For Morin, something like a half-track was like a pizza with pineapple—heresy in the eyes of some, but a life-saving delicacy when you’re starving.
In a sense, something like a half-track is an out-and-out compromise.
In Morin’s original world, this kind of vehicle rapidly exited the stage of history after WWII, replaced by fully tracked armored personnel carriers and wheeled infantry fighting vehicles.
The reason was simple—given sufficient industrial foundation and materials science, it had neither the high on-road mobility and low maintenance cost of wheeled vehicles, nor the robust off-road capability of fully tracked vehicles.
It was a typical case of “falling between two stools.”
But in this world, at this point in time, it was a “hot commodity” in Morin’s eyes.
Morin had to admit that this “freak” might be the only choice for the current Saxon Army in the short term.
After all, the tech tree of this world grew truly arbitrarily.
The existence of magitech and radiant crystal fuel allowed the engineers here to go completely down the path of “flying bricks with brute force” (overcoming aerodynamic flaws with sheer power) in the development of power systems.
Just looking at the Saxon Empire’s side, the surging power provided by radiant crystal internal combustion engines, and the strength and characteristics of magitech materials, were already enough to drive an 18-ton Armored Knight sprinting across the battlefield.
It could also allow massive armored airships to sail stably in the air like cruisers, dangling twin 203mm gun turrets.
But in basic materials science and traditional vehicle transmission structures, which Morin was more familiar with, they were still playing with mud…
Lacking high-strength torsion bar suspensions, lacking precise hydraulic steering mechanisms, and even the mature process of rubber required Morin to use his “cheat” to obtain it and then find someone to research it.
This resulted in a situation where if Morin wanted to forcefully push forward a fully tracked infantry fighting vehicle, the result would highly likely be a pile of industrial garbage that would break down and need track repairs after running for five kilometers.
As for 8×8 wheeled vehicles, don’t even think about it. With current drive shaft technology, even 4×4 was strenuous, let alone eight-wheel independent suspension and complex central tire inflation systems.
So… complementing weaknesses with strengths became the only way out. Not to mention, the earliest half-track vehicles in the other world were actually put into use during WWI.
Morin pulled out a notebook and started writing and drawing, recording some of his “little ingenuities,” which was also something he often did during this period.
Using existing front-wheel steering technology to solve the steering problem, using the track structure in the rear half to distribute ground pressure and solve the off-road capability problem.
Although the structure was a bit complex and maintenance troublesome, it could at least run and carry infantry to keep up with the advance speed of Armored Knights.
Furthermore, when Morin previously asked Demag’s engineers to design it, he also had them use balanced suspension road wheels.
Although this kind of road wheel had slightly worse comfort, its maintenance difficulty was obviously far lower than interleaved road wheels… This was still better than having the soldiers run until their legs broke.
And in Morin’s view, even if those clumsy and slow early tanks, or even early WWII tanks, were produced… judging from the mobility, armor, and firepower of both sides, they would highly likely just be padding the kill counts of Armored Knights.
So it was better to produce half-track armored vehicles first, to enhance the mobile combat capability of the infantry detachments.
And use half-track armored vehicles to mature the processes and technology, laying a good foundation for future fully tracked or wheeled vehicles.
After writing eloquently at length, Morin closed the notebook and sighed. Was this somewhat the helplessness of being a transmigrator?
Sometimes you clearly know where the finish line is, but you also have to be patient and accompany the industrial system of this era to climb out of the pit step by step…
Time quietly passed amidst this kind of thinking and boring restorative training.
Unknowingly, the calendar finally turned to March 1915.
The snow outside the window had long melted, and the air held a hint of soil and grass.
And in this spring, the situation across the entire Europa continent, much like this weather, seemed to be warming up on the surface but was actually surging with undercurrents.
The gunfire in the Southern Theater had already become much sparser.
Although the official armistice agreement hadn’t been formally signed yet, the frontline soldiers of both the Saxon and Gallic armies had already tacitly stopped large-scale mutual shooting.
That provisional government in Bordeaux was now just wrangling with Saxon diplomats at the negotiating table for the last bit of face.
How much territory to cede, how much indemnity to pay, how many troops to retain… these were all bargaining chips.
Everyone knew that the day the Gallic Republic formally surrendered and reached an agreement with the Saxon Empire was not far away.
But in the northwest direction of the Gallic Republic’s territory, the situation was completely different.
That place was like a pressure cooker that could explode at any time.
The Holy Britannia Empire was obviously the country in this world that least wanted the Gallic Republic to surrender to the Saxon Empire.
So during this period, they also used methods including but not limited to diplomacy, bribery, assassination, etc., to stop the Gallic Republic’s provisional government from surrendering.
