Chapter 32: Encounter with the Northumberland Flintlock Regiment

The flanking fire of a heavy machine gun is devastating to dense infantry formations. They were completely exposed to the gun's field of fire; moving forward meant death, retreating meant death, and lying prone in place was death all the same. The gentle slope in front of the highland had become a veritable slaughterhouse.

Platoon Sergeant Klaus and Corporal Jonas wore expressions of shock mixed with fanaticism. They mechanically pulled the charging handles, aimed, and fired, sending bullet after bullet into the bodies of the enemy. They had never imagined that combat could be fought this way. To them, Platoon Leader Morin’s decision was nothing short of genius. After all, no one ever moved heavy machine guns during a tactical advance; in the minds of 99% of the Saxon Army’s soldiers, a machine gun was a purely defensive weapon, impossible to use in an offensive capacity.

The Kingdom Army’s first charge ended in a total rout after more than 70% of the soldiers in the first three ranks were killed on the spot. The dense battalion column following behind those three ranks even attempted to launch a charge against Morin’s position. However, their even tighter formation made the machine gunner’s job all the easier; sometimes, a single .303 bullet could punch through two enemies at once. Within seconds of the machine gun’s line of fire shifting toward them, the entire dense column shattered.

Morin even noticed a hint of a growing, savage grin on the face of the machine gunner, who had been nervous and green before the firing began. It was a smile unique to the power of fire suppression.

Faced with the unreasonable suppression of the machine gun, the surviving soldiers of the Kingdom Army completely collapsed. They wept and screamed, discarding their weapons and scrambling backward, their morale shattered beyond repair. Several officers who still wished to hold their ground raised their sabers, attempting to halt the rout—yes, the Kingdom Army’s officers of all ranks still kept the tradition of carrying sabers. But this act, which made them stand out like sore thumbs on the battlefield, was quickly cut down by the precise marksmanship of Sergeant Klaus and his men.

The Kingdom Army soldiers, who had surged up like a tide, receded from the highland just as quickly. Seeing this, Morin let out a breath and signaled the machine gunner to stop firing.

"That's enough, that's enough! Save the ammunition! There’s more fighting to be done later!"

After saying this, he looked around at his men. "Everyone, check for injuries and report on ammunition status!"

Soon, they finished their checks; no one was injured—or rather, the Kingdom Army had failed to mount any effective counterattack at all. However, everyone had consumed nearly a sixth of their ammunition, and the Vickers machine gun had essentially emptied its first belt.

"The regimental machine gun company really should be deployed to the front lines. They’re already few in number, and now they won't even bring them out to use..."

Morin lay flat on the ground, letting his tense body relax slightly while he couldn't help but complain.

"Platoon Leader, what now?" Sergeant Klaus asked, leaning over to Morin with bright, eager eyes.

"Prepare to shift positions. We’ve already revealed our fire, and the enemy’s next attack might target us specifically..."

Morin climbed up from the ground and turned his attention to the 'system map,' preparing to find a temporary machine gun nest. As it turned out, he found an even better spot. It was slightly further from the crest of the highland, but several large trees, toppled by artillery fire, lay scattered in a way that provided a perfect natural bunker.

He immediately sent a soldier back to the top of the highland to check on the status of the rest of the battalion and to relay his intentions to Captain Hauser. Only after doing this did Morin and the rest of his men, carrying the heavy Vickers, begin their silent relocation.

The routed Kingdom Army soldiers were still fleeing in disarray down the hillside, and no one noticed the movements of this small squad. The entire transfer went surprisingly smoothly.

Once the group arrived at the new temporary position, Morin immediately had them spread out, find cover, and perform a final check on their weapons.

"Drink some water and take a breath. It looks like there's a hard fight coming up."

Morin unscrewed his own canteen for a gulp, and during this rare lull, he immersed his attention fully into the system map in the top-left corner of his vision. As the friendly forces pushed forward along the entire front, the fog of war that had shrouded the outskirts of Seville was largely dispelled, revealing the situation across the entire line.

Red unit markers representing the Kingdom Army were flickering and disappearing one by one. The main offensive force, with the 16th Infantry Brigade at its core, had already seized all the high ground with clear lines of sight to the southeast of Seville. Most of those vantage points had already changed hands.

The markers for two 77mm field artillery battalions were also slowly moving forward, preparing to occupy new positions to provide closer fire support for the coming offensive. The three 105mm howitzer batteries, which were not as mobile, remained in their original positions, continuing their bombardment.

The entire battle situation seemed to be going exceptionally well. At this rate, it seemed to be only a matter of time before the Saxons completely tore through the outer defensive lines of Seville.

Yet, in Morin’s heart, a sense of unease grew heavier. He clearly remembered that the intelligence he had brought back explicitly mentioned several elite enemy units—the Highland Mages, the armored knights of the Order of the Garter, and that Northumberland Fusilier Regiment. The enemy who had captured him when he first arrived in this world had also come from the 4th Battalion of the Northumberland Fusiliers.

But until now, not one of these Britannian elite units had appeared on the map.

Could it be that the enemy truly intended to abandon their outer defenses and bet everything on urban warfare?

The thought flashed through Morin’s mind, but he immediately dismissed it. It did not align with the mainstream military thinking of this era; relying on solid city fortifications to wage urban warfare was a choice made only under the most desperate of disadvantages.

However, before Morin could think it through, a new situation arose.

"Platoon Leader! They’re coming up again!" Sergeant Klaus, who was keeping watch from behind a fallen tree trunk, lowered his voice: "The routed troops have been stopped by their officers and are reforming!"

Almost at the same moment Klaus reported, another brand-new unit appeared in Morin’s field of vision below the highland. Their uniforms were a dusty yellow, starkly different from the black uniforms of the Kingdom Army.

A crisp, rhythmic sound of bugles, mixed with the beat of military drums, drifted up from the slope. The melody was one Morin knew all too well—the Grenadier March.

His heart skipped a beat. He scrambled a few steps to Klaus’s side and raised his binoculars. Through the lenses, the newly arrived Britannian unit looked almost identical to the British Army of the First World War he remembered. Khaki uniforms, topped with those iconic 'Brodie helmets' so favored by directors of Hong Kong action films.

The only difference was that at the very front of their ranks stood rows of soldiers clad in heavy armor. Some held massive two-handed swords, while others carried a kite shield in one hand and a single-handed sword in the other, each radiating a cold, untouchable aura.

On the system map, detailed information about this unit popped up:

[Holy Britannian Empire - Northumberland Fusilier Regiment - 4th Battalion]
[Officers: 30]
[Soldiers and NCOs: 997]