Trenches, Guns, and Magic

The moment Manfred pulled the stick to climb, the reconnaissance aircraft jolted violently in the air currents, and he was pressed hard into his seat by G-force.

That round of strafing just now had completely missed. Any other pilot might have been cursing up a storm by now.

But as a true flying genius, Manfred didn't get flustered; instead, he grinned inside the cockpit.

Missing didn't matter, because he had roughly figured out the trick to it.

The problem lay in two areas:

First, he didn't give enough lead; the aircraft's forward speed was faster than he estimated.

Second, the crosswinds in the valley blew the trajectory at least two or three meters to the right.

After rapidly calculating corrections in his head, Manfred piloted the "Taube" reconnaissance aircraft through a beautiful loop.

This time, he didn't choose the same flight path, but approached from a different direction.

Doing this had two benefits: one, the effect of the crosswinds would be minimized; two, looking from this direction, the winding trench in the position would unfold longitudinally, vastly increasing the area his bullets would cover.

The radiant crystal engine roared. The reconnaissance aircraft dropped its altitude again, the sound of wind filling the open cockpit.

Manfred wasn't in a hurry to pull the trigger this time. He aligned the nose and the metal crosshairs before his eyes with the direction the trench extended, and the aircraft cut in at a very shallow dive angle.

When his naked eye judged the straight-line distance between the nose and the position to be within 300 meters, Manfred squeezed the trigger again.

The two MG08 heavy machine guns roared once more. This time, Manfred deliberately extended the firing time by half a second, while slightly correcting for yaw.

A stream of bullets drilled right into the trench!

Looking down from the sky, a massive plume of dust and scattered debris erupted from that narrow ditch.

The Romanian soldiers crouching in the trench had absolutely no time to react. The 7.92mm bullets rained down straight from diagonally above; their sandbag parapets offered meaningless protection from this angle.

As he pulled up, Manfred glanced back. Many figures lay fallen in the trench. The remaining Romanian soldiers who could still move were scurrying toward both ends of the ditch like ants.

"So that's how it is..."

The corners of Manfred's mouth involuntarily curled up.

In that instant, he suddenly understood exactly what Colonel Morin had in mind when he proposed the concept of "Close Air Support"—attacking from the air meant that all cover relying on vertical surfaces for protection in traditional ground combat became meaningless.

Trenches, sandbag walls, parapets... these things could only block bullets coming from a horizontal direction.

But an airplane fired downwards from the sky.

"If only I could mount more guns. Installing six or eight would definitely make the attack more effective..."

Manfred cast a regretful glance at the MG08s on either side of the nose. Both heavy machine guns were equipped with 200 rounds of ammunition, but they couldn't withstand the rate of consumption. And he couldn't load new ammo belts for the heavy machine guns while piloting the "Taube" reconnaissance aircraft.

However, before taking off, bullets weren't the only thing he brought up.

This was an "extra preparation" Manfred thought of himself after the operational meeting hosted by Colonel Morin concluded:

If the ground strafing wasn't effective, under permitting conditions, perhaps he could manually drop cluster grenades onto the ground.

After all, the explosive power of these things wasn't small.

So he had his ground crew NCO scrounge up six stick grenades, bundle them together into a cluster grenade, and temporarily stash them under his seat.

This was clearly a dangerous and crazy move, but for Manfred, who had completely fallen in love with the sky and enjoyed taking risks, it was nothing.

And right now, when he needed more powerful attack methods, the existence of this bundle of cluster grenades became exceptionally meaningful.

Manfred piloted the reconnaissance aircraft through another loop over the valley.

Then, while stabilizing the control stick with his right hand to maintain his course, he reached down with his left hand.

The six cluster grenades were quite heavy. It took him some effort to get them onto his right leg, and then he clamped the control stick between his knees.

This maneuver was incredibly difficult. The control stick of the "Taube" reconnaissance aircraft required constant correction, especially in an environment with turbulent air currents like a valley. Letting go for even half a second could cause the plane to veer off course.

But Manfred simply possessed this innate talent.

He clamped the base of the control stick tightly with his knees, making micro-adjustments using his thigh muscles.

