Trenches, Guns, and Magic

As Morin’s words faded, before the officers in the shelter could respond, the sky outside provided a footnote for him.

The direction of the mountain wind changed. Unlike the cool breeze at the foot of the mountain, this gust carried distinct moisture, sweeping down from the higher elevations of the Carpathian Mountains.

Morin stepped out of the shelter and looked up. The previously clear sky over the higher reaches of the Carpathians was being rapidly swallowed by a layer of grayish-white, mist-like clouds.

This phenomenon was extremely common in mountainous areas.

Warm air from the morning ascended the slopes, condensed into clouds upon meeting cold air masses at high altitudes, and then began to rain almost without warning.

Sure enough, a few minutes later, a white expanse began to blur the distant ridgelines—it was a curtain of rain.

“It’s raining already…” Kleist also stepped out, raising a hand to block the glare on his forehead, as sunlight still bathed their location.

The deputy commander of the Kampfgruppe turned to Morin, his expression complex.

What if Morin hadn’t halted the attack half an hour ago?

What would have happened to those infantrymen climbing the steep mountain paths in this sudden downpour?

Soaked uniforms clinging to their bodies, rapid loss of body heat.

Scree slopes turning into mudslides, the cleats on their boots finding no purchase in the muck.

Even worse, the probability of rifle ammunition misfiring would rise significantly in the damp environment, and the soldiers’ wet hands would slip on their weapons.

Encountering this kind of weather halfway through an attack, unable to advance or retreat… that would be a true disaster.

“Commander, this rain is timely…” Kleist muttered softly.

Morin pursed his lips, finally squeezing out a single sentence: “It seems my luck is still pretty good…”

The rain clouds only covered the mid-to-high elevations of the mountains; the assembly area at the foot of the mountain remained dry.

Sunlight even leaked through gaps in the clouds, shining warmly on the roof of the shelter.

In other words, it was sunny and breezy at the bottom of the mountain, while a torrential downpour raged higher up.

The withdrawn allied soldiers were now resting safely, treating the wounded, and resupplying ammunition in temporary shelters at the foot of the mountain.

As for the Romanian defenders in the positions on the mountain, they were in a miserable state.

Defensive positions cannot be easily abandoned, especially with the enemy glaring like tigers at the foot of the mountain. Those Romanian soldiers had no choice but to obediently stay in their fortifications and get drenched.

Although the defensive positions had tunnels and bunkers, the rain in the Carpathian Mountains came suddenly. If tunnel drainage wasn’t prompt, water could accumulate half a foot deep inside.

The situations of the attackers and defenders were completely reversed by a single order to hold.

While the Romanian mountain garrison troops were experienced and certainly had ways to deal with harsh weather, no matter what, after a cold rain, their condition couldn’t possibly be better than the dry attackers.

Nearby, Colonel Holzer stood frozen, staring blankly at the curtain of rain on the mountain for quite a while.

Then, the Austro-Hungarian colonel turned his head, looking at Morin with a completely different expression.

“Colonel Morin… your luck is indeed good, and you are also very decisive.”

“Don’t look at me like that…” Morin waved his hand dismissively.

But Colonel Holzer’s next sentence made Morin realize something he hadn’t paid much attention to before.

“If it were our previous superiors… even if it was hailing right now, they wouldn’t have called for a halt.”

News traveled fast.

The Austro-Hungarian liaison officer, Lieutenant Colonel Sarkozy, was practically a natural-born broadcasting machine in this regard.

It was unknown how he managed to run around, but within an hour, the commanders of the four Austro-Hungarian mountain infantry regiments all knew three things:

First, the Saxon supreme commander halted the attack immediately upon discovering the enemy had used mountain blasting.

Second, shortly after the halt, heavy rain began to fall on the mountain.

Third, this supreme commander was the same allied officer who led troops to quell the Vienna uprising.

Although it was merely a simple order to suspend the attack, it instantly caused a significant shift in how the commanders of the four Austro-Hungarian reinforcing regiments viewed Morin.

Not blindly ordering subordinates to attack, seemingly possessing some skill in command…

Such a superior was far, far better than the previous superiors these mountain troops had.

If it had been certain commanders of the Austro-Hungarian Army, they probably would have gritted their teeth and ordered the troops to charge up the mountain even after the “makeshift airplane” had detonated.

As for this perfectly timed rain…

Luck is a nebulous thing, difficult to explain clearly, but fighting under someone with good luck always makes people feel more secure.

So, when the commanders of the four Austro-Hungarian mountain infantry regiments gathered to “exchange notes,” their minds were already very active.

The commander of the 27th Mountain Infantry Regiment sighed to Colonel Holzer:

“This Saxon’s mind is much clearer than those of our previous superiors.”

Colonel Holzer merely twitched his lips, offering no comment on this statement.

