On the northern position of the Morin Kampfgruppe, the smoke from the third wave of attacks hadn't fully cleared.
On the plain outside the trenches, the corpses and wounded left by the vanguard of the Serbian Third Army were already layered several deep.
Morin withdrew his gaze from the front, rested his shotgun—whose barrel still carried residual heat—on his knees, and slowly slid down to sit against the trench wall.
On the system map, the red unit cards representing the Serbian Third Army to the north were slowly retreating into the semi-transparent fog of war.
And on the right flank of the entire battlefield, the unit cards of the Serbian Second Army Group had also ceased their attacks, temporarily disengaging from the line of fire.
What caught Morin's attention even more was Ludwig's squad composed of three Armored Knights—the outer ring of their unit card was flashing with an orange-red flame animation.
And similar high-kill-ratio animations were also bouncing on the unit cards of his own Guard Reserve Infantry 4th Battalion and other parts of the Kampfgruppe.
Based on Morin's experience, this animation effect represented an extremely high combat exchange ratio.
So when Morin zoomed in on the system map, he quickly noticed that in front of Ludwig's squad unit card, another unit card representing a Serbian Armored Knight squadron had already been crossed out and turned white.
"Wow~ Three against ten, completely annihilated the opponent without losing a single one... That guy Ludwig... he was definitely pent up for too long." Morin's mouth twitched slightly, a flash of Ludwig's face written with "Are you kidding me?" when he was left in the rear passing through his mind. "Alright, I did do him a bit dirty..."
Morin quickly browsed the current battlefield situation on the system map like this. All the information gathered together pointed to one conclusion: this battle had entered "garbage time."
The Serbians failed to pierce the Saxons' flank during the most critical window, which gave Crown Prince Georg enough time to complete troop redeployments. Under these circumstances, even if the Serbians launched another attack, it would be meaningless.
After all, the Crown Prince's Army Group had a strength of 230,000 men—a full three corps totaling six infantry divisions, plus two independent combat units including the 4th Guard Reserve Infantry Division, army group-level artillery, cavalry, supply units, and so on...
Moreover, judging from the status of the unit cards on the system map, the rout of the Austro-Hungarian Fifth Army Group had also been halted by the Saxons, and the various units had completed reorganization.
Therefore, with the two corps under the Serbian First Army Group essentially annihilated, even if they faced a pincer attack from the opponent's Third Army and Second Army Group, as long as they survived the most difficult moment, the battle situation would reverse in an instant.
And now, this "most difficult moment" had truly been survived with the shattering of the enemy's offensive...
Morin closed his eyes.
The veterans of the 1st Company turned their heads and glanced at Morin leaning against the trench wall, almost simultaneously deciphering this posture.
No one spoke, and no orders were given.
The veterans tacitly retreated from the edge of the trench. While putting away their weapons, they found a relatively dry spot and slid down to sit against the trench wall one after another.
Some pulled their steel helmets over their faces, some popped their overcoat collars up, and some simply rested their heads on a comrade's shoulder nearby.
Dozen of seconds later, the rhythmic sounds of soft snoring echoed in this section of the trench.
The Guard Reserve infantrymen stared wide-eyed. One private nudged his comrade beside him with his elbow and whispered:
"How can they fall asleep so fast? Isn't that too careless? The enemy just retreated!"
"They're veterans, their sleep quality is just that good..." a soldier beside him muttered softly.
"No, no, this is definitely no ordinary skill. Have you ever heard of the 'Sleeping Arhat Fist'?"
A soldier who had researched Far Eastern culture quite a bit earnestly "educated" his surrounding comrades:
"It is said that in the distant Eastern Mythal, there is this ancient fist technique..."
"What nonsense are you talking about?"
"I'm not talking nonsense! That book was brought back by Marco Polo's entourage!"
Major Hoffmann, the 4th Battalion commander, and his battalion adjutant stood to the side. The two looked at each other in dismay, completely unable to grasp the situation.
Morin opened one eye and saw Hoffmann's bewildered look.
"Major, just leave a few observation posts. Everyone else should rest for a while, and resupply ammunition while you're at it."
