Next, Mackensen’s pointer drew a large arc on the sand table, bypassing the west side of Amiens, stabbing directly toward its southern rear.
“Simultaneously with the start of our frontal assault, the main force of the First Army Group will be commanded by me personally, to execute a large-scale strategic maneuver to the west!”
This massive arrow represents the most elite striking force of the Saxon Army.
“We will force a crossing of the Somme River here, and here,” Mackensen tapped two inconspicuous locations on the Somme River with his pointer, “and establish secure bridgeheads.”
“After successfully crossing the river, the troops will immediately infiltrate eastward. The objective is to cut off all railway and road connections between Amiens and Paris! Within twenty-four hours, I want to turn Amiens into a complete island!”
The entire operational plan was bold and meticulous, imbued with the aggressive and fervent style typical of the Saxon military.
The Generals present were all awestruck by the grand scale and audacity of the plan. Some could already visualize the Saxon flag flying over Paris.
After completing the briefing on the macro deployment of the entire campaign, General Mackensen put down his pointer. His gaze swept around the tent, finally settling firmly on the ‘small and helpless’ figure in the corner.
“Captain Morin.”
Silence instantly fell over the tent. Everyone’s eyes followed General Mackensen, focusing on the young Captain who had remained silent since entering.
“Did you enjoy your ‘personal excursion’ this afternoon?” General Mackensen’s lips curved into a slight smile:
“Speak now. Where did you go, and what did you see?”
With over twenty Generals staring at him, Morin felt immense pressure. He took a deep breath and stood up from the stool.
“Ah, what the hell, I’m just going to go for it.” Morin silently encouraged himself.
He walked up to the large map, first saluting General Mackensen and the Generals present. Then, he cleared his throat and began his report.
Everyone watched him, their eyes filled with curiosity, suspicion, and even a hint of disdain. An Captain speaking at the highest operational meeting of an Army Group was itself an unprecedented event.
“Generals, this afternoon, I led a small squad to conduct a close-range reconnaissance of the enemy’s defense line north of Amiens…”
A Corps Commander couldn’t help but interject: “Close-range reconnaissance? Captain, how ‘close’ was this reconnaissance you speak of?”
Morin did not answer directly, instead pointing to the outermost defense line on the north side of Amiens City on the sand table.
“The foremost point of our reconnaissance was approximately five hundred to six hundred meters in a straight line from the enemy’s first trench.”
“What?!”
“Five hundred meters?!”
The tent immediately erupted in chatter. The First Army Group Generals looked at Morin as if he were a lunatic.
To them, what did five hundred meters mean? It was practically face-to-face!
Going personally to a location just five hundred meters from the enemy position to conduct reconnaissance? Was this man trying to get himself killed?
“Silence!”
General Mackensen spoke again, stopping the discussion. He looked at Morin, a flash of surprise in his eyes, but mostly appreciation.
“Continue. What did you see.”
“Yes, General.”
Morin calmed himself and began detailing the results of his afternoon reconnaissance.
“I report, Generals, based on my observations this afternoon, the Britannians have only constructed one primary defensive trench line on the northern outskirts of Amiens.”
As Morin spoke, he pulled out his notebook, filled with sketches and symbols, and used the pointer to indicate various points on the map.
“This trench is deeply dug, and the parapet is reinforced with sandbags, making it quite sturdy… They have positioned a Heavy Machine Gun strongpoint approximately every 300 meters within the trench.”
He indicated the confirmed fire points on the map.
“The characteristics of these machine gun positions are quite obvious… They are constructed from large piles of light-colored sandbags, which stand out like conspicuous mounds against the dark surrounding earth, clearly visible through binoculars.”
“And during my reconnaissance, I discovered a piece of good news.” Morin paused, looking up at the Generals.
“All the Britannians’ machine gun positions are deployed parallel to the front, with their muzzles pointing directly forward… This means their machine gun fire does not form a crossfire network, preventing them from maximizing their lethality.”
“As long as our attacking troops can rush into the blind spots of their machine gun fire, the threat posed by these fire points will be greatly reduced.”
Hearing this news, the Corps Commanders of the Third and Fourth Corps, and the two Generals of the ‘Assault Battle Group’ responsible for the main frontal assault, all visibly eased their expressions.
