Chapter 474: Night Raid
Richthofen's "Taube" reconnaissance aircraft bounced twice during the final stage of its landing roll, but ultimately managed to touch down somewhat crookedly on the field runway.
The ground crew NCOs immediately swarmed over to help push the plane. Soon, a sharp-eyed ground crewman noticed the bullet hole on the left wing.
"Lieutenant, were you hit by ground fire?"
A ground crew sergeant poked his head near the bullet hole to inspect it, then reached out to touch the curled fragments of skin around the hole's edge.
"Yeah."
Richthofen had already scrambled out of the cockpit. After taking off his flight cap and goggles, the red marks left by the goggles were still visible on his face.
"Shot from a clock tower. Two shots, one hit."
The ground crew sergeant frowned: "A rifle hit an airplane? Should I say your luck is too bad, or the other guy's luck is too good?"
"No."
Richthofen shook his head.
"I think it might not be a matter of luck. It's that the opponent shot too accurately."
He handed the aerial camera loaded with glass plates to the waiting aviation officer, then was led into a rest tent beside the airfield.
About twenty minutes later, Morin and Kleist arrived at the field airfield.
Inside the tent, Richthofen was holding a cup of hot coffee. Seeing Morin enter, he immediately stood up.
"Colonel."
"Sit, sit, sit. No need for formalities right now."
Morin waved his hand and sat down on a folding chair opposite him.
"Tell me, how did things look up there? I heard from the aviation guys that you were attacked?"
Richthofen set down his coffee cup and recounted the entire process from takeoff to return in its original detail.
The general layout of the city's defenses, the deployment locations of the garrison, the positions of supply distribution points and barricades, and that clock tower.
"My altitude at the time was about two hundred meters. I didn't check my speed, but because I had just lowered my altitude, it definitely wasn't slow..."
Richthofen's tone carried a hint of confusion.
"Hitting a target moving at that speed and altitude from below with a rifle... to be honest, I've never seen anything like it since I joined the aviation corps."
"The enemy shooting was on top of the clock tower. They probably used the building's height to shorten the shooting distance, but even so, considering the airplane's speed and lateral movement, this kind of hit rate..."
He paused.
"It's too abnormal."
Kleist, standing at the tent entrance, instinctively turned his head to glance at Morin upon hearing the word "abnormal."
However, Morin's expression remained unchanged. He even offered a comforting expression to Richthofen.
"Fortunately, it only hit the wing and didn't damage any vital parts of you or the plane... What did the ground crew say? How long will repairs take?"
"No more than half a day. The damage isn't severe."
"That's good."
Morin stood up and patted Richthofen on the shoulder.
"Good work, get some rest... By the way, where are your aerial photos being developed?"
Hearing Morin's question, an aviation officer immediately stepped forward to lead the way.
"Colonel, please follow me."
Morin had never seen photo developing from this era, so he was quite curious. He followed the officer out of the rest tent, past a row of crude sheds next to the apron, and finally stopped in front of a tent that was distinctly different from the rest.
This tent was nearly twice the size of a standard campaign tent. Its outer layer was wrapped in thick, dark canvas, clearly treated to block out light. The door flap at the entrance was also noticeably thicker than other tents and secured with ropes to prevent it from being easily pulled open.
"Are the people inside decent for me to come in now?"
The aviation officer called into the tent.
"It's fine! Just finished the final batch of fixing."
A voice replied from inside as the securing ropes were untied and the door flap was lifted a crack.
Morin ducked his head and followed the aviation officer into the tent. A pungent smell of mixed chemical solutions hit him in the face.
The layout inside the tent surprised him somewhat.
On a long table to the right, several large metal trays were lined up in a row, still containing residual developer solution.
At the other end of the table sat a rather precise-looking enlarger. Hanging next to it were several dripping wet, newly developed photographs. A rope was strung from one end of the tent to the other, holding more photographs with wooden clips, drying naturally.
There were only two technicians responsible for the developing work: the young bespectacled soldier who had just peeked out, and a slightly older sergeant.
