The order was given, and the troops, who had only just been immersed in the joy of victory, immediately regrouped.
The atmosphere on the battlefield once again became tense and orderly.
The bearded commander of the International Brigade found Major Thomas. After a brief discussion, they decided to temporarily move together with the 1st Battalion and continue advancing toward the urban area of Seville.
Ludwig also stated that the Teutonic Order had come to coordinate in battle in the first place, and so they would likewise follow them into the city first.
The attitude of these two men allowed Major Thomas to breathe a sigh of relief. Otherwise, if he had been made to lead the badly mauled 1st Battalion forward on his own, he really would have felt somewhat uneasy.
Molin took advantage of this bit of time to quickly tally the casualties in his own platoon.
Looking at the sparse ranks before him, his heart sank.
After a single battle of attack and defense over the high ground, his 3rd Platoon, originally at full strength, now had only 48 men left.
Corporal Jonah, who had previously followed behind him and fought with great bravery, had also fallen in the final melee and never managed to stand again.
At this moment, the cruelty of war was laid bare before Molin in the most direct way possible.
This was also the first time Molin had truly experienced what it felt like when soldiers under his command were killed in action.
After leaving behind a platoon that had been nearly crippled, waiting for the medical noncommissioned officers and stretcher teams from the rear to come up and collect the bodies of the fallen,
Major Thomas commanded the troops, under the coordination of the International Brigade and the Teutonic Order, to pursue in the direction of Seville’s urban district along the trail of wreckage left by the enemy.
Though it was called a “pursuit,” what exceeded everyone’s expectations was that they encountered no obstruction whatsoever along the way.
Major Thomas also had a messenger report their real-time progress to regimental headquarters. Molin did not know the specific content; he only heard Major Thomas say:
“My battalion is advancing without obstruction! Without obstruction, I say!”
Not until the International Brigade sent out a vanguard of more than a dozen men, who stepped onto the flagstone road at the edge of Seville’s urban district, did they encounter any resistance.
The enemy was not merely carrying out the “full-line withdrawal” mentioned in the regimental order. They had directly abandoned the entire city.
“Something’s not right. Who fights a war like this?”
Molin looked at the city before him, so calm it seemed almost eerie, his brows tightly furrowed.
According to his previous reconnaissance, the Royal Army and the Britannians had stationed heavy forces here, constructed solid defensive lines, and taken a posture as if they intended to fight the Allied Army to the death.
How could they possibly abandon the city so decisively and flee just because one attack had failed?
It was far too unreasonable—unless this was a trap.
Molin originally wanted to find his direct superior, Captain Hauser, but after quite some time, he still could not locate him.
In the end, he could only go directly to Major Thomas, who was currently speaking with the bearded commander of the International Brigade, and voice his concerns.
“Major, I believe this is very likely a trap. The enemy is clearly trying to lure us into the city—”
“Molin, your concerns are reasonable.”
Major Thomas interrupted him.
“However, I believe the greater possibility is that the enemy simply did not make preparations for street fighting within the city. After we broke through their defensive line, continuing to defend the city no longer had any meaning.”
The bearded commander also nodded, expressing his agreement.
At that moment, Ludwig, who had been having his attendants and technicians inspect the damage to the armored knights, also walked over. He happened to hear the exchange.
“I believe it is because their losses were too great.”
Ludwig’s voice drew the attention of the three men.
“Leaving aside the casualties among the Royal Army’s miscellaneous units, the Britannian Northumberland Flintlock Regiment alone had more than half a battalion mauled by you all on the high ground.”
“More importantly, they also lost two armored knights and all of their knight attendants. For the Britannians, who have always thought so highly of themselves, this is a crushing defeat unlike anything they have suffered in recent years.”
Ludwig paused, then continued his analysis:
“I do not believe they will simply let this go. This retreat seems more like a tactical contraction. They may very well regroup their forces outside the city, then launch a counterattack against us.”
Hearing Ludwig’s words, Molin frowned and asked in return:
“They would voluntarily give up the defender’s advantage, then turn around and attack the city at the cost of even greater casualties?”
Ludwig said, “That means the other side is confident they can do so. And they have seized upon one point that we cannot refuse.”
“Seville’s importance to us means we cannot retreat as easily as they did.”
Having caught on, Major Thomas took up the thread, raising his head to look at Molin.
