At the position of the 3rd Company, 2nd Battalion of the instruction unit, the combat traces and damaged trenches from last night hadn't been fully repaired yet.
Combat engineers and infantry mingled together, filling dirt and tamping it down. Occasionally, someone would straighten up and wipe the grime off their face with the back of their hand. Everyone's face showed obvious signs of exhaustion.
As for the casualties of their comrades... these instruction unit soldiers had long come to terms with it.
In last night's battle, the various positions of the instruction unit annihilated the majority of the attacking "Vukodlak." Although some surviving "Vukodlak" managed to escape, the night raid was definitively repelled.
The instruction unit itself, however, sustained casualties ranging from 5% to 10%.
After all, the enemy was a true supernatural force, and the conditions of close-quarters night combat were a pure "buff" for the "Vukodlak."
Under these circumstances, expecting the instruction unit to "clear the stage without taking damage" as they used to—relying solely on Morin's "hacks"—was clearly insufficient...
At this moment, the sky over the battlefield was completely bright, but the thin mist on the wilderness hadn't fully dissipated.
The drone of an engine flew over from the south, cutting through the morning breeze and heading north.
"It's ours."
A soldier shoveling dirt onto the trench lip raised his head slightly, caught a glimpse of the black cross on the wings, and lowered his head to continue working.
"Nothing to worry about, keep working!"
A soldier beside him took an extra look. Seeming to see the pilot's outstretched arm, this soldier asked in confusion: "Why is he flying so low? And it looks like he's waving..."
"Probably just saying hello~" the soldier shoveling dirt replied without looking up.
But Veteran NCO Jaeger, squatting by the trench lip smoking, didn't move, tracking the plane with his eyes for quite a while.
The plane didn't fly far; it banked and came back.
A second time.
A third time.
And flying lower and lower, so low they could even catch the momentary glint of the pilot's flight goggles.
Jaeger noticed the hand sticking out of the cockpit—it wasn't a simple wave, but repeatedly pointing toward the northwest, over and over, as if forcefully emphasizing something.
"That's not a greeting."
He crushed his cigarette butt into the mud, stood up, and kicked the light machine gunner next to him, who had already started "pecking rice like a chicken" (nodding off).
"Stop sleeping, wake up and get ready..."
"Master Sergeant, what happened?" The light machine gunner rubbed his face groggily, but his body sprang up reflexively, and he began tinkering with the light machine gun.
"Why ask so many questions? If I tell you to get ready, get ready."
Just then, the 3rd Platoon's second lieutenant jogged over from the other end, his expression full of confusion.
"Jaeger, that plane just now—"
"That pilot was sounding an alarm."
Jaeger pointed to the sky; the plane had flown far away and disappeared.
"A pilot on a reconnaissance mission wouldn't lower himself to this altitude just to say 'hello'... He was pointing northwest—that's where those two Serbian infantry divisions we blocked are."
The second lieutenant was stunned for two seconds, immediately reacted, and turned to shout behind him.
"Messenger!"
Such scenes played out across several of the instruction unit's positions.
In some places, it was the platoon leader who realized it; in others, an NCO... At another location, a veteran sunbathing on the trench lip with his rifle on his back happened to watch the low-flying reconnaissance aircraft's movements the whole time, then turned his head and went straight to the squad leader.
The way these people handled it was surprisingly consistent—first order their subordinates into combat readiness, while simultaneously reporting upwards.
This was a requirement Morin had established for officers and commanders at all levels of the instruction unit from the beginning: under combat conditions, if a situation is discovered, there is no need to wait for orders; they can act independently, but must simultaneously report upwards.
The news flooded toward the headquarters via both radio telegrams and messengers. Before long, seven or eight urgent notifications, differently worded but identical in content, piled up in front of Kleist and Manstein.
The two, whose combat experience was now relatively abundant and who were no longer the greenhorn officers they once were, quickly guessed the enemy's intentions.
