At Captain Andre’s orders, several soldiers immediately led Lu Luxiu and Klose to a cellar beside the ruined mill.
The cellar door had been deliberately smashed with a hole, and a cable happened to thread through it, connecting to an antenna shaped like a clothes rack.
When he had transmigrated, he had more or less inherited some of the original body’s subconscious instincts and skills; the body’s previous owner had been a communications technical NCO.
Therefore, with just a glance at the antenna, he casually asked the soldier leading the way, “Your company is also equipped with the F08 mini radio set?”
The guide opened the cellar door while casting an admiring glance. “Truly professional.”
Lu Luxiu wasted no words, stepping quickly into the cellar and going straight to operate the radio set.
This type of radio had an output of less than fifty watts; its effective signal transmission range should be between ten and fifty kilometers—
That number was never fixed, because weather and day-night cycles both affected the atmospheric ionosphere.
Transmission distance at night was several times farther than in daylight; clear weather also exceeded rain or snow.
It was now afternoon, but the weather was clear and the relative elevation here was high; he estimated they could reach friendly forces within twenty kilometers.
In 1914, Demanian army radio allocation was still scarce, generally only down to the regimental level. The battalions and companies below had to rely on horse-mounted couriers for orders. However, Captain Andre’s was a reconnaissance company, needing to pass the latest enemy intelligence to the rear in a timely manner, which was why it had this higher-level equipment.
Lu Luxiu tapped away at the telegraph key until it was practically smoking. He didn’t even bother encrypting the contents too much, at most adding some identification codes to prove the sender’s identity.
“12th Division Reconnaissance Company urgent dispatch: Critical emergency! Our unit has discovered Bilijin troops installing demolition charges on the lower Yser River dams! The dams could be blown at any moment! All units that have already crossed to the north bank must immediately abandon all non-essential equipment and assemble at the town of Nieuwpoort at maximum speed! Repeat, assemble at Nieuwpoort and hold fast!
All friendly forces that have not yet crossed the river must absolutely not drag heavy artillery and baggage trains into the low-lying areas along the river! You must find the nearest high ground to relocate! All lower-lying areas within ten kilometers of both banks of the Yser River risk being flooded! We urgently request Division HQ contact reconnaissance aircraft to conduct close-range supplemental reconnaissance as soon as possible…”
Lu Luxiu didn’t even draft the message; the wording was very blunt and as straightforward as possible. He was practically racing against Death itself.
Had anyone else been beside him at that moment to review his message, these words would never have been sent.
But the communications platoon leader had been killed, and the reconnaissance company commander was busy resisting the Franke forces—so a mere corporal like him was left to do as he pleased.
The signals drifted across the sky, passed through the fields, and in an instant covered a range of twenty kilometers all around.
…
At that same moment, on the fields roughly seven or eight kilometers southeast of the town, the headquarters of the 12th Division’s 16th Infantry Regiment—having crossed the Yser River not long before—received Lu Luxiu’s warning message via a backpack radio receiver.
Demanian signals officers had always been highly efficient; the crypto clerk quickly delivered the decoded message to Colonel List.
“Colonel! An emergency intelligence report from the division reconnaissance company!”
Colonel List was a stern middle-aged man approaching fifty. He grabbed the message slip, clipped a monocle to his eye, and took one look—then immediately began to tremble.
He stood frozen for several seconds, his mind racing, beads of cold sweat falling one after another from his forehead, as if making a painful decision.
Ten seconds later, he took a deep breath and finally said through gritted teeth:
“Have the lead 3rd Battalion gather horses to pull a few 77mm field guns; all other heavy artillery is to be abandoned on the spot! Concentrate all 77mm shells!
Discard all tents from the baggage train, and field kitchens too! Leave only three days’ rations and dump the rest! Advance at full running speed! Anyone slow will be shot!
You men, leave a few horses and wagons, and stay here with the radio to watch the abandoned equipment and await formal orders from Division HQ! If there are no follow-up orders from Division HQ after half an hour, or if you see the flood coming, catch up immediately!”
The entire regiment was thrown into immediate chaos.
Fortunately, Demanians were famously absolute in carrying out military orders; within minutes, the soldiers had emptied over a hundred heavy wagons.
All draft horses originally used to pull the baggage were instead used to carry men.
Only a small handful of soldiers ordered by the regimental commander to remain behind and guard the discarded supplies stayed in place with the radio.
Abandoning heavy artillery, smashing cooking pots and steamers, burning tents, carrying three days’ rations, the entire regiment advanced at a run.
Similar scenes repeated themselves in places within twenty kilometers of Nieuwpoort.
Some regiments were decisive; others hesitated.
