After Morin finished briefly explaining the mission to the others, he turned solemnly to Sergeant Klaus at his side.
With this deeply experienced veteran present, even though Morin would not be directly commanding the troops himself, he felt at least somewhat reassured.
In another sense, it was like the saying: “An old hand in the house is a treasure.”
“While I’m away, the troops are in your hands, Sergeant Klaus! Keep a close watch. Be sure to guard against the enemy’s counterattack.”
“Don’t worry, Second Lieutenant.”
Sergeant Klaus nodded firmly. After the fighting that morning, he no longer had the slightest doubt about Morin’s orders.
Once everything was arranged, Morin turned and found Hans, the orderly, sitting nearby.
He felt as if his eyelids weighed a thousand pounds, and his legs were as heavy as if lead blocks had been tied to them. From yesterday until now, his taut nerves and intense physical exertion had nearly wrung him dry.
Morin even felt that for this body to have lasted until now, its constitution could already be called superhuman.
“Hans.”
“Second Lieutenant?” The young orderly immediately stood up.
“Go to the kitchen wagon and get me a cup of coffee.” Morin rubbed his temples. “The stronger, the better.”
“Yes, Second Lieutenant!” Hans answered, then immediately trotted off.
After the orderly left, Morin took Corporal Baumann and the four other picked, capable soldiers with him, heading toward the rear of the village—toward the concealed location where the battalion’s baggage train was stationed.
Before the morning attack, the 77mm field guns of the field artillery battalion had provided preparatory fire. Although Morin did not know how many casualties they had inflicted on the Kingdom Army, it was clear that the village had suffered considerable damage. Many buildings had been damaged in the bombardment.
Morin and the others passed along village roads full of shell craters and rubble, and soon found the baggage train’s concealed position and temporary camp.
More than ten four-wheeled heavy wagons, along with several of the trucks Morin had ridden in before, were cleverly hidden at the edge of a small grove. The horses had been unbridled and were leisurely eating fodder off to one side.
The quartermaster of the 1st Battalion, 33rd Infantry Regiment, a middle-aged captain with a Prussian-style mustache, was taking inventory of supplies together with the baggage train soldiers.
When he saw the written order Morin handed over, he was startled at first. Then the tips of his mustache lifted upward.
“Second Lieutenant Morin?” The quartermaster looked him over. “That beautiful flanking raid this morning—that was your doing?”
“I was merely lucky, sir,” Morin replied modestly.
“Luck is also part of strength.”
The quartermaster said it very seriously, and the look he gave Morin changed as well. He briskly put away the written order and waved to the soldiers beside him.
“Go, pick out six bicycles in the best condition and give them to Second Lieutenant Morin and his men.”
He turned back and reminded Morin, “Second Lieutenant, the country lanes around here are not easy to travel. They’re full of pits and bumps, and they’ll be hard on the bicycles. Be careful when you ride.”
“Thank you for the reminder, sir.”
While the soldiers went to move the bicycles, Morin’s gaze swept toward the rear of the baggage train camp. Then an area that had been separately cordoned off caught his attention.
There, two enormous figures were parked.
They looked like two heavy plate-armored knights enlarged several times over, standing at roughly three meters tall, silently kneeling on one knee. Together with the arming swords, kite shields, and enormous rifles—or cannons—on the weapon racks beside them, they gave Morin an indescribable sense of oppression.
Compared to their massive, heavy torsos, however, their limbs looked somewhat short, their proportions rather strange.
It was as if the “Onion Knight,” “Sakura Wars,” and “SYNDUALITY” had been fused together.
Extremely abstract.
Their entire bodies were covered in surcoats emblazoned with black-and-white cross insignia, with only a few thick metal pipes exposed through the gaps. The exhaust pipes extending from their backs indicated that they seemed to be powered by some kind of internal combustion engine.
At this moment, many personnel who were likewise wearing black-and-white surcoats, but carried no weapons, were busily conducting maintenance and resupply around the two steel giants.
“My God… are those ‘Armored Knights’?”
Corporal Baumann, following behind Morin, could not help letting out a cry of amazement.
The other soldiers also stretched their necks one after another, their eyes filled with curiosity and shock.
Like most Saxon soldiers, they had only ever seen blurry photographs of these steel creations in newspapers. This was their first time seeing the real thing with their own eyes.
The visual impact brought by that cold metallic texture and enormous size—for people of this era—was far beyond anything a black-and-white photograph in a newspaper could compare to.
The quartermaster followed their gazes and looked over, a knowing smile appearing on his face.
“Looks like this is your first time seeing those precious treasures of the Teutonic Order too.”
He walked to Morin’s side and lowered his voice.
“The brigade headquarters heard that we suffered considerable casualties this morning, so they specially sent these two ‘Siegfried’-model Armored Knights, along with an entire squad of knight attendants, to reinforce us.”
The quartermaster seemed to have quite a favorable impression of Morin, this courageous officer, and rare for him, he added a few more words:
“With these two big fellows, the next attack will be much easier! If we run into enemy machine-gun positions again, they’ll go up and clear them out. That’s better than making our men pay with their lives again, or having you lot take that kind of extreme risk once more.”
Morin’s heart stirred. Of course he knew how foolish and cruel it was to charge machine-gun positions with human lives. The morning’s battle was still vivid in his mind.
If these units, which were similar to the “mecha” he understood, could truly deal with enemy fire points effectively, then they would undoubtedly be a blessing for the infantry.
He was very curious how such things actually operated on the battlefield. Could their armor withstand machine-gun bullets? If they faced fire from barreled artillery, could they defend against that effectively as well?
But he also understood that now was not the time to satisfy his curiosity. The reconnaissance mission was urgent.
“Thank you for telling me, sir.” Morin withdrew his gaze and thanked the quartermaster again.
“Go on. Good luck to you.”
Everyone pushed their brand-new bicycles out of the baggage train camp. They had not gone far when the orderly Hans caught up, panting, carrying a steaming tin cup.
“Second Lieutenant, your coffee!”
Morin took the cup, and a strange smell of burnt bitterness rushed into his nose.
He took a sip. The taste was simply indescribable, like a medicinal brew made from burnt beans and some kind of herb boiled together. It was so bitter and astringent it practically scraped his tongue raw.
He frowned and glanced at his orderly, Hans.
That name, together with the coffee in his hand, made him feel as if a certain joke had already reached the tip of his tongue and was about to jump out.
“Hans!”
“Here, Second Lieutenant!”
“Your coffee tastes terrible!”
“…”
After saying that, Morin raised his head and drained the cup of refreshing beverage that tasted no different from poison. Then he stuffed the empty cup back into Hans’s hand and swung himself onto the bicycle.
“Move out!”