This emergency meeting of the Balkan Coalition finally wrapped up hastily in a somewhat subtly awkward atmosphere.
The military representatives of the participating nations almost started walking out the door the moment Field Marshal Putnik announced the meeting adjourned.
No one stayed a second longer, nor did anyone whisper to the person next to them—at least not in the conference room.
At the main gate of the Kalemegdan Fortress, horse-drawn carriages and automobiles crowded together. The adjutants and orderlies of the various nations' representatives busily ushered their sullen-faced superiors into their vehicles.
The Romanians' carriage left first, followed closely by the Greeks'. The Ottoman Empire representative was the last to walk out the door. He even looked back at the interior of the fortress from the doorway before sliding into his car.
On a section of the wall on the west side of the fortress, two men wearing khaki military uniforms were looking down at this scene from a commanding height.
Colonel James, the senior military advisor dispatched to the Balkan Peninsula by the Holy Britannia Empire Military Intelligence Service, leaned against the stone battlements with his arms crossed, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips.
The adjutant standing beside him held a leather-bound notebook, seemingly having just finished writing something, the pen cap not yet replaced.
"Do you believe me? The first thing these people will do when they get back is not study how to fight the war."
Colonel James finally took out a lighter, lit the cigarette, took a drag, and spoke with a haughty and caustic tone unique to Britannians.
"It should be studying how to preserve their strength?" the adjutant chimed in.
"Exactly~"
Colonel James blew out a puff of smoke and continued:
"The Romanians will start wondering if they have committed too many troops to Bulgaria... The Greeks will start calculating if they should pull their main force back from the direction of Thrace. As for the Ottomans..."
He paused and shook his head.
"The Ottomans will probably start considering what benefits they can fish out if Serbia truly can't hold on."
Hearing Colonel James's words, the adjutant didn't refute, but nodded in agreement.
Because spending these past few days at the Coalition Command had allowed him to see right through the true faces of these high-ranking military officials of the Balkan nations.
To be fair, there were indeed some hot-blooded generals in the armies of these countries.
Serbia's General Šturm was one of them. That old general dared to gamble an entire army group; just that courage alone was not something ordinary people possessed.
But unfortunately, in the adjutant's view, the majority of those sitting around the conference table looked more like politicians in military uniforms than generals.
"Those decisions made at the meeting just now..."
The adjutant flipped through his notebook, recalling the details of the meeting as he spoke:
"Having the Montenegrin field army and the Serbian Third Army Group withdraw to Belgrade as much as possible for defense..."
"At the same time, demanding Romania, Greece, and the Ottoman Empire, currently fighting in Bulgaria, to accelerate their progress. After annihilating the Bulgarian main force, the Romanians will take the lead in detaching forces to return and reinforce."
"Additionally, Serbia will conduct a new round of mobilization, expanding the conscription age range..."
"Uh-huh, at least it looks the part on paper." Colonel James flicked the ash from his cigarette.
Adjutant: "Colonel, how do you think the situation here on the Balkan Peninsula will develop next?"
Colonel James didn't answer immediately.
He stared at the road leading to downtown Belgrade outside the fortress for quite a while. Besides the dust kicked up by the convoys of the various nations' representatives, he could also see some ordinary civilians pushing handcarts, hurrying along their way.
The news of the defeat on the front lines hadn't spread yet. These civilians didn't know that the shadow of war was beginning to shroud this city once again.
"That depends on which side breaks first..."
Colonel James finally spoke, his voice lowered a few pitches.
"The Serbians and the Bulgarians are now competing to see who is tougher."
"If the Bulgarians collapse first, then the troop strength of Romania, Greece, and the Ottoman Empire can be freed up, adding up to nearly 900,000 men."
"Once this force returns to reinforce, even if the Saxons and the Austro-Hungarian Empire fight their way to the gates of Belgrade, they will have to weigh their options."
"But if the Belgrade side breaks first..."
Colonel James took the cigarette from his mouth and tapped it against the edge of the battlement.
"I don't doubt the Serbians' resilience; even if they lose their capital, they can keep fighting... But the problem doesn't lie there. The Kingdom of Greater Serbia is the backbone of the entire Balkan Coalition. If this backbone breaks, the resolve of the other nations will completely scatter."
The adjutant nodded. Just as he was about to ask how they should respond next and whether they needed to communicate back home, Colonel James suddenly raised a hand, stopping him.
