After the check-up was complete, the first thing Morin did was go and bid farewell to Ludwig.
“Morin, you’re leaving already?” Ludwig looked at the neatly dressed and spirited Morin, his eyes full of envy and reluctance. “Ugh—! I wish I could get out of here and back to the battlefield too! Paris is right there…”
Morin smiled at Ludwig’s frustrated expression. “You just focus on recovering here. Maybe by the time you’re well, I’ll be drinking coffee in Joffre’s office.”
“You rascal.” Ludwig laughed, then his expression turned serious. “Friedrich, be careful when you get to the front line. Paris isn’t Amiens. The Gauls will fight with everything they have to defend their capital. Patricia is waiting for you back here!”
“Don’t worry.” Morin nodded, the blonde young woman’s face flashing in his mind. Though what he was thinking might be a little different from what Ludwig was thinking.
“You too. Recover well here. Don’t forget what we discussed about the future of Armored Knights! It’s up to you to push it forward!”
“Of course, I remember.” Ludwig said heavily: “I already have many ideas; I’ve been writing them down these past few days. The first thing I’ll do when I return to the Knight Order is to write a report on our vision. I believe the Grand Master and the others will understand its value.”
The two young men, whose bond had deepened in the flames of war, shook hands firmly.
“See you on the battlefield!”
Meanwhile, the ‘patients’ Morin had befriended at the field hospital, upon learning he was leaving, spontaneously gathered to see him off. In the eyes of these Saxon officers and soldiers, the commander of the Imperial Guards Assault Battalion should have been a stern, arrogant figure. Or perhaps, as the ‘military legend’ described, a 300-jin strongman who ate 200 Roasted Pig Knuckles in one sitting. However, after spending time with Morin, they found he was unpretentious and treated everyone, officers and soldiers alike, with respect. Everyone enjoyed listening to Morin recount the Assault Battalion’s combat experiences, and Morin would occasionally note down problems encountered by other units in battle, even offering his own insights. Morin realized that his social skills weren’t non-existent; they simply activated in this specific military environment.
Looking at the crowd gathered to see him off, Morin felt a surge of warmth. He knew these men were genuinely happy for his recovery and eager for his return.
“Alright, everyone, settle down!” Morin raised his hand, and the noisy crowd instantly quieted. “Gentlemen, I am back!” His voice was loud and firm. “I know you’re all impatient, and so am I!”
“The good news is that the command from Headquarters has arrived: our Instruction Assault Battalion will be the first wave of attack on Paris!”
“Awooo—!” A thunderous cheer erupted from the crowd. Soldiers waved their arms, shouting excitedly.
Morin waited for the cheering to subside slightly, then continued: “I think you all know that the battle ahead will be a tough one, a bloody battle! But are we afraid?”
“No!” The soldiers roared in unison, their voices shaking the ground.
“Excellent!” Morin nodded in satisfaction. “Now, go back and complete your final preparations! What is our target?”
“Paris!” they shouted in unison.
At the same time, a soldier suddenly shouted loudly.
“For the Emperor and the Roasted Pig Knuckle!”
“Hahahaha~” The soldiers laughed and cheered, then dispersed contentedly under the smiling reproaches of their officers to continue their pre-battle preparations.
The morale of the entire battalion was thoroughly ignited by Morin’s return.
“Let’s go see our new treasures.” Once the crowd dispersed, Morin signaled to Kleist and Manstein, and they led him toward an open area in the camp.
During Morin’s recovery period, the batch of new equipment he had requested at the Field Hospital had been delivered to the Instruction Assault Battalion with the Highest Priority, thanks to General Mackensen’s personal attention.
Kleist walked beside Morin, reporting the situation: “Battalion Commander, the twelve 75.8mm Mortar Launchers you requested, along with the equipment and personnel needed to form the Flamethrower Platoon, have all arrived.”
“The efficiency this time is surprisingly high.” Morin was a little surprised, having thought it would take longer.
“The First Army Group directly allocated them from their own stock and subordinate units,” Manstein explained: “We heard that General Mackensen personally issued the order at the Army Group Headquarters, and the Logistics Department delivered the items in less than two days.”
