once caused them so much trouble were now nothing more than piles of smoldering, twisted metal, no longer posing a threat.

***

Morin cautiously made his way to the side of the ridge facing Seville, and his field of vision suddenly widened. Guided by the system map, he could clearly see the overall state of the battlefield. For the first time, he witnessed what an offensive by 20,000 troops looked like on the front line. In the center, the three infantry regiments of the Saxon 16th Infantry Brigade, acting as the main assault force, were lined up like a sharp blade, having already plunged directly into the Kingdom Army's defensive lines.

About six hundred meters to the left of the 1st Battalion, another force was launching an equally fierce assault. These were the soldiers of the International Brigades. Their uniforms were a motley assortment, their equipment consisted only of obsolete rifles provided by the Saxon Empire, and they lacked heavy machine guns or mortars for fire support. Yet, their fighting spirit was terrifyingly tenacious. Facing the Kingdom Army's defenses, they pushed forward with nothing but flesh and blood. After only a brief exchange of fire, they launched a death-defying charge, using bayonets and shovels to beat back the numerically superior enemy in close-quarters hand-to-hand combat.

"Attention, all companies! Establish a defensive line in place! Hold this ridge!"

Just as Morin felt his blood boiling at the International Brigades' charge, the order from Battalion Commander Major Thomas was relayed to every company by runners. It was a decision that perfectly adhered to current Saxon military doctrine. The ridge offered a superb vantage point, overlooking a vast area, making it an ideal artillery observation post and fire support point. Later, they could even deploy artillery here to blanket all of Seville with fire, so it had to be held firmly.

The soldiers acted immediately, using existing shell craters, discarded crates, and sandbags to quickly construct makeshift cover. However, a deep sense of unease rose in Morin’s heart. He knew full well that their previous reconnaissance was unlikely to have marked every one of the enemy's artillery positions. Thus, no matter how successful the counter-battery fire had been, it was highly probable that not all of the enemy's long-range fire points had been destroyed.

Since this had been a Kingdom Army magic crystal artillery position, the enemy certainly possessed the precise coordinates and geographical data for this ridge. Now that the Saxons occupied it, as long as the surviving enemy artillerymen weren't fools, their next barrage would inevitably target this very spot. And now, the 1st Battalion had concentrated almost all its strength in this narrow area...

It was as if they had written "Come blow us up" on their own foreheads.