"How does this setup of yours work?"
Morin was intrigued by this darkroom, which looked very crude on the outside but was clearly operating methodically.
The older sergeant pushed his glasses up his nose and began to explain.
The aerial cameras currently used by the aviation corps were loaded with single glass dry plates as light-sensitive material, each measuring 18 by 24 centimeters.
Although these glass dry plates were clunky and prone to breaking, the imaging was extremely clear and stable; even after enlargement, many details could still be discerned.
To prioritize speed, the developing process underwent massive simplification—multiple negatives were tossed into a large developing tray for batch processing simultaneously, skipping the stop-bath step of the standard process, going straight to fixing and washing after development.
The moment a negative emerged, it went onto the enlarger, projected onto photographic paper, and then went through a rapid developing and fixing process again.
"The entire process takes about thirty-five to forty minutes, depending on the number of negatives."
The sergeant explained while wiping the chemical solutions off his hands with a towel.
"Lieutenant Richthofen took a total of twelve negatives in this batch, all of which have been processed."
Morin couldn't help but nod. This speed was honestly quite acceptable, and theoretically, it should only get faster.
At least in the world before his transmigration, both the Entente and the Central Powers could achieve speeds of processing over ten thousand aerial photographs per night.
Once the photographs gradually dried, the technical sergeant arranged them in shooting order and laid them out on a temporarily erected display board.
Morin stepped closer to scrutinize them. Richthofen's photography skills gave Morin quite a pleasant surprise.
Besides being exceptionally gifted in aerial combat, this future "Air Combat Ace + Ground Combat Hero" was also highly skilled in the business of aerial reconnaissance.
The photos included high-altitude panoramic views that clearly captured the overall outline of Bucharest's urban area and the layout of its main streets. There were also close-up shots taken at specifically lowered altitudes over several key areas.
The military supplies and tent clusters piled on the square south of the city, the barricades built of overturned carriages and sandbags in the west, and several visibly reinforced intersections were all clearly recorded.
"Not bad, very good..."
Morin picked out a few key photos and then signaled Kleist, who had followed him in, to come take a look.
Kleist stepped up to the photos, examined them for a moment, and pointed to one, frowning.
"They've also dug trenches on the outskirts of the city... But looking at the scale, they must have been rushed, and they don't seem very deep?"
"Mhm, indeed quite crude, fitting the average standard of the Balkan nations," Morin offered a sharp critique.
He then looked at another photo, an overhead shot of the city interior. The photo showed roadblocks set up on several main streets.
"The defenders' deployment is basically concentrated on the main arteries and several key intersections... The secondary streets and alleys within the city, on the other hand, seem deserted."
Morin placed the photo back on the display board, his mind racing.
That special unit card marked near the clock tower on the system map made it impossible for him to entrust this reconnaissance mission to anyone else.
"Kleist, go get Manstein too."
A while later, Manstein also arrived at the field airfield.
When Kleist relayed Morin's decision to personally lead a team to infiltrate and reconnoiter Bucharest, the young staff officer's first reaction was three seconds of silence.
He then looked at Kleist's expression, then at Morin's composed demeanor, and understood everything.
"Ewald, you tried to dissuade him?"
"I tried."
"Useless?"
"Useless."
Manstein took a deep breath...
And very straightforwardly changed his planned phrasing from "I object" to "Commander, when do we depart?"
Kleist almost choked to death on those words.
"Erich! You can't go either!"
"Why?"
"Because you're staying behind to command with me! That's the Colonel's order!"
Manstein's mouth opened, then slowly closed.
Morin couldn't hold back a laugh.
"Alright, alright, you two stop acting... Come over here, let's study the operational plan together."
After the four men left the tent, they temporarily commandeered an aviation corps tent and began formally discussing the specific details of the reconnaissance operation.
Route of action, vehicle selection, coordination of covering forces, direction and timing of the feint... Item by item was broken down and repeatedly scrutinized on the table.
The operation time was ultimately set for tomorrow night.
