To tell the story from two ends— opposite the various defense lines of the Morin Kampfgruppe, the 3rd and 4th Divisions of the Serbian Second Army, completely blocked off, were in a miserable state.
In the temporary joint command post merged from the two divisions, the two division commanders looked at the desperately busy staff officers around them, saw the tense expressions on their faces, and then considered the current predicament of their two divisions. They couldn't help but smoke one cigarette after another in gloomy silence.
Both division commanders were veterans of the Balkan Wars, considered valiant and skilled generals within the Serbian Army. But the expressions on their faces at this moment had long lost any trace of high spirits.
Never in their wildest dreams did they imagine that a breakout operation, which seemingly shouldn't have gone wrong, would devolve into such a grueling, bloody battle.
The strength of two full divisions, totaling nearly forty thousand soldiers, was pinned down dead on this plain barely ten-odd kilometers wide, entirely unable to move.
Is this right?
This isn't right...
That Saxon unit, appearing like ghosts behind them last night and wiping out the corps headquarters in one fell swoop, displayed a terrifying combat power they had never seen or even imagined.
And now, this unit lay across their path home like an insurmountable iron wall.
Since early morning, based on the deployment capacity of the terrain, they had organized several waves of battalion-level attacks, attempting to force a breach along the few roads capable of accommodating large troop movements.
But every time, after charging less than a hundred meters, the attacking troops were pinned down by the crossfire pouring from the positions on both sides. Ultimately, after suffering heavy casualties, they retreated in disgrace.
The opponent's fire support was also absurdly strong, with at least one artillery battalion providing direct support.
The artillery regiments attached to these two Serbian divisions naturally attempted to use artillery fire to support the frontline attacks.
Although they were equipped with field guns of calibers under 100mm, they were still much stronger than the antique bronze cannons of the Austro-Hungarian Empire.
But terrifyingly, after the two division artillery regiments deployed and began shelling, they would only manage to complete two volleys, not even finishing their ranging, before facing counter-battery fire from the enemy artillery.
The Saxons' artillery fire was exceptionally precise. Basically, they only needed one ranging volley, immediately followed by rapid-fire coverage...
Even though the two field artillery regiments tried changing their firing positions, the moment they opened fire, it wouldn't be long before the opponent's shells smashed down.
After this back-and-forth artillery duel... or rather, after being unilaterally beaten a few times, the two division commanders halted the shelling. If they kept fighting, both their artillery regiments would be wiped out.
And several battalion commanders retreating from the front lines carried the terror of surviving a disaster on their faces when reporting to the division commanders.
One battalion commander even stated with absolute certainty that the Saxon positions opposite them had deployed at least "a hundred machine guns."
"Division Commander, that wasn't a battle at all; I was simply ordering my soldiers to commit suicide!"
That battalion commander described with a trembling voice:
"As soon as our soldiers charged out, before they could even disperse their formation, the enemy's hundred heavy machine guns opened fire. Bullets poured over like rain! The gunfire merged into one continuous sound without stopping!"
"A hundred heavy machine guns?"
Hearing this absurd number, the two division commanders definitely didn't believe it.
No matter how capable the Saxon Empire was, it was impossible to equip a moderately sized elite unit with 100 heavy machine guns.
This wasn't a matter of sufficient military funding, but rather that carrying 100 heavy machine guns would definitely make normal maneuvering impossible, let alone allowing the opponent to outflank to their rear.
But even so, from the casualty figures of their troops, the two division commanders indirectly felt the terror of the enemy's firepower.
"Perhaps the Saxons are equipped with more light automatic weapons; that's the only possibility right now..." one of the division commanders guessed.
"Discussing the opponent's equipment is meaningless now. What's important is how we should break through the opponent's defense line."
The other division commander waved his hand. After several successive probing attacks ended in disastrous defeat, the commander of the 3rd Division could no longer sit still.
It was precisely under these circumstances that he gritted his teeth and ordered the deployment of the two Armored Knights directly subordinate to the division headquarters.
This was the last trump card in his hand...
The two division commanders gathered nervously in the command post, full of expectation, waiting for the good news from the front of clearing a breakout route.
In the cognition of the 3rd Division commander, Armored Knights facing pure infantry positions were invincible existences.