This led to a very awkward situation: the host, Gaul, was already prepared to raise its hands in surrender, but the guest, Britannia, refused to leave the host’s house.
Um… and even wanted to tear down the host’s house to use as cover, continuing to fight to the death with the debt collectors who came to the door.
So the over 700,000-strong army of the Saxon Imperial Army’s First and Second Army Groups, under the command of Army Group Commanders Mackensen and Bülow, were still pushing against the Britannian Expeditionary Force.
Both sides were like enraged bulls, staring at each other with red eyes, snorting heavily from their nostrils.
General Mackensen and the commander of the Britannian Expeditionary Force, John French, both directed and launched multiple large-scale offensives.
But because the positions of both sides had become increasingly perfected after being built for so long, neither achieved major battle results.
And judging from some recent intelligence, those Britannians across the Channel obviously didn’t plan to just let it go.
Ship after ship of supplies, as well as a large number of volunteers from the homeland or colonies, were continuously arriving in Rouen and Le Havre.
Even according to reports from some frontline units, figures suspected to be Tier-9 mages from the Britannian Highland Mage Order had appeared on the front line, in addition to multiple high-tier mages.
And the response made by the Saxon Empire’s side was to transfer more armored trains and armored airships.
This also included the armored train “Odin,” which had just completed repairs and main gun replacement.
Both sides continuously raised the stakes, but neither had the capability to truly break through the other’s defense line, and the front line thus became deadlocked.
However, frontline commanders and military high echelons of both sides knew that the armies deployed here by both countries now were like two boxers confronting each other, both accumulating strength waiting to throw the strongest punch to directly punch through the opponent’s defense.
Because multiple previous battles had already proven that when facing increasingly tight trenches, the “piecemeal tactic” of continuously sending troops to attack, besides pointlessly increasing casualties, could be said to be meaningless.
To break through the defense line, the only way was to accumulate power to a degree the opponent couldn’t block, and complete the breakthrough in one breath.
During this period, Morin also finally obtained permission to leave the medical center.
After a month and a half of recuperation, his physical condition couldn’t be better.
The previous feeling of frequent “hunger” had disappeared, replaced by a sense of brimming power.
He pulled up the system interface and took a look.
[Second Generation “Sentinel” Modification Potion Modification Progress: 40%]
“Hit a bottleneck…”
However, Morin was not surprised by this.
After all, this wasn’t a game cheat. Those good days of getting a little stronger every day after waking up ultimately had an end…
Right now, his physical quality was about several times that of an ordinary person, and his reaction speed and magical affinity had made a qualitative leap.
If he wanted to improve further, it probably couldn’t be solved by just eating, drinking, and lifting weights.
Since the body modification had entered a plateau phase, continuing to stay in the medical center as a guinea pig was meaningless.
“Knock, knock, knock.”
A knock on the door sounded. Immediately after, that familiar Lieutenant Aaron pushed the door open and entered, holding a document stamped with a red seal.
“Sir, good news.”
A smile was on Lieutenant Aaron’s face, “The General Staff has approved your discharge application. In addition, Master Haber and the medical team have also signed off, confirming that your physical condition completely meets the standards for returning to your unit.”
“Finally…”
Morin let out a long breath, took that document, feeling even happier than when he received his promotion order back then.
“I can’t stay in this hellhole for another day.”
As Morin spoke, he began to pack his pitifully small amount of luggage.
“Although the food here is good, obviously staying in the medical center every day is not a proper thing to do…”
Lieutenant Aaron smiled, didn’t reply, but helped Morin pick up that small bag full of letters and notebooks.
“The car is already waiting downstairs, Lieutenant Colonel, besides…” Lieutenant Aaron paused, “His Excellency the Chief of the General Staff hopes that after you return to your unit and settle down, you can go to the General Staff as soon as possible.”
“I knew it wouldn’t be that simple.” Morin shrugged, “These big shots letting me out is definitely not to let me go on vacation.”
The moment he walked out the door of the medical center, Morin took a deep breath of the slightly chilly air outside.
The smell mixed with radiant crystals, dust, and the breath of early spring, although not fresh, was the smell of freedom to him.
Of course, also the smell of war.
On the day the permission was issued, Morin earnestly thanked everyone in the medical center who had helped him during this period, and then quickly rushed to the instruction unit’s station on the outskirts of Dresden.
The car carrying Morin drove on the bumpy road for an unknown amount of time, finally driving into that familiar camp area on the outskirts of Dresden.
This used to be the temporary station adopted by the instruction unit when it was still the “Instruction Assault Battalion.”