Because Morin needed to re-prepare a set of spells suitable for infiltration before his long rest tonight.
Time moved to the afternoon of May 16th.
The twenty soldiers selected from the instruction unit's 1st Battalion, 1st Company had already assembled on the open ground behind the temporary command post.
These men were all veterans who had followed Morin from the outbreak of the war to the present. They had participated in all battles, large and small, on the Western Front... including the Battle of Paris, entering the underground research facility, and had also witnessed the "Vukodlak" in Serbia.
It could be said they had played the full match.
In terms of individual soldier quality and battlefield experience, they were absolutely the cream of the crop within the Kampfgruppe and even the entire Saxon Imperial Army.
Four radiant crystal trucks in excellent condition and fully fueled were parked by the roadside. On the roof of the cab in front of the bed of each truck, an MG14 light machine gun was mounted.
There were no superfluous pleasantries or "pre-battle pep talks," because these veterans simply didn't need them.
Morin merely explained the specific details of the reconnaissance mission, then emphasized the rules of engagement. The 1st Company veterans naturally knew how to coordinate combat with their commander.
As the sky transitioned from an orange-red to grayish-blue, and then sank into pitch blackness, the wilderness on the outskirts of Bucharest lost its last ray of light.
At 8:30 PM, the instruction unit's 2nd Battalion and the coordinating 12th Guard Reserve Infantry Regiment began their performance.
The engines of a large number of radiant crystal trucks roared to life in the night. The headlights were deliberately partially turned on, illuminating the road heading northeast toward Bucharest.
The dust kicked up by the convoy appeared hazy under the headlights. Looking from a distance in the dark, the momentum was immense.
The Romanian sentries on the perimeter cordon of Bucharest almost immediately noticed the commotion.
"Saxons! The Saxons are moving! Northeast direction!"
The news passed through the pre-laid telephone lines, reaching the City Defense Command within Bucharest very promptly.
City Defense Commander Major General Van was currently hunched over a map, studying deployment adjustments for the defenders. Troop strength in the city was severely overstretched; just maintaining basic defenses in all directions already had him pulling his hair out.
"The Saxons are making a move?"
He looked up at the City Defense Chief of Staff, who was taking the call, and the latter simultaneously relayed the contents of the phone call to Major General Van.
"Northeast direction?"
Major General Van walked to the map, his finger landing on the annotation for the northeast direction of the city.
In that direction, the defenders had deployed two regiments, building a defense line relying on several rows of buildings at the city's edge and temporary trenches.
"Send someone to notify His Majesty."
Major General Van turned and ordered his adjutant.
"Additionally, all defenders in all directions are to enter combat readiness! Don't just stare at the northeast; keep your eyes peeled in other directions too!"
The adjutant took the order and left.
Fifteen minutes later, Ferdinand I arrived at the City Defense Command.
The King's complexion was even worse tonight than in previous days.
Whether due to lack of sleep or some other reason, his skin looked exceptionally pale, and the shadows around his eye sockets were much heavier.
However, before hurrying over, he had also relayed the news to a secret society member acting as a liaison, instructing the other party to notify the rest to prepare.
"Your Majesty, the Saxons are deploying troops on a large scale in the northeast direction."
Major General Van pointed at the map, reporting to Ferdinand I.
"We currently cannot confirm if the opponent intends to attack... Nighttime visibility is limited; our observers cannot see very far."
Ferdinand I: "How do you plan to respond?"
"Defenders in all directions have already entered the highest state of alert."
Major General Van traced a circle on the map with his hand.
"If it is confirmed that the main attack direction is the northeast, and the defenders on the position cannot hold it, I will draw a portion of troops from the south and west to reinforce."
"Doing that... won't it create vulnerabilities in other directions?"
Major General Van hesitated, but still offered his judgment.
"Your Majesty, based on continuous observation over these past few days, the Saxon troop strength outside the city is roughly only about one division... A force of this size is insufficient to launch simultaneous multi-directional attacks on Bucharest."
"Therefore, I am inclined to believe that if they truly intend to fight, they will only concentrate their forces to break through from one direction."