Some regiments acted immediately; others still needed to request instructions from division HQ.
…
Soon, the headquarters of the 12th Infantry Division also received the transmission. After the crypto clerk handed the message to Major General Karl Luitpold, the division commander glanced over it briefly and immediately took it seriously.
“If there is no flood, the equipment can still be recovered later; even if there are some losses, they are acceptable. But if there really is a flood, the entire division may not all drown, but heavy equipment will certainly be one hundred percent lost, and it will be impossible to reach Nieuwpoort in time…”
Major General Karl frowned tightly, ordering someone to quickly bring a military map so he could scan it.
His gaze swept back and forth between Ostend to the east of Nieuwpoort and Dunkirk to the west, and he used a ruler to measure distances.
Finally, he pounded the field table in anguish. “The Bilijin must know that if our entire division interdicts Nieuwpoort and severs the coastal highway, their whole army is doomed! It seems they truly might do such a thing!
Immediately issue orders for the entire division to treat this with utmost seriousness and draft a formal order based on the reconnaissance company’s warning! Additionally, send a telegram to Army Group Command requesting the emergency diversion of nearby reconnaissance aircraft to conduct rigorous supplemental reconnaissance of both banks of the lower Yser near Nieuwpoort!”
Major General Karl’s orders were immediately deployed in an orderly fashion. His division HQ was still over twenty kilometers from Nieuwpoort and had not yet entered the low-lying areas on the south bank of the Yser, so there was no need to worry about being submerged after the floodgates opened.
For now, he could only halt the advance temporarily and watch how the situation developed; after all, an hour or two wouldn’t make a difference.
…
Lu Luxiu’s telegram could indeed have been intercepted by nearby Franke or Bilijin forces.
However, on a chaotic battlefield, even if the enemy intercepted the intelligence, it would take them longer to decode than one’s own side, even without full encryption. After decoding it, they might not believe it, or might treat it as fabricated enemy propaganda intended to shake morale.
In the final stage of the “Race to the Sea,” both sides had reached the end of their tether. Their units had been thoroughly scrambled by interpenetration and maneuvering, and the chaos of the battlefield drastically reduced communication efficiency.
The Franks and Bilijin also lacked coordination. The Bilijin’s preparations to blow the dam had been decided in secret by themselves; the Franks could not have known.
Therefore, it was perfectly normal for the enemy to realize the problem an hour or even two hours later than their own side.
Lu Luxiu had never counted on preventing enemy interception; he only needed to win the race against time.
After finishing sending and receiving, he tidied up his wording, took the transcript, and brought it to Andre, who had just finished directing another small skirmish:
“Captain, I have broadcast warnings to nearby friendly forces. The 16th Regiment has already replied; they say they are still seven to eight kilometers from us and have begun advancing light.
They also said they have already requested instructions from Division HQ, and HQ has approved their acting on their own initiative. Therefore, our recommendation has been formally ratified from above.”
Andre glanced anxiously at his watch. “How much longer until Colonel List can get here?”
Lu Luxiu: “They have already crossed the river and are advancing at accelerated speed. Even if the Bilijin realize the situation and immediately blow the dikes to release water, by the time the water reaches their feet, I estimate they will only be two or three kilometers from here.
They can cover the last stretch on foot even if wading; it won’t drown anyone. At most they’ll lose some supplies.”
Andre let out a slight sigh of relief. “Even if the whole division can’t make it, if Colonel List’s regiment can get here, we’ll still have the capital to keep fighting.
The Franke only arrived at De Panne, seven kilometers to our west, from Dunkirk in the west in the early hours this morning. The Franke now attacking the town all set out from De Panne.
Although the enemy outnumbers us by more than ten to one, they too have to reach the front line piece by piece; that will create a piecemeal commitment of forces. If we have a regiment, we might be able to hold!”
This analysis also let Lu Luxiu breathe easier.
The Battle of the Race to the Sea truly was fought in such chaos. Both sides were racing against death, desperately charging north in outflanking maneuvers. The forces on all sides had been stretched into long, serpentine columns by this mad dash.
A single division might stretch over a dozen kilometers; when its first regiment went into combat, its last regiment might still be half a day’s march from the battlefield.
It was true not only of the Demanian and Franke armies but even more so of the Bilijin army retreating in defeat from Antwerp.
They appeared to have three divisions, but only the vanguard of the first division was just reaching Nieuwpoort, while the third division hadn’t even reached Ostend, twenty kilometers to the east.
Seeing that Lu Luxiu had recovered, Andre picked up the rifle leaning against the ground nearby and handed it back to him. “If you don’t need to contact superiors anymore, take your platoon and join the defense, or go check if the other NCOs in your platoon have woken up. The pressure on our defense is growing heavier.”