His temporarily freed hands then grabbed the heavy bundle of stick grenades.

The altitude of the reconnaissance aircraft had dropped below two hundred meters.

The position below magnified rapidly. Manfred could even clearly see the figures of Romanians running wildly through the position, and some bolder soldiers aiming their guns at him and firing.

But he couldn't worry about all that now. His right hand grabbed the end of the grenade's wooden handles, his teeth bit the pull-ring of the fuse, and he gave a sharp yank.

"Hiss—" The fuse ignited, emitting a wisp of white smoke.

Manfred felt the attitude of the plane, counted to one in his head, and then forcefully chucked the cluster grenade out.

Just like that, the future "Red Baron" completed humanity's first-ever "ancient method" CAS (Close Air Support).

The grenades tumbled out over the edge of the cockpit, spinning several times in the air.

As Manfred pulled the stick to break away, he looked back just in time to see the bundle of grenades smash into the position.

What he didn't see, however, was that this bundle of cluster grenades bounced twice, then rolled into a pit in the center of the position covered by wooden planks and tarps.

Just as Manfred was wondering how much power the cluster grenades he threw down would have—

"Boom!!!"

A massive fireball and black smoke erupted from the position. The shockwave even caught up to the climbing reconnaissance aircraft.

The entire plane jerked forward violently, as if someone had kicked it from behind, the wings shuddering intensely.

Manfred gripped the control stick tightly with both hands, barely managing to control the aircraft's attitude.

He looked back again.

A large crater had been blasted open in the center of the position below, flames and thick smoke continuously billowing from it.

While possessing outstanding piloting skills, Manfred's luck was clearly also excellent. The pit the cluster grenades rolled into was one of the ammunition storage points for this position...

So undoubtedly, the cluster grenades detonated the ammunition inside the storage point. The power unleashed by this chain reaction was far beyond what six grenades could achieve.

Edge of the woodland.

Lieutenant Schulz held his binoculars, frozen in place.

His mouth hung wide open, speechless for a long time.

"Company Commander..."

"Hmm?"

Rommel was much calmer than him, though the surprise on his face was hard to hide.

"I... I take back what I just said."

Schulz lowered his binoculars and swallowed hard.

"It seems the pilot just used some sort of attack to coincidentally detonate the ammunition on the enemy position."

Rommel judged quickly. In his view, whether it was a coincidence or not, this was a god-given opportunity for the attackers.

Without hesitation, he put the assault whistle hanging around his neck into his mouth and blew hard.

"Beeeeeep—!"

The shrill whistle cut through the valley.

Immediately following, more assault whistles sounded throughout the woodland. The platoon leaders, upon hearing the whistle, put their own whistles to their lips almost simultaneously.

"Los! Los! Los!" (Go! Go! Go!)

The soldiers of the 2nd Battalion 1st Company of the instruction unit poured out of the woodland, then rapidly dispersed by squad. All soldiers brought out an intensity fiercer than running the 400-meter obstacle course, sprinting at full speed.

While submachine gunners, grenadiers, and marksmen pushed forward rapidly, the gunners carrying MG14 light machine guns found favorable terrain to mount their weapons, then began laying down short bursts of suppressive fire.

The entire large slope was quickly covered with instruction unit personnel.

Looking out from the Romanians' position, because the spacing between the 1st Company soldiers was wide enough, and the combat teams also maintained their distance, for a moment, the mountains and plains were entirely filled with field-gray figures.

"A battalion! There's at least a battalion's strength directly in front of us!"

On the position, a Romanian captain shouted after looking through his binoculars for two seconds.

Meanwhile, the two mortars at the edge of the woodland were still outputting continuously. High explosive shells constantly fell into the position, blasting dirt and scree everywhere.

The two MG08 heavy machine gun squads also carried their gear to the edge of the woodland.

The gunners sat on the ground and quickly adjusted the height and direction of the tripods. The assistant gunners rapidly connected the water tanks to the water-cooling jackets. The ammo bearers unfolded and straightened the ammo belts, then slapped the gunners hard on the shoulder.