"But won't the enemy come again?"
"If they come, we'll just fight them again. Moreover, I don't think they'll launch an attack anytime soon."
Morin patted the dirt beside him, gesturing for the two to sit down.
Major Hoffmann hesitated for two seconds. He first arranged the observation posts and ammunition checks before leaning his submachine gun against the trench wall and sitting down opposite Morin with his battalion adjutant.
"Colonel... with all due respect—" Major Hoffmann rubbed his dust-covered fingers together. "How are you so certain the enemy won't attack again?"
Morin didn't answer directly, instead tossing out a question.
"Major Hoffmann, how long has it been since the battle started?"
"Uh?"
Major Hoffmann was stunned and turned to look at the battalion adjutant.
The two exchanged a glance. The latter pulled out his pocket watch, checked it, and then flipped through his logbook.
"The battle started at noon on April 29th... It's almost noon on May 1st now, so almost... 48 hours."
"Right, 48 hours."
Morin nodded, then revealed a kind smile that, in Hoffmann's view, completely didn't suit someone who had just finished fighting a battle.
"Then are you two tired?"
The two were bewildered by this sudden question and Morin's sudden gentle smile. Their brains rapidly recalled that they shouldn't have made any mistakes during the battle, then they almost reflexively straightened their backs.
"Reporting, Colonel! The battalion adjutant and I are full of energy and ready to continue fighting at any time!"
The battalion adjutant also nodded vigorously.
"Bullshit!"
Seeing his "friendly approach" fail, Morin put on a slightly annoyed, stern face.
"Tell the truth, are you tired or not?"
Strangely, when Morin put on this stern face, Hoffmann and the adjutant actually breathed a sigh of relief.
Yes, this was the right flavor.
Although they hadn't known each other long, this was the Colonel Morin they were familiar with...
"Commander... we are indeed somewhat exhausted," Major Hoffmann admitted honestly.
After all, although the 48-hour battle was intermittent, and the troops had rested in batches during the process, the combat intensity was undeniably very high.
And this process included long-distance marches, night raids, earthworks, and continuous positional defense battles... so saying they weren't tired would definitely be a lie.
Whether it was the instruction unit soldiers or the Guard Reserve infantry, they were all holding on through their daily training results and abundant stamina.
"That's more like it!"
Morin clapped his hands together and continued:
"Even elite Saxon Army soldiers like you feel exhausted... then what about those Serbians opposite us?"
Major Hoffmann blinked, the gears in his brain turning slowly.
Morin didn't wait for him to finish turning and continued speaking.
"We are waiting at our ease for an exhausted enemy. The positions are built, and we're waiting here for them to attack... Although the 48-hour battle was intense, we had rests in between, rotations, ammunition resupplies, and hot meals... But what about our enemies?"
"They marched all the way here, and before they could even catch their breath, they slammed headfirst into our defense line... More crucially, there's the 'logistics' issue."
Morin looked at their expressions and found them listening very attentively, so his interest was piqued.
He recently discovered he had a new hobby—developing the tactical and strategic thinking of his subordinate officers.
"You might not know this, but the logistics system of the Balkan nations' armies is quite primitive... To be precise, in their military terminology, the concept of 'logistics' doesn't even exist; they merely use the term 'supply' instead."
Of course, what Morin didn't say was that even the Saxon Empire only officially incorporated the concept of "logistics" into its Army military terminology in early 1910...
"What's the difference?" the battalion adjutant couldn't help asking.
"The difference is huge."
Morin ticked off his fingers, speaking very seriously:
"'Logistics' is a complete system, encompassing transportation, warehousing, maintenance, medical care... From the front lines to the rear, there are dedicated personnel responsible for every link. Hmm... the numerous 'depots' built by the Empire domestically, and the entire railway system, are all part of the 'logistics system'."
"As for 'supply'... in the traditional sense, it means fighting wherever you are. Besides the most crucial ammunition being transported from the rear, the supply of other materials is often resolved locally in the combat area."
"Resolved locally?" the battalion adjutant interjected. "You mean..."