Soon, the trio arrived at the open area. Morin immediately saw the new equipment being carefully cleaned and maintained by the soldiers—twelve somewhat strange-looking, short-barreled cannons were neatly arranged on the ground.
This was the 75.8mm ‘Grenade Launcher’ (Mortar Launcher) Morin had requested in his report. The structure of this weapon was significantly different from the mortars Morin remembered. The barrel was thick and short, only about twenty centimeters long. Complex hydraulic buffers were connected to the sides and back of the barrel, and the entire cannon was fixed to a heavy, rectangular metal base.
According to Morin’s plan, these twelve Mortar Launchers were distributed directly to the four infantry companies. Thus, the four Company Commanders were currently here familiarizing themselves with the equipment alongside the newly transferred artillery crew. 2nd Company Commander Wolff rushed up to Morin excitedly. Although he was reckless, he was enthusiastic about anything that could boost firepower.
“How is it? Is it effective?” Morin walked up to one of the cannons, crouching down to examine it carefully.
“Effective! It’s incredibly effective!” Wolff slapped his thigh, excitedly saying: “Battalion Commander, we never realized before that this thing’s close-range support capability was so good. It’s tailor-made for fixed position and Street Fighting!”
Morin nodded, then touched the cold barrel and looked at Wolff: “Is the operation complicated? How many people are in a crew?”
“Not complicated!” Wolff immediately called over a crew from the 2nd Company to demonstrate. A standard crew consisted of five men: a Gun Leader, two Gunners, and two Loaders. The Gunners adjusted the angle, the Loaders loaded the shell from the muzzle, and the Gun Leader pulled the lanyard to fire.
According to Wolff and the other Company Commanders, this weapon was far more flexible than field artillery and could easily accompany infantry. However, one issue was its short range: a maximum range of only 1,300 meters, with a minimum range of 300 meters. Another issue was the narrow horizontal traverse, only 7°. To hit a target in a different direction, the entire cannon, including the base, had to be physically shifted, making it somewhat clumsy.
Morin had anticipated these shortcomings. After all, it was a prototype mortar, and he couldn’t demand perfection. Even with its flaws, the indirect fire capability it provided was invaluable to infantry who lacked sufficient siege capability.
“What about the ammunition?” Morin asked the question he cared about most. “How much was allocated? What types of shells?”
“Reporting, Battalion Commander!” A Quartermaster from the Supply Train handed him an ammunition manifest. “A total of 1,200 High-Explosive Grenades were allocated, averaging 100 rounds per gun. The main shell type is High-Explosive Grenade. We also found a batch of Smoke Grenades.”
“Smoke Grenades?” Morin’s eyes instantly lit up, blazing brighter than a searchlight.
“Yes, Smoke Grenades.” The Quartermaster scratched his head. Seeing Morin’s interest, he explained further: “The Empire developed these many years ago. The smoke agent is composed of potassium nitrate and sugar, and there is also a personal-throw version. But the effect reportedly wasn’t good; the smoke dispersed quickly, and the concealment was poor, so they stopped producing them. If the Army Group Logistics hadn’t completely cleared out their warehouse, we probably wouldn’t have remembered this item. They said it was a complimentary addition; we could play around with it.”
“Play around? This is valuable stuff…” Morin took the manifest from the Quartermaster. Looking at the word “Smoke Grenade,” he felt a sense of serendipitous discovery. He had been looking for smoke grenades to provide cover for infantry assaults.
Kleist, Manstein, and Wolff were all confused by Morin’s sudden excitement. “Battalion Commander, they’re just smoke grenades. Are they really that good?” Wolff asked, puzzled. “I heard they just make a lot of irritating smoke. The wind blows it away quickly. What good are they?”
“What good are they? They are incredibly useful!” Morin glared at Wolff, then earnestly began to explain to everyone. “Think about it. If we need to assault a position defended by a Heavy Machine Gun, what is the normal way to attack?”
“That’s obvious. The Machine Gun team suppresses the fire, and the Assault Squads flank and throw grenades,” Wolff answered without thinking.
(End of this Chapter)