"Da-da-da-da-da-da—"

The heavy machine guns opened fire. The ammo belts, interspersed with tracer rounds, drew two bright trajectories in mid-air.

The first two short bursts were used to calibrate the trajectory. The exceptionally experienced gunners, who had reaped countless enemy lives, quickly corrected their direction based on the impact points of the tracers.

Starting from the third burst, all bullets smashed right onto the edge of the trench.

Sandbags were shredded, debris flying.

Some Romanian soldiers tried to poke their heads out to return fire, only to be forced back by a hail of bullets the moment they showed themselves.

The remaining fire points along the trench that hadn't been destroyed by the previous airstrike were also completely suppressed.

Rommel, charging at the very front, had already led the point squad over the middle section of the large slope. With his excellent physical fitness, his running speed was even a notch faster than the ordinary soldiers.

When they were less than a hundred meters from the position, the guidance squad that had charged out earlier also emerged from behind the large rock, raising their guns to add firepower. They even crept closer and threw grenades toward the position.

With less than 50 meters left, and using stick grenades, even a little girl could throw a grenade that far.

The entire battle didn't hold much suspense. The massive explosion at the ammunition storage point basically destroyed the defenders' morale. Once the instruction unit soldiers charged onto the position under the cover of grenades, the Romanians' defense line completely collapsed.

About twenty minutes later.

On Hill 1066, two radiant crystal trucks were parked side-by-side. Covered with a waterproof canvas tarp, it became a command post. Jonathan held a telephone receiver inside, listening to Rommel's report.

"Captured the enemy position and took over two hundred prisoners?"

Jonathan hung up the phone, turned to look at the staff officer marking the map beside him, and patted the table.

"That kid Erwin, fastest again."

On the other end of the line, Rommel was squatting in the newly captured Romanian position headquarters, flipping through documents and maps on the desk. Lieutenant Schulz was interrogating several captured Romanian officers nearby.

"Battalion Commander, I have some more information to report."

Rommel took the receiver, which had been pinched between his ear and shoulder, back into his hand.

"Our communications squad intercepted several Romanian telegrams. Combined with the results of interrogating the prisoners, we can basically confirm these men belong to the Kingdom of Romania Army's 2nd Home Defense Brigade, the same brigade as the defenders on the pass."

Jonathan drew a circle on the map with his pencil.

"Where are the rest of the troops in this brigade?"

"Besides the regiment near the pass that's already been broken, the rest are all deployed on the mountains flanking the river valley... Additionally, they requested reinforcements from a unit designated the '3rd Reserve Infantry Division' stationed outside the river valley."

Jonathan frowned: "3rd Reserve Infantry Division? What direction are they coming from? How far?"

"The departure point mentioned in the telegram is Brașov. I checked the map; the distance should be less than 30 kilometers."

"Understood. I will report this to the Kampfgruppe command."

Jonathan hung up the phone, walked to the edge of the truck where a corner of the canvas was lifted, and looked out.

On the mountain road, a massive number of radiant crystal trucks formed a long line, slowly driving down the mountain.

This road was originally used to transport supplies to the pass defenders. Normally only horse-drawn carriages used it, and its width barely allowed two trucks to pass side-by-side. The instruction unit's drivers drove very carefully, keeping their speed very low, terrified of slipping or scraping against the mountain wall while passing.

Further away on the mountain trails, several marching columns were also moving.

Judging by the grayish-blue uniforms, they were all Austro-Hungarian mountain infantry.

The Kampfgruppe's operational arrangement was very clear—after the instruction unit, with its stronger assault capabilities, fought the first wave, they handed the positions over to these Austro-Hungarian mountain infantry to garrison, while they themselves boarded vehicles to advance rapidly along the river valley.

After all, the Austro-Hungarian reinforcing troops hadn't been able to secure motorized vehicles in time.

So after this, the Austro-Hungarian mountain infantry would continue organizing advances through the mountains, clearing out residual Romanian defenders on both sides of the river valley. A clear division of labor, each playing to their strengths.

Jonathan had a communications soldier telephone the intelligence back to the Kampfgruppe command above the pass, then walked back under the canvas awning to continue staring at the map, waiting for further orders.