"To put it bluntly, letting the soldiers pillage for food."
Morin spread his hands. The expressions of Major Hoffmann and the battalion adjutant also changed somewhat, because they realized this "resolve locally" method was actually what they had learned in the military academy.
"Similar to the practices during the Seven Years' War: pillaging for food, sustaining war through war... But the problem is, when we and the Austro-Hungarian troops retreated, we strictly executed a scorched-earth policy—they couldn't even find a blade of grass along the way."
Morin paused for a moment.
"Forty-eight hours of non-stop combat and marching, plus a food shortage... do you think those Serbian soldiers opposite us still have the strength to charge one more time?"
Major Hoffmann was silent for several seconds.
Then he looked at his battalion adjutant, whose expression had already shifted from confusion to sudden realization.
"So... they have reached their limit?"
"It's more than just a matter of reaching their limit."
Morin leaned back against the trench wall, his voice relaxing, offering a concluding remark for this "small battlefield classroom session."
"Perhaps what the Serbians need to worry about next isn't continuing the attack—but how to restrain their own troops."
Having said this, Morin closed his eyes again, leaving Major Hoffmann to ruminate and digest.
A dozing 1st Company veteran NCO nearby curled the corner of his mouth, then rolled over and went back to sleep.
—Whenever the Colonel gave a lesson, it was always like this.
Spoken plainly, but every sentence hit the nail on the head.
Morin's judgment was verified one by one over the next forty-eight hours.
The offensive launched by the Serbian Third Army from the north was indeed their final gamble.
After being repelled for three consecutive rounds, the starving Serbian soldiers were no longer willing to climb out of their foxholes.
No matter how loudly the officers blew their whistles, it was useless, because the soldiers' legs had turned to jelly. Not from fear, but from hunger.
A person can ignore fear through sheer willpower, but they cannot use willpower to ignore a stomach that has been empty for two days.
On the afternoon of May 1st, a mutiny broke out in the 7th Infantry Division subordinate to the Serbian Third Army.
The cause was very simple.
A company of soldiers, upon learning that the supply train's only remaining rations had been privately distributed by their superiors, stormed directly into the company headquarters tent and bayoneted their company commander to death.
This spark quickly ignited the entire pile of dry tinder.
By evening, the mutiny had spread to the entire regiment.
The soldiers looted the remaining few supply wagons, divided up everything edible, and then fled in groups of three or five toward Novi Sad.
Officers attempted to suppress them, but in the face of hunger and despair, both rank and pistols lost their deterrent effect.
A major who tried to stop the deserters was even shot in the back by his own orderly.
The collapse of the entire Third Army was even faster than Morin had anticipated.
And the Serbian Second Army Group in the other direction wasn't having an easy time either.
After their Armored Knight squadron was entirely annihilated, the Fourth Corps' attack momentum was instantly broken.
Without the cover of Armored Knights, the Serbian infantry facing the top-tier firepower of the Saxon Army was no different from lining up to commit suicide.
General Milutin Milutinović smashed three teacups in his command post. However, no matter how many teacups he smashed, it couldn't change the fact that his troops had been forced from proactive attack into defense.
The gap in troop quality between the two sides was simply too immense.
To use Morin's words, this was like taking Tier 1 units to stubbornly clash with a Tier 3 unit that had already unlocked the tech tree.
Even worse, the main body of the Second Army Group had already crossed the Sava River.
This was tantamount to cutting off their own retreat.
Now, even if they wanted to retreat quickly, the traffic capacity of those few pontoon bridges on the river fundamentally couldn't allow an entire army group to withdraw in a short time.
Night of May 1st.
The 3rd and 4th Infantry Divisions of the Serbian First Army Group, surrounded within the "Morin Kampfgruppe's" defense line, sent out an envoy having exhausted their ammunition and food.
The white flag was made from a torn shirt tied to a rifle.
The Serbian Army captain holding the white flag had trembling legs as he walked into the Saxon trenches.
Not because of fear, but because it had been a very long time since he had eaten a filling, hot meal.