As he spoke, sporadic sounds of shell explosions came from the distance, and the whizzing of machine gun fire had barely stopped. Clearly, everyone was fighting with all their might.
Lu Luxiu looked at the rifle in his hands. He felt that as a technical NCO and a military enthusiast transmigrator, being made to do infantry work was somewhat a waste of his abilities; he could clearly do more to change things.
Besides, he had only transmigrated a few hours ago and hadn’t fully adapted. One only had one life; if he could avoid facing bullets directly, it was better not to.
So he racked his brains and thought rapidly, quickly coming up with another idea, and immediately volunteered:
“Captain, I believe staying in the signals room would allow me to contribute more to the battle. Your side is hard-pressed, but one infantryman won’t make a difference.”
Andre raised an eyebrow, wanting to berate him, but then remembered that Lu Luxiu had indeed just accomplished something significant, so he gave him one more chance: “Then out with it!”
Lu Luxiu: “I can monitor the enemy’s nearby shortwave plaintext transmissions to gauge their reactions; perhaps I can even infer if they’ve changed their minds, such as wanting to blow the dam early.
Also… we could even consider sending a plaintext broadcast alert in Franke to the surrounding Bilijin villages and towns when necessary, letting innocent civilians evacuate early!
Once the Bilijin blow the dikes, land extending over a dozen kilometers north-south and nearly a hundred kilometers east-west along the river will be flooded to varying degrees. Even if it doesn’t drown people, it will destroy over a dozen towns and villages.
These Bilijin civilians are innocent! They are also victims of the Bilijin military’s actions!”
Andre couldn’t help but freeze at these words. It wasn’t that he thought it wrong; rather, it didn’t match his earlier assessment of Lu Luxiu’s character:
“You’re serious? That would indeed accord with military honor, but do you truly care about the lives and deaths of these civilians?”
Lu Luxiu said rapidly: “What I think doesn’t matter! The key is that this has not only humanitarian benefits but also military advantages!
If we don’t broadcast a warning, by then everything will be a tangled mess! The enemy might claim our bombardment destroyed the dam—after all, the battlefield is so chaotic that dead men tell no tales!
And most civilians and even ordinary soldiers don’t understand strategy. They won’t understand which side benefits from the destroyed dam, so they will believe their own side’s propaganda and hate us even more!
But if we can seize this opportunity to publicize our humanity—even have friendly forces rescue some local innocent civilians and evacuate the lowlands while advancing light to the north—these people could become witnesses to our army’s humanity in the future! This could potentially lower enemy morale—
If those Bilijin soldiers retreating from the east knew that their generals blew the dikes and drowned their own countrymen, while we were rescuing their countrymen, would their determination to break through to the death be as firm? When considering surrender, wouldn’t they waver a few degrees more?”
Captain Andre was instantly stunned speechless by this chain of deductions from Lu Luxiu.
It had to be said: compared to Easterners, Demanian officers were truly childish in the use of schemes like propaganda warfare, psychological operations, and sowing discord through public opinion.
Lu Luxiu casually drew on a fraction of the Twenty-Four Histories and military treatises he had read in his previous life, and it was already enough to leave these straight-laced officers in awe.
Andre swallowed, speaking with difficulty: “Then… when would you send the broadcast? If it’s too soon, wouldn’t it provoke the Bilijin to blow the dikes immediately?”
Lu Luxiu: “It can’t be too soon! I also need you to provide several soldiers who understand Franke or Netherlandic to assist me! I must first translate the broadcast message into a foreign language before I can transmit! The translation alone will take at least half an hour!”
Andre gritted his teeth. “Very well! No matter how heavy the defensive pressure, we can spare two or three men! I’ll find you translators! You just focus on hiding in the cellar to translate and transmit! The fighting up top is ours!
Corporal Lu Luxiu, I don’t think you’re an ordinary NCO. Even if you haven’t attended a military academy, you must have gone to university, yes?”
Lu Luxiu recalled this body’s background and admitted frankly, “You guessed right. I am actually a citizen of the Aolian Empire, but of the Demanian ethnicity.
I was always first in mathematics at school. I just graduated from the architecture department of the Royal Academy of Arts in July and was about to look for a job when the war broke out. I didn’t like the ethnically mixed atmosphere in the Aolian army, so I preferred to cross the border and enlist in the Kingdom of Bavaria under Demania.”
“No wonder your brain works so well.” Captain Andre suddenly felt everything made sense. “With your background, you should be in the engineering corps, not the signals corps. Whoever processed your enlistment made you a corporal—that’s really underemploying your talent.”