The adjutant followed the colonel's gaze.
On the flagstone path inside the fortress, a figure was walking unhurriedly towards the section of the wall where they were standing.
When that person drew near, the adjutant also recognized him—the Coalition Commander-in-Chief, Serbian Army Field Marshal Radomir Putnik.
The old Field Marshal currently wore a military overcoat draped over his shoulders. The collar buttons of the marshal's dress uniform underneath were unfastened, revealing a somewhat wrinkled shirt inside.
He walked up to the two and naturally leaned against the city wall, glancing at the departing convoys outside.
Then, the old Field Marshal took a tin cigarette case from his overcoat pocket, opened it, took out a hand-rolled cigarette, clamped it in his mouth, and struck a match.
"Sigh, this team is hard to lead..."
The instant the match flared, the old Field Marshal's face was briefly illuminated.
The face of the sexagenarian was crisscrossed with deep wrinkles, but the look in those eyes had nothing to do with exhaustion.
Colonel James maintained a proper expression, as if he hadn't heard any underlying implications.
"Multinational joint operations indeed entail many problems that need consideration, Your Excellency Field Marshal."
Putnik exhaled a puff of smoke, not picking up on that thread.
"You know what I want to say, Colonel James."
Colonel James remained silent for two seconds, then put away that standard diplomat expression on his face.
"Your Excellency Field Marshal, even if Her Majesty the Queen agrees to directly dispatch troops now, it's not possible to have a large army arrive on the Balkan Peninsula in a short time."
At this point, Colonel James's tone changed.
That restraint and politeness fitting of a senior military advisor vanished, replaced by an undisguised irritation.
"If the armies of the Balkan nations were a bit more reliable, the situation on the peninsula wouldn't be as passive as it is now..."
He stubbed his cigarette out on the battlement, his voice rising half a pitch.
"Romania, Greece, the Ottomans, three nations joined forces, and up to now they haven't been able to crush the Bulgarians' resistance—Bulgaria! A country with a total population of just over four million! This is simply a joke!"
"With all due respect, such a coalition is fundamentally not worth spilling Britannian blood on this land."
These words were spoken without any mercy.
The expression on Field Marshal Putnik's face changed continuously—first stiffening, then showing forbearance, finally turning into an indescribable complexity.
But ultimately, he exhibited no out-of-line reaction.
"I apologize for interrupting your complaints, Colonel."
The old Field Marshal's voice remained steady, even carrying a touch of politeness.
"My coming to find you this time, although indeed still hoping to obtain the support of the Holy Britannia Empire—it is not to ask you to come guard Belgrade."
Colonel James frowned slightly. Field Marshal Putnik took the hand-rolled cigarette from his mouth, held it between two fingers, and continued:
"Belgrade will be defended by us Serbians ourselves."
"I will lead the others and fight to the last moment here; no one needs to worry about this."
"What I hope is—that the Holy Britannia Empire can dispatch the Highland Mages to support the war effort in the direction of Bulgaria."
Colonel James's frown deepened.
"As long as Bulgaria can be annihilated as quickly as possible, over 900,000 effective troops can be freed up."
"When that time comes, even if we can't push back the coalition of Saxons and Austro-Hungarians, it will force them to reinforce... thereby pinning down the opponent's forces—this is undoubtedly beneficial to the Holy Britannia Empire."
Colonel James remained silent, and Field Marshal Putnik also didn't say anything more.
"These are my thoughts... As for how you Britannians ultimately decide, that is your own affair."
Having said this, the old Field Marshal brought the hand-rolled cigarette to his lips and took two deep drags.
The ember of the cigarette flared a few times in the twilight, then was thrown to the ground and crushed with the heel of a boot. Field Marshal Putnik nodded to the two, then turned and left.
The sound of footsteps gradually faded on the flagstone path, and the old Field Marshal's back disappeared behind an archway inside the fortress.
Only then did the adjutant speak.
"This Field Marshal is putting on more and more airs; he actually wants to order the Highland Mages around..."
Colonel James remained silent for a moment, then slowly shook his head.
"His analysis is not wrong."
"Eh."
The adjutant was taken aback.
"If we want to resolve the upcoming Belgrade crisis, the best method is indeed to free up the troop strength of Romania and the others from the direction of Bulgaria... If the Empire's Highland Mages intervene, the Bulgarians' defense line won't hold for long."
"So your intention, Colonel...?"