The instruction unit soldiers confiscated his weapons and then brought him to the Kampfgruppe headquarters.
Kleist and Manstein, after confirming his identity and purpose, accepted the surrender according to procedure.
Such scenes also occurred on the positions of the 4th Guard Reserve Infantry Division.
By now, these two Serbian infantry divisions had a combined total of just over 10,000 soldiers remaining. After laying down their weapons, they were concentrated in batches in several open areas behind the positions.
When these Serbian POWs squatted on the ground, everyone's face was filled with exhaustion and bewilderment.
The Guard Reserve soldiers responsible for guarding them noticed that many of these POWs had worn through the soles of their military boots, exposing bloodied toes.
And the first thing someone did after surrendering was ask the guarding Saxon soldiers for water and food...
Early morning, May 2nd.
Multiple reconnaissance cavalry units of the Crown Prince Army Group sent back reports from the north—the Serbian Third Army was suspected to have undergone a massive rout.
The reconnaissance cavalry encountered multiple groups of routed soldiers on the roads toward Novi Sad. They had completely lost unit cohesion, fleeing southeast along highways and field paths in twos and threes.
Many had even discarded their weapons, leaving only their feet and their lives.
The cavalry didn't even need to fire; as long as they rode close, these routed soldiers would automatically raise both hands.
Noon, May 2nd. Under General Šturm's orders, the Serbian Second Army Group launched a second all-out offensive.
This time, General Šturm played every card he had.
The Fourth Corps and the Fifth Corps, which had just caught up, forcefully deployed on an extremely limited combat frontage. The army group artillery also completed their position construction after crossing the river, beginning to provide artillery preparation for the infantry.
But the Saxons' defense line was not the same defense line as yesterday's.
Georg had already transferred multiple infantry divisions to the right flank to strengthen the defense, while the army group's 150mm heavy artillery groups also shifted their support direction over.
The offensive shattered under the pouring artillery fire.
The Serbian soldiers charged three waves, each wave beaten more miserably than the last. Facing a complete trench defense system, they had almost no means of breakthrough.
And the 2nd Royal Cavalry Division, which had been searching for an opportunity to penetrate, also returned in defeat under the joint interception of Saxon cavalry and infantry.
Those "breakthrough points" at the junctions personally selected by Major General Miloš Vasić had already been plugged by the Saxons within a day. A few cavalry units that luckily managed a breakthrough directly lost contact...
By dusk, the offensive stalled again.
And on the very same day the Second Army Group's offensive was crushed again, the Austro-Hungarian troops, who had achieved absolutely nothing since the battle began, finally welcomed their "highlight moment."
A portion of the Austro-Hungarian Sixth Army Group's main force, taking advantage of the gap while the Serbian Second Army Group was fully engaged in attacking the Saxon defense line, launched an attack on the enemy supply units that hadn't had time to cross the river yet.
This time, the Austro-Hungarian soldiers performed surprisingly valiantly.
Perhaps because the opponent was only supply units and a small rearguard, finally giving them an opponent they could beat... In any case, the Austro-Hungarian infantry charged forward howling with fixed bayonets, capturing the three pontoon bridges by the riverbank in one breath.
The Serbians' crossing and retreat route was completely severed.
May 3rd.
The Serbian Second Army Group began attempting to break out.
When General Šturm issued the breakout order, he slumped into his chair, completely crestfallen.
That thought which once made his blood boil—personally crushing the ace unit led by the Saxon Imperial Crown Prince to go down in history—now felt laughably absurd upon reflection.
When the news that the First Army Group was essentially annihilated and the Second Army Group had begun breaking out reached the Coalition Command in Belgrade, the conference room fell silent for a full fifteen seconds.
During these fifteen seconds, no one spoke, no one moved, even breathing became cautious.
The military representatives of the various nations all thought there was something wrong with their ears.
"Say that again."
The Serbian representative and Chief of the General Staff of the Coalition Command, Field Marshal Radomir Putnik, spoke in an extremely restrained tone.
The communications staff officer swallowed hard and, bracing himself, read the telegram content again.