As long as they could charge onto the enemy's position, the infantry's defense line would naturally collapse.
"Don't worry, old friend."
The 3rd Division commander patted the equally worried 4th Division commander beside him.
"As long as the Armored Knights launch their attack, everything will be fine!"
The 4th Division commander also nodded, deeply agreeing.
In his view, no matter how well the Saxon infantry could fight or how many machine guns they had, it was absolutely impossible for them to withstand the frontal charge of two Armored Knights.
However, reality quickly dealt them a resounding slap in the face.
These two Serbian Army division commanders never expected that the next news from the front wouldn't be the tidings of victory about breaching the position, but the nightmare that the two Armored Knights were cleanly and efficiently destroyed by the enemy in front of the position mid-charge.
When a staff officer ran over panting to report this news, the 3rd Division commander felt his vision go dark, almost fainting on the spot.
Those were the most precious units of his entire division! Just gone?
Although the 4th Division commander was equally shocked speechless, a trace of rejoicing rose in his heart.
Thank goodness, thank goodness... it wasn't his two units that were lost...
When the 3rd Division commander finally managed to catch his breath with the support of the adjutant beside him, he grabbed the staff officer's collar and roared:
"What exactly happened? How exactly did those Saxons do it?! Have their mages gone to the front lines too?"
The staff officer, who had returned from supervising the battle on the front lines, also had a look of bewilderment and fear at this moment.
"Reporting, Division Commander... we didn't see clearly either..."
He stammered in reply.
"After the attack started, the two Armored Knights charged at the very front... and then we heard two strange cannon sounds from the enemy position. The sound wasn't loud but very crisp, completely different from our field guns..."
"And then?"
"And then... and then our two Armored Knights just... just stopped, then started billowing black smoke... and then... they exploded..."
A deathly silence fell over the command post.
All the staff officers and commanders looked at each other. They couldn't fathom what kind of weapon could so easily destroy an Armored Knight.
Just then, another staff officer responsible for casualty statistics walked over, his face pale, and handed over a report.
"Sirs... we... we better pause the offensive for now."
"From this morning until now, the casualties of the attacking troops have been simply too high... In our company and battalion-level attacks, we have basically lost units structurally in front of the enemy's positions."
"If we keep fighting like this, the soldiers below might mutiny!"
With the battle reaching this point, the two division commanders finally realized they were facing an enemy completely beyond their comprehension.
After losing massive amounts of effective strength and their final trump card, they had no choice but to temporarily call off these suicidal attacks.
They then ordered the troops to temporarily pull back and rest, leaving only a batch of observation posts at the front to monitor the Saxons' movements from a distance.
As the gunfire of the offensive gradually thinned out, an atmosphere of despair and exhaustion permeated the rear positions of the 3rd and 4th Divisions of the Serbian Second Army.
The groans of wounded soldiers, the helpless sighs of officers, and the vacant stares of ordinary soldiers formed a picture of a defeated army.
Out of caution, the two division commanders relocated their temporary command post to a sparse grove of trees. They sat around a crude camp table covered with a map filled with red markings.
"We are completely trapped."
The 4th Division commander drew a circle on the map with his finger, circling their current position.
"All roads are blocked, and there are enemy cavalry roaming the flanks... We are like rats trapped in a cage."
Hearing the other's words, the 3rd Division commander's face turned dark. Having just lost two precious Armored Knights, his mood was abysmal. It took a long time before he spoke with a hoarse voice:
"A forced assault is impossible. The enemy's firepower is too fierce; our soldiers can't charge up... Continuing to fight is just throwing lives away."
"Then what should we do?" The 4th Division commander looked at him. "We can't just sit here and wait for death, waiting for the Saxon main forces to surround us and swallow us whole like they did the First Army, right?"
The two division commanders fell into a long silence.
They wracked their brains trying to find a way out of this desperate situation, but the problem was they couldn't find any other exit on the map.
Furthermore, the situation in other directions was unclear. For these commanders without map hacks, they were truly under the "fog of war."
Just as the two division commanders were sitting face-to-face constantly sighing, a communications soldier hurried in holding a freshly decoded telegram.
"Reporting, Division Commander! Received a telegram from the Third Army headquarters!"
