General Jean-Clément Fournier, commander of the Gallic Army’s Ninth Infantry Division, rode on a tall warhorse, advancing with his Division Headquarters. When the sound of gunfire erupted from the south of the city, his face was etched with confusion.
As the vanguard of the Third Corps, the orders issued by the Corps Headquarters before the battle contained only a few vague words regarding the enemy in Charleroi City.
“Small groups of Saxon harassing forces, well-equipped, possessing automatic weapons.”
Unspecified scale, unspecified designation, unspecified commander.
This was practically the same as saying nothing at all.
General Fournier had expected that upon approaching Charleroi, the situation would be like previous military exercises. They would deploy their forces in the open fields outside the city against the Saxons and engage in a fair and square field battle. At that point, he could judge the true strength of the enemy by their troop deployment and firepower intensity.
But the result was completely unexpected. His forward reconnaissance units were like pebbles thrown into the ocean; they couldn’t even manage to create a ripple. As soon as they approached the city’s edge, they were shattered by a burst of fierce firepower. Only a handful of men returned in disarray.
According to the survivors’ descriptions, the enemy force was small but their firepower was ridiculously fierce. All units that came under attack reported being ‘suppressed by an enemy Heavy Machine Gun position.’ But when his main force pressed forward, those mysterious Saxon soldiers showed no intention of resisting, quickly driving away in their Military Trucks.
It all happened in a span of ten minutes. What kind of Heavy Machine Gun position could withdraw that fast?
“What kind of tactic is this?” General Fournier frowned, muttering to himself.
“General…” The Division Chief of Staff and several other staff officers spurred their horses forward, riding alongside him as they spoke: “From the current situation, the Saxon forces are definitely few in number. They dare not engage us in a frontal field battle, which is why they have all retreated into the city.”
“I agree with the Chief of Staff’s assessment.” Another staff officer chimed in: “They are trying to use the city’s architecture to offset our numerical advantage… This is a tactic only the weaker side would employ.”
The staff officers’ analysis sounded logical and consistent with General Fournier’s established understanding of warfare. In his view, true elite forces should line up for a decisive battle on a broad battlefield, using courage and discipline to determine the outcome. Hiding in the city and sniping? That was the style of colonial rebels and guerrillas.
“It seems the Corps Headquarters might have slightly overestimated these Saxons. The cavalry’s heavy losses yesterday were probably due to their own arrogance and hasty advance…” General Fournier rapidly analyzed the situation, occasionally talking with the staff officers around him. Soon, his final lingering doubt was dispelled.
Since the enemy was likely small in number, the next step was simple.
“Pass on my order!” General Fournier’s voice was remarkably loud. Many of his colleagues often said he had the potential to be an opera singer, aside from commanding military movements.
“The Artillery Regiment will prepare a fire saturation on the city’s edge. After the bombardment is complete, the entire division will immediately launch an all-out offensive! I want to have lunch in Charleroi’s City Hall before noon!”
“Objective: Occupy the South City! Destroy all bridges within the city, and completely trap the Saxons on the North Bank of the Sambre River!”
As the General’s order was issued, numerous Dispatch Riders rode out toward the troops along the long attack front. Following this, the 75mm Magic Guided Artillery Regiment began to deploy, and the whistles of officers echoed across the several-kilometer-long battle line.
Thousands of Gallic soldiers, led by their officers, fixed their bayonets and advanced resolutely toward the edge of Charleroi City in neat, dense skirmish lines. Their faces carried the unique Gallic pride and fervor. They seemed completely unaware of the kind of battle that lay ahead.
Inside Charleroi City, at the Command Post.
Seeing the red unit tokens representing the Gallic infantry begin to advance across the entire front on the system map, Morin took a deep breath and picked up the MP14 Submachine Gun on the table.
“Battalion Commander, are you going to…” Manstein and Kleist were not surprised, but they still felt it was unwise for their Battalion Commander to run to the front line to act as an Assault Leader.
“Battalion Commander, I still think you should remain at the Battalion Headquarters to exercise unified command…” Kleist, the Deputy Battalion Commander, sighed helplessly but offered his duty-bound advice.
“When Street Fighting erupts, every street and every building becomes a battlefield; the Command Post’s role is severely limited,” Morin replied without lifting his head, checking the magazine in his submachine gun. “The specific command work is merely mobilizing the reserves, and I believe both of you are capable of handling that.”
“The value I can bring is greater on the front line, isn’t it?”
Kleist and Manstein truly could not refute this final statement. Especially Manstein, who had gained a clear understanding of Morin’s preposterous individual combat prowess after that night’s battle.
