Morin took the order, opened it, and the content was simple:
Due to the excessive consumption of supplies at the front, a large Supply Train needed to be immediately organized to transport ammunition and supplies to the 'Meuse River Battle Group's' attack assembly area under the cover of night—the Instruction Assault Battalion was responsible for the escort along the route.
The order also required the Instruction Assault Battalion, upon completing the escort mission, to directly join the ranks of the 'Meuse River Battle Group.'
Because the casualties from today's attack were too heavy, General von Bulow hoped the Instruction Assault Battalion could help stabilize the line and prevent the enemy from launching a counterattack at night that might break through the entire Battle Group's formation.
This order finally allowed the Instruction Assault Battalion to shed its identity as a 'Benchwarmer' or, perhaps, a 'coffee maker.'
But Morin wasn't happy at all… after seeing the casualties of the frontline troops, probably no one could be happy.
After handing over the official order document, the Dispatch Rider took out an envelope sealed with wax from his coat and gave it to Morin separately.
"Captain, this is a personal letter from General von Bulow to you."
Morin took the letter, feeling a little confused.
What was the old general up to? Why write a separate letter if he could have just put it in the order?
He tore open the envelope and, by the dim light of the hurricane lamp, began to read.
The letter was not long, written by General von Bulow himself, with vigorous and forceful handwriting. But the content of the letter made Morin laugh out loud after finishing it.
The letter's main idea was that he knew the Instruction Assault Battalion was an elite unit valued by the General Staff and a darling of the Crown Prince.
The reason for sending them to the front line this time was mainly to stabilize morale and boost the courage of the troops who had been badly beaten.
Therefore, he hoped Morin would be cautious in battle, absolutely avoid rushing forward, and merely position the unit in a safe location to avoid unnecessary casualties…
"Sir, what did the General say?" Manstein and Kleist leaned in, asking curiously.
"Nothing much, the General praised us as the hope of the Saxon Empire, future pillars of the nation, and told us to fight well, showing off our prestige and spirit~"
Morin handed the letter to them without changing his expression.
The two took the letter and read it, their faces instantly becoming uglier than if they had swallowed a fly.
"Wh-what does this mean?" Kleist's eyes widened. "He wants us to just go up and watch?"
"'Absolutely avoid rushing forward,' 'avoid unnecessary casualties'?"
Manstein's face turned red with anger.
"He is insulting us! What does he take us for? A ceremonial guard unit that can only goose-step on the parade ground?"
Morin looked at the two men, who were filled with righteous indignation, smiled, and took the letter back from Manstein.
"Alright, calm down… the old general has good intentions. He's afraid we might impulsively throw ourselves in and get wiped out."
He said, taking out a match and lighting a corner of the letter paper.
"Sir, what are you doing…?" Kleist and Manstein were stunned.
"Burning it, of course," Morin said matter-of-factly. "Can we keep a letter like this? If someone finds it one day and accuses us of shirking battle, that would lead to a court-martial. Besides, the situation on the battlefield changes rapidly. How can we completely follow the orders of the command post in the rear?"
He watched the letter turn to ash in the flame, then continued speaking to the two:
"Alright, stop overthinking it. Prepare to move out! The order is for us to escort the Supply Train and then stabilize the line… As for how to stabilize it, that's up to us."
His tone was calm, but Kleist and Manstein both sensed a different meaning.
They exchanged glances, both seeing a trace of excitement in the other's eyes.
They knew that their Battalion Commander was never a man who played by the rules.
The process of escorting the Supply Train was unusually smooth; the cover of night was the best camouflage.
The large convoy, protected by the Instruction Assault Battalion's escort, silently advanced towards the front line along the dirt roads common in rural areas.
The Flanders soldiers, who had retreated into the fortresses, did not seem to have any intention of sending troops out for night raids.
They were probably also terrified by the bloody battle during the day and just wanted to stay safely inside their tortoise shells.
In the early hours of the morning, the convoy successfully arrived at the 'Meuse River Battle Group's' assembly area.
The situation here was no better than the Field Hospital in the rear.
The air was also filled with the smell of blood, and weary, dejected soldiers were everywhere.
After Morin commanded the unit to complete the transfer of supplies, he did not immediately order them into the forward positions. Instead, he found a relatively concealed patch of woods and allowed the troops to rest temporarily.
Then, he, along with Manstein and soldiers from the 1st Company, quietly scouted toward the right flank of the attack staging area.
He wanted to see with his own eyes how bad the frontline situation really was.
Soon after arriving, he saw approximately three Saxon battalions being urged by officers to reassemble.
"What are they going to do? Attack again?" Manstein asked in a low voice.
"Looks like it." Morin raised his binoculars. "Is General Emmich insane? Suffering such heavy casualties during the day, and still sending them in tonight… I mean, attacking?"
No sooner had he finished speaking than the soldiers of the three battalions, led by their respective commanders, spread out their formation and rushed towards the Barchon Fortress under the cover of night.