This telegram, like a life-saving straw, made the two division commanders raise their heads instantly.
"A telegram from the Third Army? Quick! Read it to me!"
The communications soldier cleared his throat and read loudly:
"To all units of the Second Army:
Our army, from last night until this morning, dealt a decisive blow to the opposing Austro-Hungarian Fifth Army Group.
The enemy forces have routed across the entire line and are fleeing towards the direction of the Saxon main force.
Our army is in close pursuit and has posed a severe threat to the flank of the Saxon Fifth Army Group.
We hope your units will not panic and can attempt to move towards our army's direction!
After converging, we will merge our forces to attack from inside and out, jointly shattering the Saxons' conspiracy.
Victory shall surely belong to Greater Serbia!"
After reading the telegram, the tent was dead silent.
The two division commanders looked at each other. The expressions on their faces were exceptionally complex, a mix of pleasant surprise and deep suspicion.
"The Third Army... defeated the Austro-Hungarian army again?"
The 3rd Division commander muttered to himself, his tone full of uncertainty.
"Is... is this true?"
"I don't know, but they want us to move towards them..."
The 4th Division commander took the telegram paper from the messenger, glanced at it, and then gestured on the map with his finger:
"From our position to the Third Army's likely current position, we need to turn back north and cross a large area... If this is true, then we are saved!"
A trace of vitality seemed to be injected back into the originally dead-silent tent.
Several staff officers also gathered around, their faces showing the excitement of surviving a disaster.
"Excellent! General! As long as we can converge with the Third Army, we will have a strength of over five divisions! When that time comes, let alone breaking out, surrounding these Saxons in return won't be a problem!"
"Exactly!"
"The counterattack begins now!"
However, amidst this small celebration, the 4th Division commander slowly calmed down.
His brows furrowed tightly, an ominous thought flashing through his mind.
He remembered the telegram from the "headquarters" last night.
That telegram said the First Army had successfully broken out, telling them to rest in place and prepare to retreat.
But what was the result?
The result was the First Army was entirely surrounded by the Saxons, and now they were out of contact, their fate likely grim!
And they themselves, because of that fake telegram, missed the best opportunity to break out and were firmly trapped here.
Similarly sent in cleartext, similarly reporting good news and suppressing bad news, similarly ordering them to execute a massive troop movement...
Was all this too coincidental?
"Wait!" The 4th Division commander abruptly raised his hand, halting everyone's discussion.
His gaze swept over everyone present, his voice becoming exceptionally serious:
"Have you forgotten what happened last night?"
This single sentence was like a basin of ice water, instantly extinguishing the fire over everyone's heads.
The tent fell into silence once again.
Right, how could they forget?
It was precisely that damn fake telegram that trapped them all here.
The joy on the 3rd Division commander's face instantly faded, replaced by a look of vigilance and lingering fear.
"You mean... this telegram might also be fake? A trick by the Saxons?"
"I can't be certain."
The 4th Division commander shook his head.
"But we can no longer easily trust any cleartext telegram of unknown origin... Since the Saxons could forge one once, they can forge it a second time... They are too cunning."
A young communications staff officer who had just hurried over couldn't help but speak up:
"But General, the format and transmission frequency of this telegram are completely identical to the Third Army's previous communications with us... I've already had it verified; it doesn't look like a forgery."
"What about last night's?"
The 4th Division commander asked in return:
"Wasn't last night's the same? Since the Saxons could capture our corps headquarters' radio, what difficulty is there in mimicking our communication format?"
"It was the Saxons who launched the attack last night. Their elite troops might indeed be able to achieve this, but the ones engaging the Third Army are the Austro-Hungarian troops. Do they... have this capability?"
"...Now that you mention it, that seems to make some sense..."
A cruel dilemma lay before the two division commanders.
Believe this telegram, break out north.
If the telegram was true, they could converge with the Third Army and find life in a desperate situation.
But if the telegram was fake, such a massive troop movement would highly likely plunge them headfirst into another trap pre-set by the Saxons, leaving them without even a chance to struggle.
Disbelieve this telegram, stay here.
Then they could only sit and wait for death, being eaten layer by layer like peeling an onion by the steady stream of Saxon reinforcements arriving.