"...The main force of the First Corps, subordinate to the First Army Group, has been annihilated. The 3rd and 4th Infantry Divisions surrendered on the night of May 1st."
"The Third Army has experienced a massive rout and is currently retreating toward Novi Sad. Its unit structure has basically collapsed."
"The Second Army Group suffered a pincer attack from the east and west by Saxon Imperial and Austro-Hungarian Imperial forces on the south bank of the Sava River. The river crossing route has been severed, and they are currently breaking out eastward..."
The atmosphere in the conference room changed from quiet to a deathly silence.
The military representatives of the various nations present—Romanians, Greeks, Ottomans—all cast their gazes upon Coalition Commander-in-Chief Field Marshal Putnik.
This old Field Marshal, over sixty years old, was currently resting both hands on the table, head bowed, staring at the combat map on the table that was already densely marked.
His knuckles were white from gripping so tightly.
"How could this be..."
The Serbian Army Deputy Chief of Staff sitting to his right had a voice as dry as if sandpaper were stuffed in his throat.
"Didn't the news received earlier say the offensive was very smooth?"
No one could answer this question.
Because prior to this, the battle reports sent back from the front lines were indeed all good news—the First Army Group broke through the Austro-Hungarian defense line, the Second Army Group successfully crossed the river, the Third Army was continuing to advance in coordination...
Every battle report painted a picture of victory in sight.
Then suddenly the picture shattered, shattering so completely it caught everyone off guard.
"The problem must lie with the Saxons."
The one speaking was the Romanian military representative, a lieutenant general sporting a handlebar mustache.
"Judging from the content of the telegram, the Saxon Empire's Fifth Army Group rapidly stabilized the battle line after the Austro-Hungarian army routed, and implemented an anti-encirclement against your country's First Army Group..."
"You don't need to tell us that. We can see that."
Field Marshal Putnik testily interrupted the other's nonsense:
"What I want to know is what exactly happened over at the Second Army Group... Šturm had an entire army group in his hands, how could he fail to even break through the Saxons' flank?"
"And how could the First Army Group have its effective strength annihilated so quickly?"
This question also remained unanswered by anyone.
Because more detailed battle reports hadn't been sent back yet—or rather, in the chaos of the breakout, the frontline troops might no longer have the capacity to send detailed battle reports.
The conference room plunged into a brief silence.
Then, everyone began to realize an even more severe problem.
The Serbian main forces, two out of three army groups... now one was essentially annihilated, and one was breaking out.
And the Third Army Group was currently still executing attack missions in the southwestern region of the Austro-Hungarian Empire.
In other words, the front of Belgrade was practically empty right now.
"Your Excellency Field Marshal."
The military representative of the Ottoman Empire stood up. This brigadier general wearing a turban spoke in a businesslike tone.
"I must remind you that if the Saxons continue south after annihilating your country's First Army Group, Belgrade will be directly exposed to the enemy's vanguard."
"I don't need you to remind me of that."
Field Marshal Putnik raised his head. Not much emotional fluctuation could be seen on his face.
"The problem now is where the troops we can mobilize are."
His gaze swept over the representatives of the various nations present.
The Romanians lowered their heads—their main force was in Bulgaria.
The Greeks also lowered their heads—likewise in Bulgaria.
The Ottomans didn't lower their heads, but their expressions said it all.
Everyone's main forces were in Bulgaria engaged in that "war of national annihilation"... Although progress had finally begun to show in recent days, this also meant they were temporarily unable to disengage.
Field Marshal Putnik closed his eyes.
He rapidly calculated the remaining cards in his hand in his mind.
Belgrade's garrison forces, two home defense brigades, plus some recently conscripted reservists... this troop strength was barely enough to defend the city, but attempting to stop the offensive of an entire Saxon Imperial army group was tantamount to a fool's dream.
The only choice left was the Third Army Group.
"Send a telegram to the Third Army Group."
Field Marshal Putnik opened his eyes, his voice returning to a steady tone.
"Order them to immediately abandon the attack on the southwestern region of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. The entire army is to rush back urgently to reinforce Belgrade."