But he silently recalled the details of his conversation with Morin earlier… That young colonel had asked him to sit down and only asked valuable tactical questions, rather than hounding him to assign blame and punish him.

“The Kampfgruppe command will probably reschedule the operational plan later…”

Colonel Holzer finally spoke:

“Perhaps this time we should seriously listen to how he plans to fight.”

While heavy rain poured on the mountain, Morin wasn’t idle. He was frantically scouring every memory fragment in his mind related to mountain warfare.

At the same time, he occasionally used binoculars to look at the mountain. He saw grayish-white rain and mist shrouding the mountainside, completely obscuring the positions on the passes and high grounds.

As time ticked by, he actually recalled some fragmented information.

In theory classes, instructors had taught that during the execution of a division (regiment) combat operation in a mountain offensive, there were 13 main tasks:

Fire preparation and opening pathways.Assault.Expanding and consolidating the breach.Striking (raiding) important targets in the enemy’s depth.Halting and resisting enemy counter-assaults (counterattacks).Second echelon entering combat.Relocating the command post.Attacking and annihilating enemies in depth positions.Searching for and annihilating hidden enemies.Attacking and annihilating enemies holding firm on varying terrain.Actions when encountering enemy nuclear, chemical/biological, or incendiary weapon attacks.Actions when encountering strong enemy electronic strikes.Actions when encountering flash floods or flooded obstacle areas.

Hmm… the last three tasks could be ignored for now, but among the first ten, he hadn’t even executed the first one properly.

To put it bluntly, he had underestimated the enemy.

He thought it was just Romanian garrison troops, thinking he could solve the problem by sneaking an attack in the morning mist, only to have a basin of cold water poured over his head.

“Manstein.”

“Here.”

“Take the staff officers from the artillery regiment and immediately begin drafting a fire preparation plan.”

While speaking, Morin mentally listed all the long-range firepower assets at his disposal.

The 50mm anti-armor artillery company directly under the regimental headquarters, the instruction unit’s own 105mm artillery battalion, the mixed 77mm and 105mm artillery regiment attached to them, and the 77mm horse artillery battalion subordinate to the cavalry regiment.

Plus the light mortars distributed among the various infantry battalions.

“Commander, isn’t this number of artillery pieces a bit low?” Manstein also quickly recalled the Kampfgruppe’s artillery organization.

“Compared to the Western Front, it’s definitely lacking, but it’s enough for fire preparation. The key is how to shoot, where to shoot, and how long to shoot… You and the artillery staff will plan out those specifics.”

Morin thought for a moment and added:

“Keep one thing in mind when drafting the plan: in a mountain environment, trajectories are heavily affected by terrain masking. Once the artillery positions are determined, make the most of the time before nightfall to fire several ranging volleys… This way, the accuracy of firing blind at night won’t be too bad.”

“Understood.”

After Manstein left, it was time for the next matter.

Faced with the recent lesson, Morin finally realized a truth: in a mountain environment, the Saxon Imperial Army’s traditional “mission-type tactics” command model needed some adjustments.

It wasn’t that his subordinates weren’t excellent enough, but rather that the mountains didn’t offer as much room for choices as the plains.

Limited pathways, limited deployment frontage—any small mistake could become a disaster due to the terrain’s amplifying effect.

So he had to plan clear tactical objectives for every echelon and every wave.

When to depart, which path to take, what to do upon reaching a position… making all units extensions of his own hands, rather than fighting their own separate battles.

Morin pulled Paulus over, and the two began drafting new assault plans item by item, comparing them against the map and reconnaissance records.

Paulus was better at this kind of meticulous work than anyone else, even calculating the approximate timelines for each phase.

During a break from their engrossed work, Morin did one last thing.

He had Lieutenant Colonel Sarkozy gather a group of veteran backbones from the four Austro-Hungarian mountain infantry regiments. All of them were seasoned veterans who had dealt with the Romanians in these mountains.

These men were gathered near Morin’s shelter. He sat down beside them, asking them one by one about their past experiences fighting Romanian garrison troops—

Where the enemy liked to place hidden sentries, how they typically reacted to night attacks, what means they primarily relied on for communication between positions…

These older Austro-Hungarian soldiers were a bit reserved at first, after all, an allied colonel was sitting in front of them.

But as the questions continued, they opened up, because everything Morin asked was practical, not the kind of questions a general sitting blindly making decisions in a rear-echelon command post would ask.

A gray-haired Austro-Hungarian veteran NCO even grew more agitated as he spoke, directly squatting on the ground and using pebbles to lay out the approximate layout of the opposing positions, cursing as he did so.

“That son of a bitch fire point! Three years ago, I built that stone breastwork with my own hands! Later, the position was seized by the Romanians, and they continued to expand it significantly based on my foundation…”

Around noon, two pieces of good news arrived one after the other.

The first was a radio message from the rear—the L15 armored airship coming to their aid was about an hour’s flight time away from the Kampfgruppe.