This was a choice gambling with the lives of nearly forty thousand soldiers of two divisions.
"We... we have to find a way to verify it."
The 3rd Division commander said with a dry voice:
"Send people... send our most elite scouts, or we dispatch messengers ourselves, find a way to bypass them and establish direct contact with the Third Army!"
"It's too late."
The 4th Division commander shook his head wearily, pointing to the enemy unit cards marked on the map:
"Look, we are surrounded by the Saxons like an iron barrel. Troops have reported multiple times that there are cavalry roaming around. Our scouts simply cannot infiltrate out."
"Even if we could send them out, how long would a round trip take? Two days or three days? Can we hold out that long?"
The 4th Division commander carried a somewhat "pessimistic aura." Once he spoke these words, the atmosphere of despair instantly shrouded the entire tent again.
However, when humans face desperate situations, even a sliver of illusory hope will be magnified infinitely.
The 3rd Division commander stared fixedly at the telegram, his breathing becoming rapid.
He had been pushed to his limits by the current predicament; his reason was being swallowed by the instinct to survive.
"No... we have to gamble!"
He slammed the table and stood up.
"Staying here is waiting for death. Breaking out north, we at least have a fifty-percent chance of survival! What if... what if the telegram is real?"
"What if it's fake?!" the 4th Division commander retorted sharply. "Then we are completely finished!"
"That's still better than being slowly worn to death here!"
The 3rd Division commander also grew agitated, shouting at the other:
"Look at how much ammunition we have left! How much food we have left! We can hold out for two more days at most! After two days, even if the Saxons don't attack, we'll collapse on our own first!"
The argument between the two division commanders kept the surrounding staff officers quiet out of fear.
The two commanders had diverging opinions: one favored risking it all, the other favored cautious survival.
However, neither could convince the other.
Time ticked by, minute by minute, amidst this endless argument and hesitation.
The sun slowly dipped to the west, dyeing the clouds on the horizon blood-red.
And that telegram, whose authenticity was difficult to determine, lay quietly on the table, as if mocking their indecision.
April 30, afternoon.
The battlefield, after a full day and night of fierce fighting, gradually fell into silence.
The sounds of gunfire and artillery gradually thinned out, leaving only the occasional sporadic sniper shots in the distance, and the whimpering sound of the wind blowing across the defense lines.
Whether attackers or defenders, it seemed they had all fought to their limits.
For these two besieged divisions of the Serbian Second Army, they had bled their last drop.
Continuous suicidal charges had exhausted their stamina and courage, and depleted their already meager ammunition reserves.
At this moment, the surviving soldiers hid in crude bunkers, their eyes numb as they gnawed on hard, dry bread, lacking even the courage to raise their heads and look at the opposing positions.
Their division commanders were still arguing endlessly over the authenticity of that telegram, unable to make a final decision.
This hesitation at the command level also caused the entire force to completely lose their final opportunity to break out.
Because in their rear, the vanguard units of the 4th Guard Reserve Infantry Division, arriving at noon, had completely sealed off their final retreat route and routed a rearguard infantry regiment.
Now, they were truly turtles in a jar.
For the Saxons, the high-intensity defensive operations were equally draining.
Even though the instruction unit soldiers' qualities in all aspects far exceeded other armies, continuous nervous tension and combat had left them exhausted.
Furthermore, Morin strictly prohibited the instruction unit from using any addictive "enhancement drugs," so physiological fatigue had begun to erode everyone.
Moreover, although they successfully withstood the enemy's frenzied counterattacks, their ammunition consumption rate far exceeded expectations.
Every position was requesting resupply from the rear. Many MG14 light machine gun barrels were even burned out and needed replacing, and the ammunition boxes at the artillery positions were more than half empty.
In Morin's view, consuming these two firmly encircled units was already a certainty; it was merely a matter of time.
Since that was the case, there was no need to force his exhausted soldiers to continue the offensive.
Thus, the various parties on the battlefield coincidentally chose a temporary ceasefire, seizing this precious time to rest, replenish, and reorganize.
Around 5:30 PM, just as the communications soldiers in Morin's command post were busy coordinating ammunition resupply for the various units, a travel-worn messenger rode a fast horse into the instruction unit's temporary regimental camp.