Meanwhile, on Rommel's end.

The Romanians' position had been completely secured by the instruction unit. Over two hundred prisoners were herded into a depression, squatting on the ground.

Half a platoon of instruction unit soldiers stood guard nearby with guns ready, though their expressions were quite relaxed.

After all, once their ammunition dump was blown up, these Romanian soldiers essentially lost all will to resist.

Rommel stood at the edge of the position, raising his binoculars to look across the river valley. There was actually another Romanian position over there. Under normal circumstances, these two positions would form a crossfire, suppressing any enemies passing through the river valley below.

However, right now, that position across the way was also under attack, and the sounds of gunfire and explosions were continuous.

Another "Taube" reconnaissance aircraft was circling above the position, occasionally diving down to perform a strafing run.

"The pilot over there is a bit lacking in skill."

Lieutenant Schulz crouched beside Rommel, also watching the situation across the way.

"He's strafed three times now, and the hit rate is still not very high. And it seems he hasn't prepared any other methods of attack either."

"Perhaps the one who just supported us had better skills and more guts... But these things can be practiced; it's just a matter of time." Rommel lowered his binoculars, his mind already drifting far away.

"Judging from today's battle, the concept of ground attack itself is completely viable... Regardless of accuracy, as long as an airplane dives down from overhead, the people on the ground will instinctively panic, and the organization of their firepower will be interrupted."

He paused, then continued:

"Even if not a single bullet hits, the chaos caused by this psychological pressure alone is enough to throw an insufficiently trained army into disarray."

"And I believe that as the Empire's technology continues to advance, the performance and firepower of aircraft will only grow stronger. Perhaps in the future, these 'big birds' flying in the sky will become crucial support for ground troops!"

Schulz thought for a moment and had to admit that Rommel made sense.

And just as Rommel had judged, the battle across the way ended after lasting about fifteen minutes.

Although the pilot's bombing didn't hit any critical facilities, after three rounds of airstrikes combined with the ground troops' flanking attack, the Romanian defenders couldn't hold out much longer.

A while later, a group of Austro-Hungarian mountain infantry in grayish-blue uniforms, carrying various bags and packs, crept up along the mountain path.

Leading them was an Austro-Hungarian captain wearing a hunter's hat he clearly procured himself, a pheasant feather stuck in the brim, looking even more spirited than the instruction unit personnel.

"Saxon brothers, leave the position to us!"

This captain was clearly an Austrian who could speak Saxon, so communicating with the instruction unit was very smooth.

Rommel quickly completed the handover of the position with him, clearly detailing the locations of fire points, ammunition storage status, and prisoner detention areas.

Simultaneously, he also left the already-laid telephone lines for them, making it easier for them to communicate with the rear.

"You can use the cables directly; they connect to Hill 1066."

The Austro-Hungarian mountain troop captain thanked him repeatedly. Rommel then called Schulz over to assemble the troops.

The soldiers of the 2nd Company quickly regrouped, walking down the path toward the designated assembly point at the bottom of the valley.

After walking for about ten minutes, the path merged into a slightly wider dirt road. A row of radiant crystal trucks was parked on the road, with some driver-soldiers standing guard around them. Two men looking like NCOs were leaning against the front of a truck chatting.

Seeing Rommel bringing his men over, one of the NCOs in charge of the convoy hurried over.

"Company Commander, all vehicles are accounted for!"

"Entire company, board! The first two vehicles will carry the point squads. Maintain a 500-meter interval after departure!"

Rommel's commands were crisp and clean.

The soldiers moved quickly, vaulting into the truck beds squad by squad.

The light machine gunners clamped the bipods of their MG14s onto the tailgates of the truck beds for temporary securing, muzzles pointing in the direction of travel, while the ammo belts stretched out to the assistant gunners beside them.

Once everything was ready, the lead two trucks drove out first, getting onto the potholed dirt road alongside the river valley.

The sound of radiant crystal engines echoed between the mountain walls. The road was extremely bumpy, tossing the people in the vehicles back and forth.

