Trenches, Guns, and Magic

Prahova River Valley. The scene at this moment was enough to make any logistics officer faint on the spot.

This narrow dirt road extending from the pass was densely packed with radiant crystal trucks.

Bumper to bumper, a steel dragon snaked endlessly through the valley, a truly spectacular sight.

Some vehicle engines were still idling, while others had been shut off by the drivers.

Soldiers sitting in the truck beds poked their heads out, craning their necks to look forward, but besides the canvas canopy of the truck ahead, they could see nothing.

"What's going on up front?"

"Don't know. Hear the road is blocked."

"Blocked? How can there be a traffic jam in this ravine?"

"They say a mountain collapsed..."

Similar conversations rose and fell along the long convoy.

If this were before Morin's transmigration, this scene would practically be a replica of a highway during the National Day holiday.

The only difference was that these people "stuck in traffic" weren't travelers returning home, but a fully-manned Kampfgruppe—the most highly mechanized combat unit of the Saxon Imperial Army to date.

Over 1,700 improved radiant crystal trucks.

This number alone was enough to cause collective insomnia among the army general staffs of every nation across the Europa continent.

During the implementation phase of the Schlieffen Plan at the start of the war, the massive "Right Hook" cluster of the Saxon Empire on the Northern Front, comprising hundreds of thousands of troops, only managed to scrape together about 5,000 trucks, and most of those were old models with questionable performance.

But now, not counting the allied Austro-Hungarian mountain infantry regiments, the "Morin Kampfgruppe," with its 4 infantry regiments, 1 artillery regiment, and 1 cavalry regiment totaling over 20,000 men, was already equipped with over 1,700...

This level of mechanization, if not unparalleled in all of Europa... was at least in a league of its own.

However, the benefits of mechanization... or early "motorization," were directly proportional to the headaches its flaws caused.

Just like right now... one landslide, and the entire road was instantly paralyzed.

The vehicles in back squeezed against the vehicles in front, and no one could move an inch.

However, the reaction of the various units was quite fast.

Mounted messengers galloped forward along the mountain paths beside the convoy to scout for news. Communications soldiers deftly jumped off the trucks, found somewhat flat ground by the roadside, set up antennas, and began contacting the Kampfgruppe command post still at the pass.

And they soon received a telegram from the command post:

Forward road blocked by enemy mountain blasting. 3rd Battalion has abandoned vehicles and is advancing rapidly on foot with light gear toward the river valley exit.

Orders: All battalions of the instruction unit are to dismount and assemble immediately, carry light weapons, and follow to provide support.

Guard Reserve Infantry to guard vehicles and equipment and clear the road.

After reading the telegram, 1st Battalion Commander Wolf shoved the paper into his adjutant's hand without a word, then jumped down from the truck.

"All companies, attention! Dismount and assemble! Everyone carry only weapons, magazines, and canteens! We move out in five minutes!"

His voice echoed in the valley. Immediately after, the company and platoon commanders roared along with him.

At almost the exact same time, Jonathan of the 2nd Battalion made the identical decision.

"Even a steady guy like Steiner took his men and ran ahead. We can't just sit in the back and wait, can we?"

While strapping on his chest rig and magazine pouches, Jonathan glanced back at the gridlocked convoy.

"Leave the trucks and heavy stuff to the Guard units; let them collect it slowly... Let's go!"

The tailgates of the trucks clanged down. The instruction unit soldiers tossed excess gear into the beds, donning only their chest rigs and magazine pouches, carrying their canteens and rations on their backs.

Then they hopped down from the trucks in twos and threes, quickly falling into formation by the roadside.

Their movements were exceptionally crisp. After all, these men had been subjected to so many emergency assemblies during daily training that it was muscle memory by now. Not to mention, they were currently in a wartime marching state.

The instruction unit soldiers of the two battalions quickly began running forward along the gridlocked convoy.

They ran past one radiant crystal truck after another, past the drivers sitting dazed in their cabs, and past the surprised or admiring gazes of the allied Guard units.