Only now, after being repaired by the fortification troops directly subordinate to the General Staff, rows of neat wooden barracks had risen from the ground. Level gravel roads connected various areas. Dust flew on the training grounds in the distance, and the sounds of shouting to kill and gunfire rose and fell.
Although the main campus of the “Assault Infantry Experimental Combat Academy” was set in Koblenz, that was, after all, the academy’s station, and it definitely couldn’t allow the instruction unit soldiers to rest well.
So after withdrawing from the front line, the instruction unit rested briefly in the border area and then returned directly to Dresden, and had a long-lost, extremely short period of dispersed leave.
When Morin arrived at the camp and stepped out of the car, Kleist and Manstein, who were supervising the training of un-furloughed units by the drill ground, were almost stunned for several seconds before reacting.
“Good God… Sir?!”
Kleist, who was usually steady, unexpectedly lost his composure somewhat and ran over, looking Morin up and down, as if confirming whether the person before him was real.
“It really is you! You’re finally back!”
Manstein also followed closely, a rare look of excitement appearing on this young genius staff officer’s face.
“Alright, alright, what are you all making such a fuss about.”
Morin smiled and punched Kleist’s chest, then looked at the equally shocked Manstein aside.
“I just went to recuperate, what’s there to make a fuss about.”
“But Sir… you were gone for almost three months, and there was no news at all…” Kleist’s tone was somewhat worried.
Although the statement given by the General Staff was “Lieutenant Colonel Morin is resting and reorganizing due to injuries,” they could still faintly guess through other clues that the mission Morin executed at the time was probably not ordinary.
The most obvious were those 1st Company veterans who participated in the operation and came back alive… While being issued gag orders, their memories were also blurred by Imperial mages through some spell suggestion, which also made this operation full of mystery.
“It’s all in the past.” Morin waved his hand, interrupting this topic.
Some things are better left rotting in the stomach for everyone’s good.
“How is the unit?” Morin asked while walking toward the regimental headquarters, rapidly switching back to the role of commander.
“Reporting, sir, everything is normal!”
When talking about work, Manstein on the other side, who was equally worried, also immediately restored his capability.
“According to the plan you left previously, we utilized this rest period to conduct a comprehensive after-action review and summary of the previous battles.”
“At the same time, we also conducted high-intensity comprehensive training for the newly supplemented troops.”
“In addition, regarding the selection of recovered veterans as instructors, everyone is in high spirits.”
Kleist also added:
“Those old buddies who originally thought they were going to be transferred to civilian posts, upon hearing they could go to the academy as instructors, act like they’ve been injected with chicken blood. Now they are organizing their combat experiences day and night.”
“That’s good.” Morin nodded in satisfaction. “Tell them, no need to rush, organize things solidly… They are going to be instructors for the ‘Stormtroopers’ in the future, don’t let them embarrass the instruction unit when they get on the podium.”
After simple pleasantries and work handover, Morin didn’t stay too long.
He changed into a crisp service uniform, wore that shining “Pour le Mérite” (Blue Max) medal and other medals according to regulations, and then took Manstein to get back in the car heading to the Army General Staff.
Morin believed the General Staff calling him over definitely wasn’t to exchange a few pleasantries; it was most likely something urgent…
When he and Manstein arrived at the Army General Staff building, the atmosphere here was as solemn and busy as always.
Officers in gray uniforms hurried along holding documents. The ringing of telephones and the ticking of telegraphs intertwined, forming the background noise of the operation of this massive war machine.
Morin was taken directly to that familiar small conference room.
Pushing open the door, Chief of the General Staff Moltke the Younger was standing in front of that massive map of Europa, hands behind his back, seemingly thinking about something.
Besides him, there were also several senior officers wearing general ranks in the room, including the Director of Operations and Major Nicolai of Department III.
“Reporting! Army Lieutenant Colonel Friedrich von Morin, reporting for duty as ordered!”
Morin stood at attention and saluted, his voice loud and clear.
Moltke the Younger turned around. Those slightly tired but still sharp eyes swept over Morin, then revealed a trace of satisfaction.
“It seems you have recovered well, Lieutenant Colonel Morin.” Moltke the Younger nodded. “More energetic than I imagined.”
“Sit.”
This Chief of the Army General Staff pointed to a chair at the end of the long table and continued:
“No need to be so restrained. Calling you here today is not to listen to you report those tactical details of the instruction unit. You have already explained those very clearly in your report.”
Morin sat down as told, his back straight, and Moltke the Younger also stated the purpose of calling Morin here today.
He hoped Morin would seize the time to rest during this period and let the instruction unit return to its optimal state.
Because as negotiations between the Empire and the Gallic Republic reached a result, the General Staff would also shift a portion of its focus to that “worrisome” ally, the Austro-Hungarian Empire.