However, Morin’s next words caused their faces to darken again.
“However, that is the only piece of good news. The rest is all bad news.”
Morin’s voice became heavy.
“The first piece of bad news is the terrain. The area directly in front of the enemy’s position—the direction of our assault—is an open plain, completely flat… Aside from a few sparse copses of trees and ditches between the fields, there is virtually no natural terrain for our attacking troops to conceal or take cover.”
“This means our soldiers will be completely exposed to enemy fire for hundreds of meters once they launch their charge. This is tantamount to suicide.”
Everyone present understood the bloody scene that would unfold when launching a massed assault across open ground against a fortified position armed with Heavy Machine Guns.
“The second piece of bad news, their fortifications were prepared well in advance.”
Morin paused, continuing:
“Judging by the condition and completeness of the fortifications, they were definitely not hastily constructed in the day or two after they retreated to Amiens. The only explanation is that the Britannian commander never intended to fight to the death at Arras—he planned all along to use Amiens as his primary defense line.”
“An enemy who is prepared is far more formidable than one who is caught off guard.”
“The third, and most troubling, piece of bad news is their artillery.”
Morin pointed to Amiens City on the map: “If I am not mistaken, their Magic Crystal Cannons must be deployed inside Amiens City.”
“The trajectory of the Magic Crystal Cannon is similar to a mortar—it is very high, allowing the shells to easily clear the buildings in the city and strike our attacking troops outside. It will be extremely difficult for our artillery to counter their Magic Crystal Cannons across an entire city!”
At this point, Morin glanced at the Generals, whose faces were growing increasingly strained.
“Based on my observation of the number of Britannian soldiers on the position, I tentatively estimate they have deployed approximately three divisions along this outer defense line.”
To an outsider, this intelligence seemed to be a prediction made by Morin’s astonishing battlefield intuition and observation.
“The enemy’s true defensive core must be inside Amiens City, on the South Bank of the Somme River.”
“They certainly will destroy all bridges connecting to the South Bank the moment our outer defense is breached, then rely on the Somme River as a natural moat for their final stand!”
“At that point, our attacking forces will have to consider building pontoon bridges for a forced crossing. And during the river crossing, the Britannians will absolutely seize the opportunity to attack us mid-stream.”
“Generals, our soldiers will have no cover on the river and will be sitting ducks for their firepower.”
“The final, and most critical, piece of bad news, as General Mackensen also mentioned, is the enemy’s Spellcasters.”
Morin’s voice became intensely serious:
“Based on my previous experience engaging Britannian Spellcasters and my own intuition as a Spellcaster, I am certain that their High-level Spellcasters will be our greatest threat in the coming battle.”
With that, Morin closed his notebook, stepped back, and returned to the edge of the crowd.
The entire command tent fell into a dead silence. The previous sense of ease had completely vanished.
Everyone realized that if Morin’s reconnaissance and analysis were correct, the upcoming siege of Amiens would be a hellish, bloody battle.
The four Generals responsible for the main frontal assault had faces that were profoundly grim, covered in cold sweat.
They could already visualize their soldiers falling in swathes across the open ground like mature winter wheat.
General Mackensen observed the atmosphere in the tent, secretly nodding.
This was exactly the effect he wanted.
The First Army Group had advanced too smoothly since the start of the campaign, never suffering a major setback.
He was deeply worried that his Generals would become overconfident. When facing the well-prepared Britannian Expeditionary Force, any rash move could lead to catastrophic consequences.
Now, Morin’s report had acted like a basin of cold water, soberly waking up the somewhat arrogant Generals.
Of course, Mackensen himself knew this would be an unprecedentedly brutal battle.
Worse still, time was not on their side.
“We cannot delay.”
Mackensen broke the silence, speaking with calm resolve:
“The Britannians’ follow-up forces could arrive in Amiens by rail at any moment. Every reinforcement they gain reduces our chances of victory.”
“Especially since we lack High-level Spellcasters, the balance of the battle will swiftly tilt in their favor once we lose our numerical advantage.”
He scanned the gathered officers, then made his final decision.
“Order all units responsible for the frontal assault to immediately begin earthworks starting from midnight tonight, at a position one and a half kilometers from the enemy’s line!”
(End of this Chapter)