John French returned the salute of the Colonel, whose rank was only Colonel. As a Field Marshal, he naturally knew more clearly than his ordinary officers what a formidable unit this Armored Knight Squadron, named ‘Ranger,’ truly was.
In this world, the origins of most nations’ Armored Knight units can be traced back to the illustrious Knight Orders of the Middle Ages. The Order of the Garter, the most famous in the Holy Britannian Empire, was no exception. As the first military force in the world to form organized units equipped with Magic Guided Armored Knights, the Order of the Garter had long been considered the most powerful Knight Order—without exception. At least, until the appearance of the novel weapons used by the Saxons on the Amiens battlefield, everyone believed this to be true. Therefore, when people spoke of Armored Knights, the majestic and ornate white figures, bathed in glory, of the Order of the Garter always came to mind.
In reality, however, the Holy Britannian Empire had another unit, one that rarely appeared in public but was also equipped with Armored Knights. In the eyes of the very few high-ranking officials who knew their true identity, this ‘Ranger’ Squadron—nominally just a squadron—was the true ‘Armored Knight Hunter.’ Or rather, the ultimate predator of Armored Knights.
The birth of this unit stemmed from a brutal civil war. Their mission, from the very beginning, was to hunt down rebellious Armored Knight pilots. In that war, which almost tore the Empire apart but ultimately cemented the current power structure of the Holy Britannian Empire, the ‘Ranger’ Squadron was the persistent nightmare of all the rebel Armored Knight drivers.
After the civil war, because Britannia held a significant technological lead in Armored Knight technology over other nations, the ‘Ranger’ Squadron temporarily lost its purpose. It eventually became an awkward entity, possessing something akin to a ‘dragonslaying skill’ with no dragons to slay. Except for a few elite members stationed on the home island and ready to be dispatched, most of the members of this special unit—whose actual size had expanded to three squadrons—were sent to the Empire’s various colonies. There, they operated in small teams, engaging in relentless skirmishes with the local rebels and guerrillas across the vast continents of North America and Africa.
Now, Colonel Erwin, the commander of the ‘Ranger’ Squadron that arrived at Rouen, cut straight to the chase after exchanging brief formalities with Field Marshal John French.
“Your Excellency, Field Marshal, my squadron is placed under your direct command, according to the War Office’s order.” Erwin’s voice was so calm that it lacked any noticeable inflection, as if the severe defeats the Expeditionary Force suffered at Arras and Amiens were merely lines in an internal report. “We have received one mission: to capture a Saxon prototype Armored Knight as intact as possible, or to acquire the specifications for the new weapon that has given them such a massive advantage on the battlefield.”
John French looked at the scarred man before him, his emotions complicated. He nodded, his voice tired and resigned: “Colonel Erwin, if you had arrived a few days earlier, you might have had a chance at Amiens. But now, my troops have fully retreated to Rouen, and I doubt we will engage the Saxon main force in a large-scale battle anytime soon.”
“A large-scale battle is not necessary, Field Marshal.” Erwin seemed to have anticipated this answer. His hawk-like eyes gleamed with confidence. “We don’t need a pitched battle; we only need an opportunity… If you can devise a way to lure a small Saxon Armored Knight unit out, you can leave the rest to us.”
“Lure them out?” John French frowned, then continued: “Colonel, you may not be aware of the situation. The Saxons currently hold the absolute initiative. Their Armored Knight units are likely resting in the rear, awaiting the order to launch the main offensive toward Paris. It won’t be easy to draw them out.”
Erwin merely offered a faint smile, the cunning smile of a hunter. “Field Marshal, every army has a weak point. For instance, their supply lines.”
Colonel Erwin paused, then politely addressed John French’s Aide-de-Camp: “Your Excellency, do you have a map with you?”
John French’s Aide-de-Camp was briefly confused. He glanced at his superior, and upon receiving the nod, he took a map from his satchel and unfolded it for the two officers. Erwin thanked him with a smile, then leaned over the map. After carefully studying it, he traced a line with his leather-gloved finger along the railway connecting Amiens and Paris.
“The fiercer the Saxon offensive, the longer their supply lines stretch, and the greater their dependence on logistics. We only need to create a small disturbance right here. I doubt those arrogant Saxon Knights won’t crawl out of their shells to investigate.”