Schulz gripped the edge of the truck bed, his face quickly turning green. Even though he had adapted to vehicular travel, this mountain road was clearly too much for him.

"These road conditions can shake a person to pieces..."

Rommel merely smiled, standing calmly behind the cab, holding the roof with one hand and a map in the other. "We should be glad we have wheels. It's better than making you run through these mountains on your two legs!"

Meanwhile, on the Predeal Pass.

Kleist walked briskly to Morin.

"Commander, 2nd Battalion Commander Jonathan reports the two positions below the pass have been secured. The Austro-Hungarian mountain infantry have completed their relief in place. Additionally, intercepted enemy telegrams indicate the Romanians requested reinforcements from the 3rd Reserve Infantry Division."

Morin took the telegram, scanned it, and then directly opened the system's [Intelligence] interface.

Sure enough, after compiling the intelligence acquired by the various vanguard units, the system also provided more precise information.

[Kingdom of Romania Army 3rd Reserve Infantry Division (strength at 75%), has departed from its garrison in Brașov, heading to organize defenses at the exit of the Prahova River Valley, distance 22.4 kilometers]

River valley exit...

Morin quickly ran through the map in his mind.

The Prahova River Valley was flanked by continuous mountain ranges. Exiting the valley led into hills and plains.

If the Romanians' reserve division rushed to block the river valley exit and established defenses relying on the natural advantages of that terrain, the Kampfgruppe would definitely have to spend some time to break through.

But Morin didn't intend to waste much time here.

He glanced at the system map again. The straight-line distance from the pass to the river valley exit for the Kampfgruppe was also about twenty kilometers.

"A 20-kilometer race..." Morin muttered, though the corners of his mouth quickly turned up. "Good thing we have wheels."

He turned and called for Manstein, then issued new directives.

"Issue orders to all 'Deep Strike Groups'."

"Do not get entangled with the Romanian defenders on the mountains flanking the river valley... Leave those positions for the 'Forward Assault Groups' and the Austro-Hungarian mountain infantry to chew on."

"Once the 'Forward Assault Groups' and the Austro-Hungarian allied forces draw the Romanians' attention, all 'Deep Strike Groups' are to advance along the river valley at maximum speed. Secure the exit zone of the Prahova River Valley before the enemy reinforcements arrive."

"In short—tell all units to mind marching safety, but they must be fast!"

Manstein's lips moved, seemingly wanting to say something.

He unconsciously glanced at the timetable in his hand and the advance routes on the map, then looked up at Morin's resolute face, ultimately swallowing the words on the tip of his tongue.

"...Yes, sir!"

Manstein turned to execute the order.

Morin turned his head to look at the mountain road in the distance. A massive number of radiant crystal trucks were driving down the mountain.

Through the system map, he could see the various units of his Kampfgruppe merging with the convoys in different areas.

The unit cards representing the instruction unit were clustering around the icons marking vehicle locations, then successively switching to "March" status.

The reinforcing Saxon Guard infantry were doing much the same. Although their movements were slower than the instruction unit's, they were generally orderly.

The "Great Charge" of the entire Kampfgruppe was kicking off methodically.

Morin took a final tour around the pass.

Following his orders, engineer units were dismantling explosives at those three detonation points.

In front of the main tunnel holding 184 tons of explosives, a long line of manual laborers had formed.

Engineers worked in pairs, carrying boxes of repacked explosives out of the tunnel one by one and stacking them neatly in the clearing outside.

The engineer company commander in charge of this task saw Morin approaching and hurriedly jogged to meet him.

"Commander, we are proceeding according to explosive ordnance disposal regulations... but three hundred tons is a truly massive amount. Extracting all of it will likely take several more hours."

Hearing this, Morin shook his head, gesturing for him not to rush.

"It's fine. There's no rush for the explosives in this main tunnel. Wait for the airship to return and consider using it to hoist them directly. The radiant crystal trucks are needed to transport troops rapidly forward; they certainly can't wait here."

The engineer company commander froze—using an airship to hoist explosives?

But he didn't ask further. After all, he had seen many of Colonel Morin's unorthodox maneuvers.

"Understood."