Manstein, acting as the regimental operations staff officer, was the first to pick up a red pencil and draw two arrows on the map.
"It seems the two encircled divisions are preparing to launch an attack in coordination with the Serbian Third Army approaching from the north."
Kleist looked at the arrows on the map and nodded.
"They want to catch us in a pincer and swallow us whole... Given their current predicament, this is indeed the most feasible 'solution'. After all, our troop strength is limited..."
Manstein: "Hmm, but regardless, we still need to inform the Colonel first."
Before long, the compiled information was relayed to Morin, who was staying at the northern position.
However, Morin, with his "map hacks," actually knew earlier and more clearly than anyone else.
When Manfred's reconnaissance aircraft cleared a large swath of the fog of war and lit up the Serbian troops, Morin judged the opponent's intentions through the movements of these hostile unit cards.
He roughly measured the distances on the system map and found that the Serbian troops in both directions seemed to be within the striking range of the Kampfgruppe's artillery, as well as the Fifth Army Group's corps-level artillery.
So he quickly drafted an artillery strike order for the Kampfgruppe's 105mm artillery battalion, as well as an artillery strike request to be submitted to the Army Group headquarters.
Simultaneously, Morin also noticed that the 4th Guard Reserve Infantry Division, and the reinforcing 26th Infantry Division, had already begun launching attacks against the encircled enemy.
"No wonder they are so anxiously rushing to attack early this morning... They've been backed into a corner."
"I hope there won't be any 'an army burning with righteous indignation is bound to win' (desperate troops fight harder) buff."
Morin sighed half-jokingly in his heart. He also knew very well that as long as the forward positions withstood the enemy's offensive, the annihilation of these two divisions was only a matter of time.
Morin handed the drafted orders to the communications soldier beside him.
"Tell the regimental adjutant and the others to send the one for the Army Group headquarters a bit later."
"Yes! Colonel!"
The communications soldier didn't even salute, grabbing the telegram paper and turning to run toward the rear communication trench.
Manfred was a highly responsible reconnaissance pilot, dutiful in all aspects.
Therefore, most positions of the "Morin Kampfgruppe" received his aerial warning.
And the instruction unit soldiers on the ground didn't know that this reconnaissance pilot doing so was entirely risking his life.
Because the normal range of the "Taube" reconnaissance aircraft was only about 150 kilometers, its loiter time and operational radius were relatively limited.
This also meant that after Manfred significantly altered his course, by the time he flew back to the field airfield, his fuel was essentially depleted.
"Good thing I managed to fly back successfully and didn't have to make an emergency landing halfway..."
While mentally soothing his tense nerves, Manfred controlled the reconnaissance aircraft, approaching at a standard approach speed of one hundred kilometers per hour.
Then, while lowering his altitude, he also piloted the plane to circle the field airfield once, observing the situation on the runway.
He needed to confirm there were no other aircraft taking off, or any other obstacles.
These procedures, written into the takeoff and landing regulations, often gave a feeling of "useless effort" in most situations.
But Manfred knew that every rule written into the manual was bought with the blood of pioneers...
Completing the circle, Manfred glanced at the windsock. After confirming his intended approach direction was into the wind, he shut down the engine and began to glide.
For this kind of early aircraft, doing so had two benefits.
First, it prevented the propeller slipstream from interfering with rudder control. After all, early aircraft had no "flight control systems"; it all relied on the pilot themselves.
Second, in case of an accidental crash, a stationary propeller could more or less reduce the risk of fire.
Immediately after, just as during takeoff, Manfred began a slight S-pattern approach, alternately observing both sides and the front of the runway by swinging the fuselage left and right to make final confirmations.
Since the aircraft had no fuel left, to rapidly decrease altitude without increasing speed, Manfred also adopted cross-controlling the rudder and ailerons.
He made the aircraft slip sideways in a "crab-like" manner, utilizing the side of the fuselage to increase drag.