At the rear of the convoy, the commander of the 12th Guard Reserve Infantry Regiment, upon receiving the news, forcefully rode a messenger's horse and hurried to the source of the blockage.

When he saw the alluvial fan lying across the road, his mouth fell open and stayed that way for a long time.

"How the f*ck long is it going to take to move this..."

But what gave the Guard regimental commander an even more complicated expression was another scene before him.

On the slope of the alluvial fan, lines of instruction unit soldiers in field-gray uniforms were scrambling upward on all fours.

Carrying their weapons, backpacks, and chest rigs, with grenades and canteens hanging from their waists, they silently and swiftly climbed over the massive rocks.

Upon reaching the top, these men didn't even pause. They slid directly down the scree slope on the other side, merged back onto the mountain road ahead, and ran off without looking back.

The Guard regimental commander watched from horseback for a good while, until the last batch of instruction unit soldiers disappeared over the other side of the alluvial fan...

He fell silent for a few seconds, then yanked the adjutant who had just caught up to him.

"Pass my orders: all Guard infantry, dismount! Bring shovels, pickaxes, every tool that can dig or pry! Clear a path through this pile of blasted rocks for me!"

The adjutant looked at the mountain-sized alluvial fan, his expression turning somewhat bitter.

"Commander, this amount of work... even if the whole regiment gets to it..."

"I don't care how long it takes!"

The Guard regimental commander cracked his riding crop, producing a sharp crack in the air.

"We can't have the instruction unit running for their lives up front while we dawdle clearing the road in a safe environment back here!"

His voice was so loud everyone around heard it.

"Yes, sir!"

Soon, a massive number of Guard infantry swarmed toward the alluvial fan shouldering entrenching shovels and various tools.

Although everyone knew that clearing such a massive pile by human labor alone would take hours, at least no one dawdled anymore.

Further ahead, deep in the river valley, the instruction unit's 3rd Battalion had already run a long way.

The first twenty minutes after the 3rd Battalion set out went fairly smoothly.

The soldiers' breathing rhythms were steady, their strides even, and the entire unit maintained a tight combat march formation.

No one spoke. Only the dull thud of military boots hitting the gravel road and the slight friction of gear straps swaying with their bodies could be heard.

Experienced NCOs kept their voices low, occasionally reminding them at intervals.

"Three steps inhale, three steps exhale!"

"Don't hold your breath! Don't clench your teeth! Relax your jaw!"

Steiner and the battalion headquarters ran in the middle-front section of the column, sandwiched between the 1st and 2nd Companies. This allowed him to constantly monitor the vanguard ahead while also looking back to check the status of the troops behind.

For the first 8 kilometers, everyone maintained a pace of about 7 minutes per kilometer.

This performance was only considered average during the instruction unit's daily training.

After all, their usual battalion average for an unburdened 10-kilometer cross-country run was just over 40 minutes. Some guys, jokingly called "fitness livestock" by the others, could even finish a 15-kilometer armed cross-country run under 2 hours.

But this wasn't a training ground.

Beneath their feet was a rugged mountain road; ahead was an environment where they could encounter the enemy at any moment. Every bullet and every grenade hanging on them was dead weight.

And after advancing 8 kilometers, physical changes began to appear in the instruction unit soldiers.

These gradual changes were exactly the same as during training.

The quadriceps of the thighs protested first. That burning sensation spread from above the knees, worsening with every step.

Next were the lungs... Every breath felt like red-hot coals were shoved down their tracheas; the air they drew in simply wasn't enough.

Sweat had long since soaked their uniforms. The suspenders and rifle slings, saturated with moisture, became heavy and slippery. Not only did they chafe painfully, but they also constantly slipped toward the lower shoulder, forcing them to constantly adjust them with their hands.

Some began gasping for air, their breathing rhythms slowly breaking down.

"Run and walk! Run four hundred, walk fifty!"

The NCOs of each company shouted this command almost simultaneously. This was a stamina distribution method drilled countless times during training.

After the glycogen in the body is depleted and the muscles enter the anaerobic metabolism phase, brief periods of brisk walking can slightly lower the heart rate, giving the body a window to catch its breath without completely stopping and causing the muscles to cool and stiffen.