Ferdinand I said nothing more, merely nodding.
Time ticked by. When ten o'clock arrived, aside from the occasional sound of vehicle movements from the Saxons, there was no further action.
Several officers in the City Defense Command began whispering amongst themselves.
"Are they just bluffing?"
"Not attacking at this hour, are they going to wait until midnight?"
It wasn't that these Romanian officers underestimated the enemy. After all, before the formation of the instruction unit, night combat tactics were still too obscure.
Even if the armies of this era operated at night, it was mostly to march under the cover of darkness, not to engage in combat.
Night combat, for most nations, especially these insufficiently trained Balkan Peninsula armies, was still somewhat "beyond the syllabus"...
Just as everyone was discussing in hushed voices.
"Boom! Boom boom boom boom!!"
Muffled explosions came from the northeast direction of Bucharest, followed closely by a second and a third, then becoming continuous.
The expressions of everyone present completely changed in that instant.
The continuous impacts of artillery shells lit up the night sky with clusters of orange flashes. Even across the entire city, the people in the command center could feel the subtle vibrations under their feet.
Not long after the explosions sounded, the telephones in the City Defense Command began ringing like crazy.
"Commander! Commander! The northeast position is under heavy bombardment!!"
The voice on the other end of the receiver was almost roaring. The rumbling sounds of explosions transmitted through the telephone line made one's scalp tingle.
Major General Van grabbed the receiver.
"What's your situation!"
"Still tallying! Communication between the command post and the first few trenches has been temporarily severed due to the bombardment!"
The sudden bombardment lasted for almost half an hour. This was the most aggressive move the Saxons had made since arriving at Bucharest.
As the half-hour bombardment time passed and the sounds of explosions gradually faded, the troops dispatched by the Morin Kampfgruppe launched their assault on the positions.
This routine of infantry-artillery coordination was an operation the instruction unit was completely adept at, so they left the Romanians who survived the bombardment virtually no reaction time.
Before long, when the telephone in the City Defense Command rang again, the tone of the forward position commander's voice had completely changed.
"The Saxons have launched an assault, infantry-artillery coordination is extremely tight! The first trench line suffered heavy losses in the bombardment; we have already committed the reserves!"
A few minutes later, another call came in.
"Armored Knights! The Saxons have deployed Armored Knights!"
The voice of the defender commander in the northeast direction was nearing collapse.
"They are equipped with... some sort of flamethrowing device!! The soldiers in the trenches have no way to fight back! Requesting immediate deployment of reinforcements!"
The atmosphere inside the command center instantly solidified, and the hand with which Major General Van gripped the receiver turned white from clenching.
He turned to Ferdinand I, his Adam's apple bobbing.
"Your Majesty, requesting to draw troops from other directions to reinforce the northeast defense line!"
Ferdinand I didn't hesitate either, nodding directly.
And everyone in the City Defense Command finally believed that the Saxons had truly launched a night raid, and judging from the current situation, the results were quite impressive...
After the order was issued, signs of troop movement began to appear everywhere in the city.
The defenders in other directions of Bucharest began drawing out troops, moving along the city's main arteries toward the northeast.
Police forces and reserve militias also received orders to assist in the defense, drawing personnel from their respective intersections and barricades to fill the gaps left by the regular army.
The entire city of Bucharest turned into a chaotic mess in the night.
Meanwhile, on the frontline positions, the Saxon soldiers who had already broken through to the first defense line discovered that this position was much easier to breach than they had imagined.
Inside the cockpit of his Armored Knight, Ludwig used the flamethrower temporarily swapped for the heavy machine gun under his mechanical arm to burn his way down the shallow Romanian trenches, rapidly breaking through alongside the surrounding infantry.
Watching the enemy fleeing in panic ahead, and looking back at the first trench line already trampled underfoot, Ludwig couldn't help but mutter to himself:
"Friedrich... you better seize the opportunity to infiltrate and reconnoiter. We're almost fighting our way all the way in over here..."