Colonel James remained silent for quite a while.
The sky outside the fortress began to darken. The lights in the urban area of Belgrade turned on sparsely, more than a grade dimmer than before the war.
"We indeed should use the dedicated line to contact home."
"Also, regarding that 'Mage Killer' of the Saxons, perhaps we need to send some true experts over to deal with him."
While undercurrents surged in Belgrade due to the massive defeat on the front lines, Morin also rode a truck across the battlefield where fighting had just ceased, returning to the Crown Prince Army Group headquarters.
Along the way, the truck bumped violently.
Traces left by the battle could still be seen on both sides of the road—overturned supply wagons, scattered ammunition boxes by the roadside, and continuously appearing elongated objects covered with canvas.
Morin sat in the passenger seat, one hand resting on the door, the other tapping rhythmically on his knee, while focusing his attention on the system map in his mind, pondering something over and over.
When the truck drove into the camp where the army group headquarters was located, Morin found it much livelier than when he left.
Many vehicles were parked in the camp, and some soldiers, led by officers, were going in and out of the various tents carrying things.
Document boxes, map tubes, communication equipment... judging by this posture, as the frontline troops began to advance, the army group headquarters was also preparing to move forward.
Morin jumped out of the truck, patted the dust off his clothes to slightly tidy his uniform, and then walked toward the largest tent.
Along the way, many officers who recognized him proactively stopped to greet him.
Morin responded amiably one by one, while marveling that his "popularity" seemed to be getting higher and higher?
When he lifted the tent flap and looked inside, the situation was much as he expected.
Imperial Crown Prince Georg and Army Group Chief of Staff Major General Knobelsdorff were standing in front of a makeshift sandbox. Their heads were close together, discussing something unknown.
The sandbox was very crude, with some terrain piled up using sand and dirt, and small flags of various colors stuck in it representing different units.
Georg was the first to notice Morin.
"Lord Friedrich!"
The Crown Prince walked over in two strides and directly gave Morin a solid hug.
"You did beautifully!"
The somewhat excited Crown Prince patted Morin's back, the excitement in his tone completely unconcealed.
"Leading troops to penetrate behind enemy lines, turning the entire battle situation around in one fell swoop—to be honest, when I received your telegram about being night-attacked from multiple directions, my heart almost jumped out of my throat!"
"Your Highness, this is merely the result of our daily training."
Major General Knobelsdorff also walked over and shook hands with Morin.
"Colonel Morin, the effectiveness of this mobile penetration operation indeed proves the power of this tactic."
The Chief of Staff pushed his glasses up his nose bridge, his tone carrying both admiration and reflection.
"But at the same time, I must point out that if we want to popularize this tactic, it requires extremely high demands on soldier quality and unit mobility... At least at the present stage, ordinary infantry divisions will likely find it very difficult to replicate the instruction unit's performance."
Morin nodded; he fully agreed with the Chief of Staff's words.
"You are right, Chief of Staff... In fact, even the instruction unit exposed quite a few problems during the mobile operations these past few days."
"Ammunition consumption speed exceeding expectations, combat effectiveness degradation after long-distance marches, various mechanical failures exposed by vehicles, and the difficulties of conducting positional defense while lacking heavy fire support... These all need to be carefully summarized after the battle."
Georg listened to their conversation, nodded thoughtfully, then looked seriously at Morin and said:
"Even so... the effectiveness of mobile penetration operations makes it worthwhile for the Imperial Army to invest effort into finding ways to solve these problems."
"If more units can possess this capability, it will have a profound impact on the future form of warfare."
After chatting for a bit, the three stood around the sandbox, briefly exchanging some details from previous operations.
When the topic turned to the instruction unit encountering the "Vukodlak" night raid, the atmosphere in the tent grew slightly solemn.
"That's right, we did repel the 'Vukodlak' night raid on the position..."
For the first time since entering the tent, Morin's expression became serious.
"But I must admit, if these supernatural units target ordinary combat units other than the instruction unit, they can still cause massive casualties in a night raid, or even alter the battle situation!"
"The instruction unit could withstand it because the soldiers' training level, psychological quality, and weaponry far exceed those of conventional units! If it were any other unit suddenly encountering such things at night... the consequences would be unimaginable."
Georg and Major General Knobelsdorff exchanged glances, nodded in affirmation, and then continued listening to Morin's "voice of experience."