The battalion's average pace dropped to 9 to 10 minutes per kilometer.

Fortunately, no one fell behind during this process.

This was also the situation Steiner feared the most, and what he repeatedly emphasized before setting out—he'd rather the whole battalion slow down a bit together than have people drop out.

Although other units should quickly follow up from the rear, right now, every straggler meant one less man when the 3rd Battalion reached its destination.

In truth, the instruction unit soldiers did not disappoint him.

After prolonged, high-intensity physical training, the physical thresholds of these soldiers had been pushed to the absolute ceiling for infantry of this era.

Although everyone was too exhausted to speak right now, at least no one exhibited symptoms of muscle tremors or dry heaving.

If this were any other unit pushed to this extent, the roadside would have been littered with collapsed soldiers long ago.

9th kilometer... 10th kilometer... 11th kilometer...

Time slipped away minute by minute amidst the sound of footsteps in the mountain forest.

1 hour and 32 minutes after departure, the "fitness livestock" running at the very front—the 3rd Battalion's point platoon—were the first to see the end of the river valley.

The mountain walls opened up ahead, revealing a relatively open area at the end of the valley.

Further out, undulating plains could be faintly seen.

"F-Finally here..."

The several soldiers of the point platoon slowed their pace almost simultaneously.

No cheers, no celebrations, because everyone was so exhausted they couldn't even muster an extra facial expression.

The platoon leader leaned on his knees and panted for a good while, then forced himself to stand up straight, beckoning the few men under him who could still move to follow him up the high ground on one side of the river valley exit.

There was a reasonably dense patch of woods on the high ground, providing good cover.

The platoon leader and platoon sergeant leaned against tree trunks, raising their binoculars to look toward the plains outside the river valley.

Through the binoculars, the makeshift road at the edge of their vision was empty; there were no signs of troop movement.

The two lowered their binoculars and exchanged a glance.

The platoon sergeant broke into a wide grin, revealing teeth stained yellow by smoke.

The platoon leader also smiled, then gave the platoon sergeant a hard pat on the shoulder, saying nothing.

Gradually, the other companies of the 3rd Battalion also arrived near the river valley exit under the guidance of the point platoon.

Upon arriving, Steiner immediately grabbed the battalion executive officer and several company commanders to assign tasks.

"All companies, send those who still have stamina to scout the terrain on the surrounding high ground! The rest take a brief rest at the rear of the river valley!"

The NCOs of the various companies also braced themselves, refusing to rest. They continuously walked among the surrounding instruction unit soldiers, constantly reminding them:

"Remember, do not sit down! Walk slowly!"

"Hold onto a tree! Hold onto a tree and walk slowly!"

Although it was repeatedly emphasized during instruction unit training that one must not sit down immediately after strenuous exercise—this would cause blood to pool in the lower limbs, leading to dizziness or even shock...

When the body has been pushed to its absolute limit, rational thought in the brain often battles with physical instinct. Ordinary soldiers, even trained ones, are no exception.

So at times like this, you needed someone nearby to hold you back.

A large number of soldiers leaned on their rifles or held onto tree trunks, walking slowly back and forth in place, mouths agape, gasping desperately for air.

Battalion Commander Steiner then had the only two messengers in the battalion with horses carry a message back.

Although every battalion in the instruction unit was equipped with radios, those clunky machines could only be transported by truck and were currently left behind.

As for the other group that used pack horses, they were the two MG08 heavy machine gun squads and two light mortar squads.

After the entire battalion became motorized, the 3rd Battalion didn't keep many pack horses or warhorses; they were mostly concentrated among messengers and logistics personnel, and their numbers were very limited. Thus, right now they could only scrape together four teams of pack horses to transport the heavy machine guns and mortars.

Having finally reached the designated objective of the "Deep Strike Group," Steiner let out a sigh of relief—or at least, half a sigh of relief.

Standing at the edge of the high ground, he glanced at the quiet plains outside the river valley, then looked back at his slowly recovering subordinates.

