When the red icon, accompanied by a line of cold text, flashed on Morin’s map, he felt his heart skip a beat. The thing he feared most had finally happened. The Britannians had clearly provided weapon support to the ‘Royal Army,’ and the latter had deployed a machine gun emplacement in this village on the outskirts of Seville!
“Dakka-dakka-dakka-dakka-dakka-dakka—!” A rapid, piercing burst of gunfire sounded on the battlefield like the Grim Reaper’s chainsaw. Through the bushes, Morin witnessed a sight he would never forget. The forward skirmish line of the advancing 1st Company was swept clean as if by a gigantic, invisible scythe. From left to right, soldiers fell one after another; their fragile bodies were no different from wheat being mowed down under the dense hail of bullets. The rounds, moving too fast for the eye to track, carved lines of death through the formation. Just a single machine gun obliterated an entire platoon’s worth of soldiers from the 1st Company’s front line in less than ten seconds.
The gray assault column, which moments ago looked invincible, instantly collapsed. The surviving soldiers screamed in terror, hugging the ground, completely ignoring the hoarse shouts of their officers. But the Vickers machine gun did not stop. The gunner calmly adjusted the muzzle, extending the deadly rain of fire toward the 1st Company’s second and third skirmish lines. Even the 2nd Company, positioned in a dense column in the rear and not yet committed to the battle, became a target.
In the dense formation, the machine gun’s lethality was maximized. Every bullet seemed to find its mark. Captain Hauser, who had been so confident moments ago, now stood motionless, his smile frozen, replaced by utter pallor. He opened his mouth, as if to speak, but no words came out. Morin was not surprised by this reaction, knowing that the current Saxon Army was like the European armies before WWI. They had not yet grasped the terror of the machine gun, viewing it as a heavy, purely defensive weapon. This explained why the entire 33rd Infantry Regiment had only one Machine Gun Company equipped with eight MG08 heavy machine guns, and that unit hadn’t even been brought to the front.
The 1st Company’s assault was utterly broken. The surviving soldiers lay on the ground, clutching their heads, terrified to move. Anyone who tried to stand up to return fire or retreat was instantly caught by the whip of fire and torn apart into a ruined corpse.
The 2nd Company, trailing behind, was also plunged into chaos. The commanding officers frantically blew their whistles, trying to get the troops to disperse or take cover, but the soldiers’ discipline was rapidly dissolving under the machine gun emplacement’s fire. The 2nd Company, which was already in a dense formation, huddled together, unable to advance or retreat, making them the perfect target for the machine gun. Bullets sprayed into the crowded ranks, with every burst claiming several lives.
While everyone else was stunned by the carnage, Morin’s mind raced. His gaze was locked onto the minimap in the upper-left corner. A red, fan-shaped zone representing the field of fire extended from the red rhombus icon labeled [Vickers machine gun emplacement], covering the entire front of the attack. The unit markers for the 1st and 2nd Companies were directly within this kill zone. After confirming the approximate location, Morin pulled out the pair of binoculars issued to officers from his case and looked toward the direction indicated on the map. Sure enough, he spotted the intermittent muzzle flash coming from a second-floor window of an unremarkable farmhouse.
Morin was about to go and speak to Captain Hauser when he saw Battalion Commander Major Thomas giving instructions to messengers at the forward temporary command post on the other side of the bushes. Immediately after, he watched one of the messengers ride a horse toward the rear. Morin guessed he was likely going to contact the artillery position for continued fire support. But even if everything went smoothly, the shells wouldn’t land for at least ten minutes. That amount of time was more than enough for the machine gun and other defenders to slaughter the exposed 1st and 2nd Companies on the open ground. However, Morin quickly realized he didn’t have time to worry about others, because he saw another messenger running directly toward his own company.
“Damn it, they’re not going to send in the reserves, are they?” Morin anxiously watched the messenger, who sprinted up to Captain Hauser, gasping: “Captain! Major Thomas orders the 3rd Company to immediately commit to the battle and press the attack from the front!”
Hearing this, the faces of all the officers, including Morin, changed color. What was the difference between this and willingly jumping into a meat grinder? Captain Hauser’s face instantly turned beet red. He grabbed the messenger by the collar: “Are you sure that’s the order? Is the Major insane! Can’t you see what’s happening up front?” “Y-yes, those are the Major’s exact words,” the messenger was close to tears. “Bullshit!” Captain Hauser swore, but he ultimately released his grip. Military orders were iron law; he couldn’t disobey Major Thomas’s command, as it could be seen as cowardice, enough to send him to a firing squad. He took a deep breath, turned around, and faced his subordinates. His eyes swept over their nervous and frightened faces, finally settling on Morin and the other two Platoon Leaders.
“You all heard the order!” Captain Hauser’s voice was as heavy as his mood. “Prepare for combat! 3rd Platoon on the left, 1st Platoon in the center, 2nd Platoon on the right… Deploy into a skirmish line! Advance by alternating fire and movement!” Having witnessed the disastrous failure of the dense formation, he at least did not issue the foolish command to charge in columns again. Yet, Morin knew that even this was suicide. Until that machine gun was dealt with, any frontal attack was meaningless, and the number of undiscovered enemies in the village was still unknown.
Morin’s heart sank to rock bottom. He didn’t want to die here, and certainly not for this typical ‘imperialist state.’ Furthermore, he had eighty men under his command; he couldn’t lead these fresh lives into a battle destined to fail. But the problem was, he had no choice. The only hope was to change the method of attack and eliminate the machine gun emplacement that was continuously slaughtering their comrades.
Just as Captain Hauser was about to blow the attack whistle, Morin suddenly stepped forward. “Sir!” Captain Hauser froze, turning to look at Morin, his brow deeply furrowed. “What is it, Second Lieutenant Morin? Are you trying to disobey a military order?” His tone was impatient, even threatening; the disaster at the front and the Battalion Command’s rigid order had strained his emotions. “No, sir!” Morin immediately shook his head, making his voice sound as convincing as possible. “I request permission to lead the 3rd Platoon and outflank the enemy from the left!”
The suggestion stunned the surrounding officers and NCOs. “Outflank?” Captain Hauser repeated, his eyes full of doubt. “What are you planning to do?” “Sir, I used my binoculars and saw that the enemy’s machine gun emplacement is set up in a two-story farmhouse, and its field of fire is fixed!” Morin explained rapidly, pointing toward the left flank of the battlefield. “There’s a dry riverbed over there, and several small thickets that offer natural cover! My platoon can use the terrain to maneuver to the side of the village and attack that machine gun emplacement from there!” “Even if we can’t eliminate it immediately, just diverting their attention will create an opportunity for the company’s main attack!”
Captain Hauser fell silent, staring intently at Morin, seemingly trying to judge whether this young Second Lieutenant, fresh out of the military academy, was talking nonsense.
(End of Chapter 12)