"Therefore, in the upcoming battles, I believe various units still need to pay special attention to engaging these supernatural combat units of the Balkan Peninsula." Morin added:
"At the very least, junior officers and soldiers need to know of their existence and basic countermeasures..."
"Your Highness, Chief of Staff, fear stems from the unknown. As long as they are mentally prepared in advance, ordinary soldiers won't necessarily collapse at the first touch."
"This is an excellent suggestion. I will have the General Staff draft a relevant tactical guide to distribute to all units."
Major General Knobelsdorff stated his position immediately.
"However, this might require you, Colonel, to have someone compile some 'combat experience'..."
"No problem, Chief of Staff. I will have the others compile it and submit it to the army group."
After chatting a bit more, the trio's attention returned to the makeshift sandbox before them.
Morin swept a glance over the terrain undulations on the sandbox—the distribution of rivers, mountains, and plains—and quickly determined this was the terrain of the northern Balkan Peninsula.
And the battles of these past few days occurred in the only plain area in the middle.
This was also one of the reasons why the coalition forces initially retreated from the border areas—such terrain is more suitable for penetration and large-scale outflanking.
"Lord Friedrich, I am currently pondering how we should fight next."
Georg rested both hands on the edge of the sandbox, staring at the small flags representing various units.
"Under normal circumstances, I could already mass all the troop strength in my hands right now and directly head south to threaten Belgrade."
The Crown Prince paused.
"But I always feel in my heart that this might not be a good idea."
Morin wasn't in a hurry to reply, waiting for the Crown Prince to continue.
"The Austro-Hungarian Empire launched an offensive with even greater troop strength at the start of the war... but until they were pushed back into their own country, they never truly set foot in Belgrade."
Georg tapped the location of Belgrade on the sandbox with his finger, continuing:
"This city is not far from the border, but it clearly isn't that easy to capture... The Serbians have fortified it for many years. City defense works, terrain advantages, coupled with the defenders' will to fight and potentially existing supernatural combat units... the price of a forced assault could be extremely high."
Major General Knobelsdorff also added from the side: "Furthermore, the Serbians' Second Army Group is breaking out with all their might... His Highness has ordered the frontline troops to intercept as much as possible, but..."
"But at this time, the Serbians' combat power is at its strongest."
Georg picked up the thread.
"An army backed into a corner can often erupt with astonishing combat power... If we forcibly intercept them, our own losses might not be small either. After all, our troops have also just experienced combat."
"There is also another problem." The Crown Prince's finger traced from Belgrade on the sandbox toward another direction.
"Once Belgrade is threatened, the Serbians' Third Army Group will highly likely be recalled to defend the capital... This unit is currently still executing attack missions in the southwestern region of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. If their entire army returns to reinforce, we will face a fresh force at the gates of Belgrade."
Georg straightened up and exhaled a long breath.
"So my judgment is—taking our unreliable Austro-Hungarian allies to launch a forced assault on Belgrade might not be a good choice."
Major General Knobelsdorff nodded.
"I agree with Your Highness's viewpoint. Additionally... I have been coordinating the various frontline units—especially our Austro-Hungarian allied forces."
"If they still have spare capacity, they should also go harass the Serbian Third Army Group at this time. At the very least, we cannot let them withdraw to Belgrade unhurriedly."
Morin had been listening, his mind simultaneously working at high speed.
His gaze swept back and forth across the sandbox several times, from Belgrade to the Sava River, from the Sava River to the Carpathian Mountains, and from the Carpathian Mountains to...
"Your Highness, Your Excellency Chief of Staff." Morin suddenly spoke up. "I have a question."
The two looked at him simultaneously.
"Has the Austro-Hungarian Empire's railway system extended into the Carpathian Mountains?"
This question came rather abruptly.
Georg and Major General Knobelsdorff exchanged a glance, both seeing confusion on the other's face.
Ultimately, Major General Knobelsdorff answered first:
"Although the Austro-Hungarian railway system isn't very reliable... but at least in terms of route coverage, it touches all border regions. Railway lines have already been laid near several major passes in the Carpathian Mountains."
Crown Prince Georg looked at Morin, suddenly realizing something.
"Lord Friedrich, have you thought of something?"
Morin remained silent for a few seconds.
Then he raised his head, looking at the two men before him.
"Your Highness, Chief of Staff—have you ever heard of an ancient Eastern military strategy?"
(End of Chapter)