“This also means we have been nailed down here. Second Lieutenant Molin, your concerns are indeed reasonable.”
“It seems we must continue to remain vigilant. There may be even harder fighting ahead,” Ludwig concluded.
Very soon, the National Army, the International Brigade, and the follow-up troops of the 16th Infantry Brigade entered the city one after another and conducted a thorough sweep of the interior.
After some time, it was finally confirmed that the enemy had indeed all withdrawn.
After the city was confirmed safe, the baggage train, field hospital, and field kitchens also swiftly followed up, setting up camp on an open space at the edge of the city.
Molin first had the few soldiers in his platoon who were more seriously wounded, but had only received emergency treatment, hurriedly sent to the field hospital. This directly reduced the number of men under him who could still move to 42.
Immediately afterward, he called Platoon Sergeant Klaus aside.
“Klaus, tally the ammunition expenditure for each squad, then take a few men to the company quartermaster and get the ammunition fully replenished.”
“Yes, Platoon Leader!”
“Especially hand grenades. Find a way to get more of them back. If we’re going to face street fighting next, those things are more useful than anything else.”
Platoon Sergeant Klaus quickly accepted the order and left.
“Corporal Baumann!”
“Present!”
“You’re responsible for compiling the list of everyone in the platoon who was killed or wounded. It must be detailed, then handed over to the clerks at company headquarters.”
Molin looked at the young corporal before him, his tone becoming especially solemn.
“You must be careful. Don’t miss a single name, and not even one letter can be wrong. This concerns whether the fallen soldiers’ families can receive their pensions in the end, and it concerns the future lives of their families far away. Do you understand?”
“I understand! Don’t worry, sir!”
Corporal Baumann nodded heavily. The soldiers around him, including some International Brigade volunteers not far away who had pricked up their ears to listen, all showed a subtle change in the way they looked at Molin.
After these miscellaneous matters were handled, Klaus returned with ammunition and two crates of hand grenades, and Baumann and the others also came back to the unit one after another. Soon, an enticing aroma drifted over from the nearby field kitchen.
The hunger welling up in the soldiers’ bellies quickly dispersed the grief of their comrades’ deaths. Though it was cruel, this was indeed a certain portrayal of the battlefield.
If they wailed to the heavens and could not eat every time a comrade was killed, then there would be no need to fight this war at all.
Molin looked at the surviving soldiers of 3rd Platoon, all of them ravenous, and finally waved his hand.
“Third Platoon, all present! Chow time!”
After an entire morning of fierce fighting, both Molin and the soldiers under him had long since been starving.
And today’s combat meal was so abundant it exceeded everyone’s expectations.
The thick soup made from “Erbswurst” had potato chunks added to it. After a long period of stewing, the soup had become even thicker.
There was also no shortage of black bread and hot coffee as the staple food.
Besides these “old three items,” the field kitchen had even extravagantly prepared pan-fried sausages for everyone, with each person receiving an entire one.
The Saxon Empire at this time had evidently not yet reached a period of material shortages, so the supply of military provisions was also extremely ample.
Unlike Imperial Germany in another time and space, where after the sea routes were blockaded and supplies began to run short, soldiers on the front line could only eat bread mixed with large amounts of sawdust.
The Saxon Empire’s pan-fried sausages were not scored with cuts.
The cooks placed each whole sausage directly into the frying pan, where it sizzled in butter until the skin became golden and crisp.
Doing so locked in the meat juices and fat inside the sausage to the greatest extent, ensuring the purest flavor.
As the “king of chow hounds,” who had already become famous throughout the entire company in a short period of time, Molin impatiently found a place to sit after getting his food.
He blew lightly on the steam rising from the sausage, then could not wait to take a big bite.
“Crunch.”
“Hss—haah—”
Though it was somewhat scalding, the instant his teeth bit through that crisp outer skin, the piping-hot meat juices mingled with the rich aroma of meat and burst through his mouth.
In that instant, Molin felt as though his exhausted body and spirit had both been completely healed by this unparalleled delicacy.
He quickly identified it as a very classic Thuringian sausage.
Among the many German-style sausages, it was also one of those that better suited the Chinese palate.
The soldiers around him, looking at their platoon leader’s blissful expression as he ate, could not help swallowing.
They only felt that their own appetites had been thoroughly stirred up as well, and one after another, they lowered their heads and began to feast.