According to the ideas of Moltke the Younger and the Supreme Command, after losing the Gallic Republic, this strong enemy, the Empire could also spare a portion of its troops to support its ally.
Attempting to lead a large-scale offensive in the Balkan Peninsula to reverse the currently extremely passive situation of the Austro-Hungarian Empire.
“Lieutenant Colonel Morin, the Supreme Command has made a decision. While dispatching troops to support the Austro-Hungarian Empire, a special advisory group will be formed to go to the Austro-Hungarian Empire to assist them in reorganizing their defenses…”
“I hope you can join this advisory group… No, not just join.”
“I hope you can take the ‘Imperial Guard Assault Instruction Unit’ and become the sharp knife of the upcoming Balkan offensive…”
Speaking of this, Moltke the Younger also paused, then looked at Morin with curious eyes.
“When His Highness Georg met with me a while ago, he evaluated you very highly, Lieutenant Colonel Morin.”
“He said you are not only a sharp knife but also possess strategic vision surpassing most officers, even saying you predicted the surrender of the Gauls and the reaction of the Britannians.”
“His Highness praises me too highly; that was just based on logical deduction.” Morin said modestly.
“Logical deduction… a very good term.” Moltke the Younger smiled noncommittally, then suddenly changed the subject, pointing his finger at the southeast corner of the map.
“Since you are good at logical deduction, then let’s deduce this place.”
Morin followed his finger.
That was the Austro-Hungarian Empire, and also the Balkan Peninsula, and even more so the “powder keg” that directly ignited this great war.
“Just like the order given to you a moment ago, as the fighting on the Gallic side comes to a close, the Supreme Command intends to adjust its strategic focus.” Moltke the Younger stared into Morin’s eyes, seemingly wanting to see something in them.
“We intend to transfer a portion of our forces to support our ally, the Austro-Hungarian Empire, and launch a decisive offensive in the Balkan direction… What do you think, Lieutenant Colonel Morin?”
This was obviously a test question given by Moltke the Younger.
However, Morin didn’t answer immediately. He stood up, walked to the map, his gaze sweeping over those winding borders, mountains, and rivers.
In his mind, countless historical materials and realistic intelligence began to converge and collide.
“Since Your Excellency the Chief of the General Staff has asked, then I will speak frankly.”
Morin turned around, his expression becoming serious. “This decision is very timely… and can even be said to be imminent.”
“Oh?” The Director of Operations raised his eyebrows. “Why do you say that? Shouldn’t we strike while the iron is hot and drive the Britannians into the sea?”
“They can’t be driven down, General.”
Morin shook his head. He knew very well that when massive armies bogged down into a trench standoff, if lacking decisive power, then both sides could fight over a few kilometers of positions for several years.
“At least not in the short term… The Western Front now has a tendency to become a quagmire. Whoever is impulsive first fails. Those Britannians wish we would bleed out in front of sturdy trenches.”
After saying that, Morin pointed to the east side of the map again.
“But on the Eastern Front, the situation is different.”
“The situation in Western Rus is currently very chaotic. Although the ‘Supreme Autocratic Principality of All Rus’ supported by the Britannians is internally unstable, their recent expansion speed cannot be underestimated. If left unchecked, they will soon threaten the flanks of Eastern Saxony and the Austro-Hungarian Empire.”
Morin’s finger slid south, stopping on the massive yet bloated territory of the Austro-Hungarian Empire.
“Of course, the most crucial problem lies with our ally…”
Morin weighed his words, but everyone present understood perfectly well; some things didn’t need to be said too plainly.
“The current performance of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, pardon my bluntness, can only be described as very weak and senile.”
“They already seem powerless just dealing with the Greater Serbian Empire… If the war continues to drag on, other countries on the Balkan Peninsula—Greece, Romania, and even Bulgaria—will see the weakness of this old lion.”
“Once these countries feel there’s an opportunity to exploit, they will pounce like hyenas and tear flesh from the Austro-Hungarian Empire.”
Moltke the Younger nodded slightly. This was exactly what the General Staff was worried about.
“Therefore, we need a victory.” Morin raised his voice slightly. “A clean and crisp victory on the Balkan Peninsula! Not only to help our ally stabilize their footing but also to kill the chicken to warn the monkeys, to deter those small countries stirring with restless ambition.”
Speaking of this, Morin paused.
He looked at that fragmented coastline on the map, that key node connecting the Black Sea and the Mediterranean.
A bold judgment, or rather one based on a “prophetic” perspective, formed in his mind.
“Moreover, if we don’t act in the Balkans as soon as possible…”
Morin turned his head, his eyes burning as he looked at Moltke the Younger.
“I am worried that the Britannians will strike before we do.”