Chapter 12: When the Machine Gun Opens Fire
When that red icon popped up on Molin’s map, accompanied by a line of cold explanatory text, he felt as though his heart had skipped a beat.
The thing he had feared most had happened after all.
The Britannians had clearly provided weapons support to the “Kingdom Army,” and the latter had deployed a machine-gun position in this village on the outskirts of Seville!
“Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat—!”
A burst of rapid, piercing gunfire rang out across the battlefield like Death’s chainsaw.
Through the bushes, Molin saw a scene he would never forget as long as he lived.
The skirmish line at the very front of 1st Company, which had been advancing forward, looked as if it had been swept by a giant invisible scythe.
From left to right, the soldiers fell one after another. Their fragile bodies of flesh and blood were no different from wheat cut down before the dense rain of bullets.
The bullets tore streaks of deathly fire through the formation at a speed almost impossible for the naked eye to catch.
A single machine gun, in less than ten seconds, completely wiped an entire platoon at the front of 1st Company from the battlefield.
The gray attacking formation, which had seemed unstoppable just moments ago, collapsed in an instant.
The surviving soldiers screamed in terror and lay flat on the ground, not daring to move, completely ignoring the officers shouting themselves hoarse to stop them.
But that Vickers machine gun did not stop there.
The gunner calmly adjusted the muzzle, extending the deadly rain of bullets toward the second and third skirmish lines of 1st Company.
Even 2nd Company, formed up in a dense column at the rear and not yet committed to battle, became its target.
In such a packed formation, the killing power of the machine gun was brought to its absolute peak.
Every bullet seemed to find its destination.
Captain Hauser, who had been brimming with confidence earlier, now stood rooted to the spot. The smile on his face had long since frozen, replaced by a ghastly pallor.
His mouth hung open as if he wanted to say something, but not a single word came out.
Molin was not surprised by this reaction, because he knew that the current Saxon Army was just like the armies of European countries before the First World War.
They had not yet grasped the true horror of the machine gun, believing it to be a clumsy weapon that could only be used for defense.
That was also why the entire 33rd Infantry Regiment had only one machine-gun company equipped with eight MG08 heavy machine guns—and even now, that company had not arrived at the front line.
1st Company’s attack had already been completely smashed.
The surviving soldiers lay prone on the ground, clutching their heads tightly, not daring to move at all.
Anyone who tried to stand up and return fire or retreat would immediately be caught by that whip of fire, then shredded into a mangled corpse.
2nd Company, following behind, had also fallen into terrible chaos.
The officers leading them blew their whistles desperately, trying to get the troops to spread out or lie down, but under the sweeping fire of the machine-gun position, the soldiers’ discipline was rapidly disintegrating.
2nd Company, which had already been maintaining a dense formation, bunched together in a helpless mass, unable to advance or retreat, becoming the perfect target for that machine gun.
Bullets poured into the packed crowd like water, and every sweep of fire took several lives.
While everyone else was stunned by the惨状 before them, Molin’s mind was racing. His gaze was locked firmly onto the small map in the upper-left corner.
In front of the red diamond icon representing the [Vickers Machine-Gun Position], a fan-shaped red area indicating its field of fire covered the entire attacking front.
The unit markers for 1st Company and 2nd Company were positioned right inside that fan-shaped area.
After confirming the approximate location, Molin took the binoculars issued to officers from their case, then looked in the direction marked on the map.
Sure enough, behind a second-floor window of an inconspicuous-looking farmhouse, he caught sight of a flickering muzzle flash.
Molin had just been about to find Captain Hauser and say something when he saw, at the other end of the bushes, Major Thomas, commander of 1st Battalion, saying something to the orderlies at the temporary forward command post.
Immediately afterward, he saw one of the orderlies mount a horse and ride toward the rear.
Molin guessed that the man was probably going to contact the artillery position and have them continue providing fire support.
But even if everything went smoothly, it would still be at least ten minutes before the shells landed.
And that much time was more than enough for that machine gun and the other defenders to slaughter 1st Company and 2nd Company, who were exposed in the open ground.
However, Molin soon realized that he did not seem to have the luxury of worrying about others.
Because he saw another orderly running toward his company.
“Damn it. Don’t tell me they’re going to send in the reserves.”
Molin stared nervously at the orderly as the man jogged all the way up to Captain Hauser, panting as he shouted:
“Captain! Major Thomas’s orders! 3rd Company is to enter the battle immediately and press forward from the front!”
At those words, the faces of all the officers, Molin included, changed.
How the hell was that any different from willingly jumping into a meat grinder?
Captain Hauser’s face instantly turned the color of pig liver. He grabbed the orderly by the collar.
“Are you sure those were the orders? Has the major gone mad?! Can’t you see what’s happening up ahead?”
“Those… those were the major’s exact words…” The orderly was on the verge of tears.
“Bullshit!” Captain Hauser cursed angrily, but in the end, he still released his grip.
Military orders were absolute. He could not possibly disobey Major Thomas’s command, because that would even count as cowardice in the face of the enemy—enough to get him court-martialed and shot.
He took a deep breath, then turned to face his subordinates.
His gaze swept over the nervous and frightened faces one by one, finally stopping on Molin and the other two platoon leaders.
“You all heard that!” Captain Hauser’s voice had become as heavy as his mood. “Prepare for battle! 3rd Platoon on the left, 1st Platoon in the center, 2nd Platoon on the right. Extend the skirmish line! Advance by alternating cover!”
After personally witnessing the disastrous defeat of the dense formation, he at least did not issue the foolish order to charge in ranks again.
But even so, Molin understood that this was still suicide.
Before that machine gun was dealt with, any attack launched from the front would be meaningless. And there was still no telling how many undiscovered enemies remained inside the village.
Molin’s heart sank to the bottom. He did not want to die here, and even if he had to die, it would not be for this textbook “imperialist country.”
Not to mention that he still had a full eighty men under his command. He could not bring himself to lead these living, breathing men into a battle doomed to fail.
The problem was, right now, he had no choice at all.
The only hope was to attack in a different way and knock out that machine-gun position that had been harvesting the lives of their allies.
Just as Captain Hauser was about to blow the whistle for the attack, Molin suddenly stepped forward.
“Sir!”
Captain Hauser’s movement stopped. He turned his head to look at Molin, his brows tightly furrowed.
“What is it, Second Lieutenant Molin? Are you planning to disobey military orders?”
His tone was very impatient, even carrying a hint of threat. The disastrous defeat ahead and the battalion headquarters’ death order had already pushed his emotions to the brink.
“No, sir!”
Molin immediately shook his head, making his voice sound as convincing as possible.
“I request permission to lead 3rd Platoon in a flanking maneuver from the left wing!”
The proposal stunned the surrounding officers and noncommissioned officers.
“A flanking maneuver?” Captain Hauser repeated, his eyes filled with suspicion. “What are you trying to do?”
“Sir, I saw through my binoculars that the enemy’s machine-gun position is set up in a two-story farmhouse. Its field of fire is fixed!”
Molin explained at a rapid pace while pointing toward the left side of the battlefield.
“There’s a dried-up riverbed over there, along with several patches of low bushes. They can serve as natural cover! My platoon can use the terrain to move to the side of the village and launch an attack on that machine-gun position from there!”
“Even if we can’t take it out immediately, as long as we can draw their attention, we can create an opportunity for the company’s main force to attack!”
Captain Hauser fell silent. He stared fixedly at Molin, as if judging whether this young second lieutenant who had just graduated from the military academy was indulging in fantasy.