Chapter 28: Long Range Means You Can Do Whatever You Want

Extreme exhaustion caused Morin to sleep like the dead, and he was only forcibly roused from his deep slumber when his stomach began to protest.

He opened his eyes to a pitch-black tent, save for a faint, stubborn glimmer of light filtering in from an oil lamp hanging outside.

"Platoon Leader, are you awake?"

A hushed voice sounded at the tent flap; it was his orderly, Hans.

"Why does it feel like I’ve been asleep for ages... what time is it?"

"Just past twelve. Please, have something to eat."

"How is it so late already? I really slept..."

Seeing he was awake, Hans immediately passed in a mess kit kept warm by the embers of a fire, along with a chunk of black bread. Morin took the still-warm container, and upon opening it, a rich, savory aroma of meat broth surged upward. It seemed the field kitchen had provided an extra serving for dinner tonight—there was even canned beef in the "bouillon."

Having eaten nothing substantial all day aside from a meal before reconnaissance, Morin abandoned any pretense of decorum. He devoured the food in a flurry, finishing it off with the black bread in a matter of moments. Watching his platoon leader eat, Hans’s stereotype of him as the "company’s bottomless pit" deepened further.

"By the way, Platoon Leader, a messenger from company headquarters came by an hour ago. We are to break camp at 4:30 sharp."

"What was that?"

Morin looked up, surprised. He wiped his mouth and asked, "Why didn't you wake me when the messenger arrived?"

Hans scratched his head, looking a bit embarrassed. "The platoon sergeant said you were too exhausted and needed the rest... The messenger also said Captain Hauser specifically gave orders not to disturb you if you were still sleeping."

Morin’s hand paused with the empty mess kit. He realized that in this army, which still felt foreign to him, something other than mere discipline and orders was quietly taking root.

"Thank you all, but as the military commander of the 3rd Platoon, you must wake me the next time a messenger arrives. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Platoon Leader!"

After eating, Morin did not return to sleep but instead rose to leave the tent. He made a circuit of the 3rd Platoon’s temporary encampment to check the sentry posts. Only after confirming that the soldiers who had been on the day's mission with him, including Corporal Bowman, were resting soundly in their tents did he feel at ease returning to his own to rest.

At 3:50 AM, Platoon Sergeant Klaus appeared outside his tent right on cue, and Morin climbed off his cot just as promptly.

The two exchanged a few brief words, and by 4:10 AM, they sounded the assembly whistle, rousing the sleeping soldiers to gather their gear and strike the tents. By 4:30 AM, the 3rd Platoon was assembled at the designated point. Soon, the entire company merged into the massive marching column of the First Battalion, flowing like a silent river of ink under the cover of night toward the designated attack positions.

It was during this time that Morin noticed a new entry in the system’s "Intelligence" tab.

"Wait, armored airships??? What kind of unit is that? Are we having war beasts entering the field?"

The horizon began to glow with the pale light of dawn. On a high ground outside the city of Seville, the Kingdom Army’s reveille shattered the morning silence. Soldiers at the magic crystal cannon emplacements crawled out of their makeshift shacks, grumbling as they began the day’s maintenance.

"Damn it, this thing is harder to please than my wife," an old veteran complained while carefully wiping the complex runes on the cannon with a soft cloth soaked in a special liquid. Another soldier checked the core magic crystal, ensuring it remained untainted.

The soldiers were completely unaware that, behind a patch of slightly elevated woodland about four kilometers away, a Saxon field artillery battery had them in its sights.

On a makeshift earthwork, the Saxon battery captain stood on a two-meter-high observation vehicle, using scissor-type artillery binoculars for final ranging. Once he had the rough distance and coordinates, he had his messenger use a field-expedient short-range telephone line to transmit the data to the howitzer firing position.

The firing position was lined with four leFH 98/09 105mm howitzers, manned by an artillery sergeant in charge of firing commands and another messenger receiving data from the observation post. As the sergeant relayed the coordinates, the gunner of the leftmost howitzer adjusted the indirect fire dial sight and cranked the elevation and traversing gears.

When the clock hit the designated time, the sergeant swung his red flag down sharply.

"Number one gun, ranging shot, fire!"

"Boom!"

The leftmost howitzer roared, the thunder of the shell leaving the barrel tearing through the morning stillness. A dozen seconds later, a small plume of dust rose on the distant hill. The Kingdom’s magic crystal cannon position fell into immediate chaos; through the observation lens, they looked like a colony of ants suddenly stirred into action.

"Too far! Bearing unchanged, shorten range by one hundred!" the captain barked, eyes glued to the lens.

Correction data was relayed back, the gunners adjusted the elevation and reloaded, and the second blast followed. This time, the shell landed in front of the position.

"Bracketing achieved!"

The captain on the observation vehicle grinned. After two rounds, he had confirmed the target’s range was within a hundred-meter bracket.

"Bearing unchanged, add fifty to the range! Full battery, fire for effect!"

Shortly after the order, all four 105mm howitzers fired in unison. The shells whistled with the sound of death through the damp morning air, landing precisely on the complaining Kingdom artillery position. In the violent explosions, soil, stone, and human remains were tossed into the sky. The most well-maintained magic crystal cannon at the front of the position was reduced to twisted scrap in the first volley.

Seeing the average impact point was slightly too far forward, the captain made a final adjustment.

"Full battery, add twenty-five to the range! Three rounds, rapid fire!"

"Boom-boom-boom-boom!"

This time, the entire height was swallowed by fire and thick smoke. The surviving Kingdom soldiers broke completely, abandoning their weapons and the precious magic crystal cannons, fleeing toward the rear in a panicked, disorderly rout.

And this was merely the prelude to the overture of the entire battle.

Across the outskirts of Seville, every magic crystal cannon position marked by Morin and the other reconnaissance teams suffered successive, devastating strikes from two 77mm field gun battalions and three 105mm howitzer batteries. The Saxon artillery proved with facts that truth lies only within the range of the cannons.

Perhaps the Kingdom’s magic crystal cannons were indeed powerful, but in terms of range and artillery tactics, they remained inferior to the Saxon Empire. Consequently, in the first round of attacks specifically targeting these positions, the Kingdom artillerymen, trained by Britannia, were unable to mount any effective countermeasure.

On the Saxon side, besides batteries like the 105mm unit that could use observation vehicles for direct guidance, large observation balloons rose above the terrain where line-of-sight was limited. These behemoths hung nearly three hundred meters in the air, not only guiding the Saxon fire with precision but allowing observers in the baskets to overlook the entire battlefield.

To them, the Kingdom forces on the outskirts of Seville looked like ants in a hot pan, scurrying about in panic and disorder. An observer turned his binoculars toward the outer perimeter. Between the farmland, forests, and winding country paths, a massive gray arc formed by soldiers in field-gray uniforms and mixed attire appeared.

At this moment, the arc was tightening around Seville, slow but unstoppable, like a tightening noose.