John French looked at the location Erwin’s finger indicated, lost in thought. The plan sounded feasible, but it was extremely risky. If the operation failed, the dispatched unit would likely be completely destroyed.
Sensing John French’s hesitation, Erwin continued: “Field Marshal, we ‘Rangers’ are accustomed to hunting in the jungle. And right now, the entire North Gaul is a vast jungle for us.”
“We will infiltrate like ghosts and find our quarry… You only need to provide us with the necessary intelligence support and seal off all related information.”
Hearing this, John French finally made up his mind. He had few options left. The pressure from home, Joffre’s constant urging, and the shame of defeat were all overwhelming him. The arrival of the ‘Ranger’ Squadron was one of the few cards he held that could potentially salvage his reputation in the Gaul campaign.
“Good!” John French nodded firmly. “Colonel, how much time do you require for preparation?”
“We are ready to move out at any time,” Erwin replied crisply.
John French stared intently at him. The man’s confidence and professionalism offered him a glimmer of hope. He turned and commanded his Aide-de-Camp:
“Effective immediately, all intelligence concerning Saxon Armored Knight troop movements will be compiled and sent to Colonel Erwin without delay. Furthermore, provide the ‘Ranger’ Squadron with all the logistical support they require.”
“Yes, Field Marshal!”
With the order given, Erwin saluted John French once more, then turned and walked back to his Armored Knight. He said nothing further, but his actions conveyed everything. As the cockpit armor plate of Erwin’s personal machine closed, the ten-odd dark green Armored Knights restarted their engines. They did not roar like the Order of the Garter Knights. Instead, their Magic Guided Engines started almost silently. These cold War Machines marched with steady, agile steps, quickly disappearing into the dockside warehouse area, as if they had never arrived.
Watching them leave, the Aide-de-Camp beside John French couldn’t help but murmur: “Field Marshal, will they… will they really succeed?”
John French did not reply. Ultimately, he did not know if the Armored Knight Hunters of the ‘Ranger’ Squadron would succeed. But he knew that from this moment on, a hunt between elite predators had quietly begun. And he, along with his Expeditionary Force, would be mere spectators to this hunt.
As the military situation in Gallic territory fluctuated wildly, several letters carrying Morin’s ‘longing and expectations’ finally reached Dresden, the capital of the Saxon Empire, after being meticulously screened and routed through various military censorship departments.
In fact, the censorship of Morin’s three letters had caused some minor issues for the Second Army Group. Given Morin’s unique status, his personal mail could not be handled by ordinary officers. Thus, the task was escalated directly to a Lieutenant Colonel responsible for all secrecy and censorship within the entire Army Group.
This Lieutenant Colonel, well aware of Morin’s connections to the Crown Prince and General Mackensen, immediately broke out in a cold sweat after carefully reviewing the technical contents of the letter addressed to Helga [Miss Schmeisser]. Clearly, as an Army officer, he understood the revolutionary nature of the technology described and the potential changes it would bring to infantry firepower.
Wiping the sweat from his head, the officer moved on to the second letter. Seeing the recipient’s name, ‘Patricia von Seeckt,’ the officer found the name familiar. After a brief inquiry, he learned that Miss Seeckt was the daughter of a General and Chief of Staff of another Army Group, and her brother was a Squadron Leader in the Teutonic Knights. As for herself, she was the youngest genius scholar at the Imperial Magic Guided Research Institute. After reading the contents of this letter, the officer simply wished his memory could be instantly erased. He couldn’t understand why Captain Morin included such obviously groundbreaking new technologies in letters to friends and family.
However, the Lieutenant Colonel’s internal complaints came to an abrupt halt when he saw the recipient’s name on the final letter.
“The Radiant Crystal Queen… Tsk, I cannot handle this letter.” The Lieutenant Colonel, responsible for censorship, actually felt relieved. He swiftly delivered the letters directly to General von Bulow, the Second Army Group Commander, feeling like he was handling a ticking time bomb.
Ultimately, General von Bulow treated the package like a hot potato. He dismissed everyone and retired alone to his tent to review the contents. His Aide-de-Camp only heard General von Bulow whisper as he entered the tent:
“Thank goodness it wasn’t addressed to His Highness the Crown Prince.”
(End of this Chapter)