The second was that the first batch of three reconnaissance aircraft from the aviation unit the Crown Prince had sent for support, after multiple transfers, was finally arriving.

The first thing the Kampfgruppe’s engineer unit did upon arriving was find a relatively flat piece of grassland near the assembly area, level all obstructive mounds and rocks, and draw simple guiding lines with white lime—this constituted a “field airfield.”

One of the biggest advantages of the “Taube” reconnaissance aircraft, or early aircraft in general, was their minimal runway requirements.

A few hundred meters of flat grassland, marked lines, and a flag to judge wind direction were sufficient.

Morin took Kleist and Paulus to the field airfield.

The ground crew had already estimated the arrival time based on the flight plan and positioned themselves on both sides of the runway in advance.

When they saw Morin and his entourage approaching, the lead ground crew NCO was clearly startled, probably not expecting the overall commander to personally come here.

Morin didn’t explain much, merely standing by the side of the runway and waiting.

Before long, three black dots appeared in the southern sky. As the distance closed, the drone of the propellers became clearer.

Three “Taube” reconnaissance aircraft, flying in a loose column formation, were gradually decreasing altitude.

Under the observation of Morin and the others, the three aircraft took some time but successively completed their landings right before their eyes.

Although the process was somewhat bumpy, and one plane almost nosedived because it failed to control its attitude, fortunately, the ultimate results were all good.

The pilots jumped down from their cockpits one after another, adjusting their clothes and goggles, then walked briskly towards Morin under the guidance of the ground crew.

Learning that the overall commander of the Kampfgruppe was present, the expressions of all three became much more serious.

The first pilot snapped to attention and saluted: “Air Force Second Lieutenant, Franz von Buchner!”

The second followed: “Air Force Second Lieutenant, Willi Gabriel!”

The third walked up to Morin. Compared to the other two, he appeared very young.

Morin visually estimated him to be of the same age as himself. He wasn’t tall but was lean, the windbreaker appearing somewhat loose on him, and his face still bore lingering tension from the harrowing landing just now.

But after he stood still, his entire demeanor was conversely much steadier than the first two.

“Air Force First Lieutenant, Manfred von Richthofen.”

Morin, who was about to nod, froze.

Manfred von Richthofen…

The Red Baron?

That “Red Baron” Manfred von Richthofen, known as the number one ace pilot of World War I in the world before his transmigration?

Holy crap? Another drop?

The SSR pull rate is really high here…

Although at this current stage, the other party was merely a first lieutenant flying reconnaissance aircraft, his development potential was clearly terrifyingly high.

“First Lieutenant.”

Morin returned the salute, trying to keep his tone normal.

“It is a great pleasure to meet the three of you. For the Kampfgruppe, your three reconnaissance aircraft are an extremely important asset!”

Morin’s words made Manfred and the other two pilots feel somewhat joyful and proud.

After all, while previous commanders also needed aerial reconnaissance, they didn’t seem to value them as highly as Colonel Morin before them did.

This also made the three men involuntarily think that perhaps they would have a much more comfortable time here with the Kampfgruppe?

However, Morin’s next words immediately made the three realize that this commander’s “valuation” of them wasn’t just talk.

“Although your transfer flight was arduous, you cannot rest yet! For the upcoming offensive, I expect the reconnaissance aircraft to begin aerial reconnaissance of the mountainous area as soon as emergency maintenance and refueling are complete.”

“Ah… Yes, Commander!”

The three quickly stood at attention. The expressions on their faces, which had finally relaxed a bit, instantly became serious again.

“Excellent. Then make the most of your time to rest. Once the weather improves, take off early and begin reconnaissance…”

“Commander, one more question,” Manfred suddenly spoke up.

“Speak.”

“The air currents in the mountainous area are complex, and the crosswinds when the ‘Taube’ flies near the valleys are very strong. If we fly low, observation accuracy is high, but the risks also—”

“You pilots will determine the specific details like flight altitude yourselves.”

Morin interrupted him, continuing:

“You are the pilots. You know the matters of the sky better than I do… I only tell you what I need; how to fly is your profession.”

Manfred asked no more, giving a crisp salute.

Watching the young pilot and his two companions turn and run off to the side, a thought suddenly popped into Morin’s head.

The Red Baron in his past life was a super ace famous worldwide for shooting down eighty enemy aircraft, but before becoming a fighter pilot, he also started as a reconnaissance pilot.

In this world, where the aerial combat system would highly likely undergo massive changes, how high could this “OP weapon” he borrowed fly?

“Interesting…”

Morin muttered to himself, then pulled his thoughts back to the mountain range before him.

On the distant mountain peaks, the rain was still falling.

But as Morin stared at the mountain mass shrouded by the curtain of rain, the expression on his face gradually grew cold.

Once the airship arrived and the reconnaissance aircraft began their work…

He was going to show the Romanians what joint fire preparation meant.

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!