The "Taube," this first-generation practical aircraft, had no flaps to increase drag or lift. So these early pilots like Manfred controlled the rate of descent entirely through pitch angle, attitude, and sideslips...
It could be said that every takeoff and landing was a frantic test on the edge of death.
The wind howled between the wings.
At about three to five meters from the ground, Manfred gently pulled back on the stick to raise the nose, transitioning the aircraft from a descent attitude to a level flight attitude.
Amidst violent shuddering, the two main wheels of the "Taube" reconnaissance aircraft touched down lightly, while the tail remained elevated.
After contacting the ground, the landing gear—which used rubber bungee cords as shock absorbers—began shaking the fuselage frantically.
Manfred couldn't care less; he just stared nervously at the airspeed indicator. As the speed decayed, he slowly lowered the tail.
This method was safer on relatively rough field airfields, preventing the tail skid from taking weight too early and snapping off.
When the speed had slowed down slightly, Manfred pulled back hard on the stick, lowering the tail to increase friction.
The "Taube" had no wheel brakes; it relied solely on the tail skid dragging on the ground to decelerate. And this metal skid was currently carving a deep trench in the grass...
Amidst flying dirt, although the process was somewhat thrilling, the aircraft finally managed to land.
Ground Crew NCO Frey by the runway also breathed a sigh of relief. Because for the aircraft of this era, the vast majority of crashes occurred during the takeoff and landing phases.
Seeing the plane's speed slow down, NCO Frey hurriedly signaled other personnel on both sides of the runway to step forward together.
They grabbed the wings to prevent strong winds from moving the plane, while simultaneously beginning to further assist the plane in decelerating using "human brakes."
During this process, Manfred had already freed one hand to unbuckle his seatbelt.
When the plane came to a near stop, he immediately jumped down from the cockpit.
"Hey! The report form hasn't been filled out yet!" NCO Frey shouted loudly, looking at Manfred's retreating back.
"I'll fill it out when I get back later! I have an important situation to report!"
Manfred raised a hand and waved it, running toward the aviation unit headquarters without looking back.
Hearing this, NCO Frey merely curled his lip: "Hmph, you say that every time..."
A while later, the report from the aerial reconnaissance was compiled and delivered to the Fifth Army Group headquarters.
Upon seeing that the Serbian Third Army was already pressing down from the north, Crown Prince Georg couldn't help but think of the Austro-Hungarian Fifth Army, which had unauthorizedly abandoned its designated combat area and approached his army group.
Furious, he slammed a fist onto the map table.
"These Austrian fools! Mentioning them makes me angry! How can the Empire have such allies..."
Georg's voice echoed in the command post.
"If they hadn't run around blindly, we wouldn't need to face this passive situation at all!"
The staff officers lowered their heads, no one speaking up... primarily because the Austro-Hungarian Army's performance was indeed impossible to "whitewash."
It could be said that it was precisely the incompetence of the Austro-Hungarian Army that directly caused the entire battle situation to fall into its current state.
However, Crown Prince Georg also knew that getting angry now was useless, and his thoughts indeed aligned with Morin's—after pondering for a moment, the Crown Prince immediately ordered the planning of an interdiction mission utilizing the army group's 150mm heavy artillery.
Major General Knobelsdorff immediately summoned the army group's artillery staff officers, having them lead the others in task planning.
And while the artillery staff officers were still using rulers and compasses to plan based on the aerial reconnaissance results, a new telegram arrived from the Morin Kampfgruppe—it was exactly the artillery support request Morin had sent.
Crown Prince Georg glanced at the telegram's content. The expression on his face instantly became somewhat subtle. He turned to look at Major General Knobelsdorff and handed the telegram over.
Then, the latter's expression also became somewhat peculiar.
Major General Knobelsdorff first walked over to the artillery staff officers, glanced at the map, exchanged a few words with them in a low voice, and then returned to the Crown Prince.
"Your Highness, the fire strike requested by Colonel Morin... although it's just a general area, it indeed highly aligns with the direction the artillery is currently planning."