Morin finished speaking and gave the two no further chance to persuade him, turning and striding out of the Command Post.
Manstein and Kleist exchanged glances, both seeing helplessness in the other’s eyes. However, they also knew Morin’s decision was correct. Setting aside Morin’s combat power—well, they couldn’t actually set that aside—Street Fighting was inherently chaotic and complex, as described by Morin and the veterans. The 1st Company, which faced the greatest defensive pressure, truly needed a decisive commander present on the front line.
Morin left the temporary Battalion Headquarters, boarded a Military Truck, and sped toward the 1st Company’s defense sector, which was designated as the primary line of defense.
When he arrived, the 1st Company soldiers were making their final combat preparations.
Behind the sandbag barricades at the street corner, Machine Gunners were adjusting the firing arcs of their MG08 Heavy Machine Guns. Soldiers checked their weapons and ammunition, their faces solemn before the imminent battle.
One soldier, who seemed to have served as an temporary acolyte in a church before the war, was devoutly murmuring a prayer to a large group of comrades around him. The Machine Gunners and Assault Troops surrounding him knelt, heads bowed, their expressions solemn, as if participating in a sacred ritual. Their Light Machine Guns and submachine guns were slanted against their shoulders or propped up in their hands.
Morin curiously approached, and overheard the ‘mystic’ soldier conducting his ‘prayer’ in an impassioned, singsong tone.
“Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.
May thy action be smooth, may thy will be done on the battlefield as it is on the firing range.
Give us this day our daily rounds.
And forgive us our jams, as we forgive those who cause our weapons to jam.
Lead us not into malfunction, but deliver us from the evil of barrel burst.
For the chamber, the belt, and the rate of fire, are under thy protection, until the magazine is empty, forevermore.
Amen!”
Hearing this modified prayer, Morin completely lost his composure. Was this blasphemy?
However, this unique pre-battle ritual genuinely seemed to alleviate the soldiers’ tension to some extent. The soldiers who participated in the ritual had an entirely different demeanor when they picked up their weapons.
Still, they looked slightly embarrassed when they saw Morin staring at them. The soldier leading the ritual seemed nervous.
“Battalion Commander…”
“Don’t be nervous, that was excellent~” Morin said, suppressing his laughter, and patted the ‘mystic’ soldier vigorously on the back. “I suggest next time you also get a small censer and incense the weapons to appease the Machine Spirit~”
“Machine Spirit?”
Meanwhile, Klaus and the others also arrived. Seeing Morin, fully armed with a submachine gun, they also felt a great weight lift from their hearts.
He quickly greeted him: “Battalion Commander, why did you come personally?”
“To see how your preparations are going. I will be participating directly in the battle here, too.” Morin replied, scanning the position as he spoke, then nodded. “Well done.”
Before the two could exchange more words, the sound of artillery erupted from outside the city. Everyone instinctively looked up toward the southern sky.
It was the Gallic bombardment.
“Boom—!”
The first shell whistled in, landing in an empty field several hundred meters from the city edge, exploding in a massive cloud of earth and black smoke. This seemed to be a signal.
Following the initial calibration shots, shells from 36 75mm Magic Guided Cannons poured toward South Charleroi like a deluge. The ground trembled violently. The explosions merged into a continuous, deafening roar. The outermost buildings of South Charleroi were instantly shrouded in thick smoke and fire. The observation posts that had been deployed in the outermost buildings were forced to retreat under the bombardment.
The air was thick with the acrid smell of gunpowder and dust, making it almost impossible to breathe. Morin was currently unsure of the technological lineage of the Gallic 75mm Magic Guided Cannon, but judging by the sound of the bombardment, the destructive power seemed greater than that of a regular field gun.
“It seems this world’s ‘Mademoiselle 75’ has a very bad temper…”
However, in responding to the bombardment, the Instruction Assault Battalion had already pulled its soldiers back to the second defensive line, leaving only a few lucky observation posts from the company on the front line. Therefore, the 15-minute barrage was more like a loud armed parade. Although it destroyed many unoccupied empty houses on the city’s perimeter, it did not cause any substantial damage to the Instruction Assault Battalion’s core defense system.
As the artillery fire gradually subsided, a silence accompanied by ringing ears enveloped the battlefield. The observers who had retreated to the rear poked their heads out from behind cover, shaking their concussion-addled heads, and returned to their respective observation posts to look outside the city.
The smoke had not yet cleared, but on the distant horizon, the red and blue torrent began to creep forward once more.
The Gallic infantry assault had begun.
(End of this Chapter)