He came from the northern defense line, the position of the 4th Battalion of the 12th Guard Reserve Infantry Regiment.
"Reporting, Colonel!"
The messenger dismounted, not even having time to drink a sip of water, rushed to Morin's command truck, and reported loudly:
"Major Hoffmann, Commander of the 4th Battalion, reports discovering a massive number of Austro-Hungarian soldiers approaching from the direction they are monitoring!"
Morin was planning the next phase of the encirclement and annihilation on the map. Hearing the report, he didn't even raise his head, merely asking calmly:
"How many people?"
"The number... is very large. A dense, dark mass. The 4th Battalion estimates it to be close to regimental size, surging towards us!"
"Regimental size?" Morin finally raised his head, his brows furrowed slightly.
The messenger swallowed hard and added: "Yes, Commander... The 4th Battalion's scouts took the risk of getting close to observe. They found that although those people are wearing Austro-Hungarian Army uniforms, their formation is chaotic, and many have even discarded their weapons. They look... they look like they are fleeing."
Hearing the words "Austro-Hungarian Empire" and "fleeing," Morin's heart immediately skipped a beat.
He opened the system map without changing his expression.
The next second, the corner of his eye couldn't help but twitch.
He saw that on the system map, north of the blue unit cards representing his Kampfgruppe, a massive, densely packed cluster of friendly green unit cards had appeared at some unknown time.
These unit cards were moving chaotically, without any order. Above each unit card, the system marked the same word in bright red text—[Routing].
Morin was instantly speechless:
"It really is true that whatever you fear most comes to pass."
The very thing he worried about most before launching the operation had finally happened.
Although he had just received the notification telegram sent to all units by the Fifth Army Group command, he didn't expect there would actually be Austro-Hungarian routed soldiers fleeing in this direction.
Morin knew very well how terrifying the impact of routed soldiers was; it was pure disaster.
Thousands of mindless deserters would crash through everything like a flood. Their panic was contagious, enough to cause even a highly disciplined unit to collapse along with them.
"Order the 4th Battalion to maintain the highest state of alert and fire warning shots in front of the position!"
Morin's voice instantly became cold and decisive:
"Simultaneously, use megaphones to tell them this is the Saxon Army defense sector. Order them to halt their advance immediately, otherwise we will treat them as hostile targets!"
"Yes!" The messenger received the order and was about to turn away.
"Wait!"
Morin stopped him, quickly wrote a hand-written order, stamped it, and then continued:
"Tell Major Hoffmann that His Highness the Crown Prince has authorized all Saxon combat units, when necessary, to employ all means to maintain the stability of the positions... all means, do you understand?"
Hearing this, the messenger's body involuntarily stood straighter.
He naturally understood the meaning of "all means."
"I understand, Commander!"
He saluted solemnly, took Morin's hand-written order, mounted his horse again, and galloped northward.
Watching the messenger's retreating figure, Morin rubbed his throbbing temples.
He knew the ensuing scene might be very ugly...
But he had no choice. He absolutely could not let these routed Austro-Hungarians crash through the defense line he had painstakingly stabilized.
At the position of the 4th Battalion of the 12th Guard Reserve Infantry Regiment, Battalion Commander Major Hoffmann held his binoculars, his palms full of sweat.
On the northern horizon, that torrent composed of routed soldiers was getting closer and closer. The outer reconnaissance units deployed by the 4th Battalion had all withdrawn.
This posture didn't look like friendly forces approaching, but an enemy launching an attack...
Just then, the messenger returning from the regimental headquarters finally arrived, handing the authorization document into his hands.
When he saw the contents of the document clearly, especially the line "Authorized to shoot cowards and those charging the line," Hoffmann was completely stunned.
Telling him to fire on his own allies?
This...
Never in his wildest dreams did Hoffmann imagine that the first time he faced such a difficult decision in his military career, it would actually be turning his guns on his own allied army.
"Battalion Commander?" The adjutant beside him saw his expression was wrong and reminded softly, "They are getting closer. What do we do?"
Hoffmann took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down.
He was a soldier; executing orders was his bounden duty.
He must execute the orders from His Highness the Crown Prince and Colonel Morin.
"Pass my order! All light and heavy machine gun squads to firing positions!"