The first half of the advance went smoothly. The attacking troops even quietly crept to within four hundred meters of the fortress.
Just when everyone thought the night raid would succeed, another sudden change occurred.
A dozen blinding searchlight beams suddenly flared up from the direction of the Barchon Fortress.
These beams instantly cut through the night sky, illuminating the attack area as bright as day.
Immediately after, several more flares were fired overhead of the attacking troops. Under the harsh white light, the figures of the panicked Saxon soldiers were exposed without concealment.
The next second, all hell broke loose.
Countless tongues of fire erupted from the Barchon Fortress and the surrounding trenches.
Every weapon capable of firing frantically poured ammunition into the illuminated area.
The soldiers charging at the front were instantly riddled with bullets.
The men behind wanted to flee but found themselves completely exposed to the enemy's fire, with nowhere to hide.
Screams and wails echoed through the night.
Through his binoculars, Morin watched helplessly as the three battalions of soldiers had their formations crippled in just a few short minutes.
"It's over…" Manstein's voice was trembling.
This was no longer a battle; it was a unilateral slaughter.
The few survivors, no longer concerned with the attack order, cried out and fled towards the rear.
The entire assault had completely collapsed.
"This is simply a disaster," Morin said, his face pale with fury, as he lowered his binoculars.
Manstein, standing beside him, was also pale, his lips trembling.
Although he had participated in several large-scale exercises at the General Staff, an exercise was an exercise—it was completely different from the bloody, real battlefield before his eyes.
"Sir… we…" He tried to say something but found himself unable to utter a single word.
Morin ignored him, as he noticed that the situation seemed to be worsening.
The night raid failed, and the Saxon attacking force collapsed. The morale of the Grand Duchy of Flanders soldiers, after repelling the raid, soared.
From the direction of the Barchon Fortress, successive bugle calls for a charge suddenly rang out.
Following this, a large number of Flanders soldiers rushed out of their trenches and fortifications, shouting and brandishing their rifles, launching a counter-charge against the fleeing Saxon soldiers.
"Damn it, we're in trouble!" Morin cursed inwardly.
The three Saxon battalions were already severely depleted and morale-shattered. Now, with the enemy's counter-charge, they had no chance of organizing an effective defense.
If the enemy managed to close in and engage, not only would these three battalions be completely wiped out, but the entire line of the 'Meuse River Battle Group' could be breached.
At that point, it would be a complete and utter rout.
They cannot be allowed to succeed!
"Dispatch Rider!"
Morin made a decisive call, shouting to a Dispatch Rider from the 1st Company beside him: "Return to the camp immediately! Notify Adjutant Kleist to bring the main force forward to prepare for the reception! Hurry!"
"Yes, Sir!"
The soldier acknowledged the order and immediately ran towards the rear.
After issuing the command, Morin grabbed Manstein, who was still in a daze.
"Don't just stand there! Follow me!"
He led Manstein and the remaining 1st Company soldiers to maneuver quickly towards the right flank of the enemy's counter-charging force.
They quickly found a small patch of woods with an excellent position.
If it were daytime, this sparse patch of woods would offer little cover.
But now it was night, and the sparse trees could completely conceal the 1st Company soldiers.
In the distance, the Flanders counter-charging troops were shouting and rushing across the open ground.
"1st Company! Deploy by platoon! Move fast!"
Morin ordered in a low voice—it is worth mentioning that the 1st Company had not yet had a formal Company Commander appointed and was temporarily led by Company Sergeant Klaus.
Morin had actually rotated several Company Commanders, but the new ones never properly integrated. On top of that, the unit suddenly moved out, so he had to put the matter aside for now.
The soldiers of the 1st Company were all veterans who had rolled through the bloody carnage of Aragon. Their psychological fortitude and tactical proficiency were incomparable to the soldiers of the other three companies.
Hearing the order, they displayed no panic, immediately deploying into combat formation at the edge of the woods in squad units.
According to the current firepower configuration of the Instruction Assault Battalion, in a single infantry platoon's four squads, besides the standard Gew.98 Rifles, each squad was equipped with one MG14 Light Machine Gun, and eight men out of the 20-man squad carried an MP14 Submachine Gun.
This meant the entire company's automatic firepower consisted of 12 Light Machine Guns and 96 Submachine Guns—a density of firepower unimaginable to other infantry companies of the same era.
The Flanders counter-charging troops were completely unaware that a hungry tiger had opened its blood-soaked jaws on their flank.
They appeared excited and fanatical.
The searchlights on the Barchon Fortress illuminated the fleeing Saxon soldiers ahead of them but also clearly exposed their own figures to Morin's guns.
"Wait until they get closer…" Morin lay prone, staring intently at the approaching enemy through his binoculars.
"Fire!"
When the enemy's vanguard rushed to within less than a hundred meters of the woods, Morin decisively gave the order to open fire.
(End of this Chapter)