"Worthy of being Lord Friedrich. His acumen regarding the battlefield situation is actually this high... Sometimes I'm really curious, is there anything Lord Friedrich doesn't know how to do~"
The Crown Prince couldn't help but sigh in admiration, and the Chief of Staff's thoughts at this moment were quite similar.
Simultaneously, he also secretly rejoiced that such a talent was in their camp, rather than appearing in the enemy's positions...
"Once the artillery mission planning is complete, have the heavy artillery positions open fire directly."
Georg issued the order.
"Smash all the shells onto the Serbians' heads!"
Major General Knobelsdorff snapped to attention and saluted.
"Yes, Your Highness!"
Soon, the rumbling roar of artillery erupted from the army group's 150mm howitzer positions, as well as the instruction unit's 105mm artillery battalion positions.
The Serbian 3rd and 4th Divisions attempting to break out, as well as the vanguard units of the Serbian Third Army approaching from the north, all suffered long-range bombardment.
Although this kind of bombardment launched at the absolute maximum range of the artillery had basically zero expectations for accuracy...
Relying on the sheer number of guns, the frequency of firing, and the lethal radius of the artillery, the bombardment more or less achieved some effect.
Especially for the Serbian 3rd and 4th Divisions attempting to break out; their locations were the easiest to hit.
Before the attacking troops even reached the positions, they were struck by massive 150mm heavy artillery...
Under normal circumstances, these Serbian soldiers should have been routed long ago.
But caught in a situation where they were surrounded by the enemy with no other path to take, and coupled with the officers constantly telling them that the enemy's positions had already been overrun by special forces last night, the Serbian soldiers could only grit their teeth and launch the attack.
The vanguard units of the Serbian Third Army attacking from the north encountered a similar situation.
Shells fell near their deployed attack formations, directly scattering the dense formations of several companies. Many more soldiers simply hit the dirt, not daring to move.
The officers anxiously waved their pistols, shouting loudly to drive the soldiers to continue the attack, because stopping in place now meant being treated as target practice.
"Charge!"
A Serbian major shouted at the top of his lungs.
"The Saxons' defense line has already been torn open! The Empire's special forces have already cleared the trenches for us!"
The Serbian officers used these words to inspire the soldiers.
The soldiers believed it to be true. With fixed bayonets on their rifles, they sprinted wildly toward the positions ahead.
The distance closed...
Five hundred meters.
Four hundred meters.
Three hundred meters.
The positions were dead silent; there was no returning gunfire. This made the Serbian soldiers rejoice inwardly.
The officers were telling the truth; the Saxons were really all dead!
However, when they charged to less than two hundred meters from the positions...
Dense gunfire suddenly erupted. The positions ahead abruptly "came to life."
What greeted them were not empty positions, but suppressive fire pouring down like a torrential downpour from defenders who had long been prepared for battle.
Hundreds and thousands of rifles, light and heavy machine guns, and submachine guns opened fire simultaneously. The dense barrage instantly covered the Serbian soldiers charging at the very front.
The charging crowds fell in swathes. Bullets tore through their bodies, kicking up plumes of blood mist.
The instruction unit and Guard Reserve soldiers calmly pulled their triggers as if at a shooting range, continuously gunning down the Serbian soldiers maintaining dense attack formations.
As for those routed Austro-Hungarian soldiers... well, at least they indeed hadn't fled the positions, but hid in the trenches, closing their eyes, holding their rifles over their heads, and firing blindly.
Although they lacked accuracy, they at least increased the density of the firepower...
The Serbian soldiers were stunned by this sudden, fierce firepower. They were pinned to the ground by the ferocious firepower from the positions, entirely unable to move or even raise their heads.
Bullets whizzed past their heads; comrades beside them constantly cried out in agony.
And the exact same thought flashed through the minds of these survivors:
"Weren't the defenders in the positions supposed to have been eliminated?!"