"Next up is holding this pass..."

He muttered this under his breath, then turned to the battalion executive officer.

"After the companies finish their brief rest, have them immediately construct a temporary defense line on the high ground... Concentrate all light and heavy machine guns to form an interlocking kill zone at the entrance of the river valley."

"Set up the mortars in the back too... By the way, how many did we bring?"

"Two 75mm ones, sir. Twenty rounds per gun."

"Tsk... too few, but set them up first."

About another hour later, the light and heavy weapons of the 3rd Battalion's companies were finally all moved onto the high ground, and the position began to take basic shape.

Calling it a position was generous. They merely utilized the natural rocks and trees on the high ground, combined with shallow pits dug by the soldiers using entrenching shovels, to cobble together several firing emplacements.

The two MG08 heavy machine guns were mounted on protruding points facing three different directions. Together with the dispersed MG14 light machine guns, they basically covered most of the open ground outside the river valley exit.

The two 75mm light mortars were hidden in a depression on the reverse slope of the high ground. The gunners had already preset several sets of firing data based on visual distance estimation.

Riflemen and submachine gunners scattered among the fire points, relying on rocks and trees to form a defense line that wasn't very thick but had excellent fields of fire.

Steiner did a tour of inspection, feeling somewhat reassured.

Although they didn't have 170mm heavy mortars to hold the line, and ammunition was quite tight, this terrain was indeed very favorable for the defenders.

The high grounds on both sides of the river valley exit formed a natural bottleneck. Any force wanting to charge in from outside would first have to cross a gentle, open slope several hundred meters long.

On this gentle slope, the attackers would be completely exposed under the interlocking fire from the high ground.

"As long as the ammunition holds out, and the enemy doesn't have a large amount of artillery, it shouldn't be a big problem..."

Just as Steiner finished this assessment in his head, the vanguard sent back news.

A large number of infantry had appeared in the distance on the makeshift road outside the river valley exit and was approaching.

It was too far to distinguish uniform colors and unit designations, but judging from the marching formation and direction of advance, it was practically certain they were Romanians.

"They arrived faster than I thought."

Steiner frowned. Clearly, the opponent's marching speed had also exceeded expectations.

But immediately after, the messenger sent out earlier returned on horseback, bringing him two pieces of news.

The good news was that the 1st and 2nd Battalions of the instruction unit were also engaged in a forced march and would arrive in about half an hour.

The other news came from an enemy situation briefing from the Kampfgruppe command: The enemy force reinforcing the river valley direction was designated the Kingdom of Romania Army's 3rd Reserve Infantry Division.

"A reserve infantry division."

Steiner and the battalion executive officer exchanged a glance.

A reserve division meant the opponent's equipment and training levels wouldn't be very high, but the strength of a division was right there. Even cut in half, it was still over ten thousand men.

And he had, fully counted, just over 900 men. Infantry ammunition was only two basic loads, and heavy firepower was much less than before.

"Regardless, we must hold for this half hour."

Steiner turned to look at the battalion executive officer. Although the latter's face wasn't looking great, he still nodded forcefully.

A while later, on the open ground outside the river valley exit, the reconnaissance troops of the vanguard regiment of the Romanian 3rd Reserve Infantry Division began struggling to climb toward the high ground.

Calling them reconnaissance troops was a stretch; they were actually just two squads the old colonel pulled from a main battalion, sent up to see if there was anyone on the high ground.

The condition of these Romanian soldiers was terrible.

A forced march of over 20 kilometers from their garrison had completely drained their physical stamina.

Now, asking them to climb a mountain slope dozens of meters high... every step felt like stepping on cotton; their legs had no strength.

One older veteran even used his rifle as a cane, shuffling upward step by step.

And just as they climbed about halfway up the slope, the high ground opened fire.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

Crisp rifle shots rang down from the high ground. Bullets landed accurately around the reconnaissance troops.

The first volley dropped three men—two hit by rifle rounds, one grazed and tumbling down the slope.

The remaining Romanian soldiers instinctively tried to find cover, but after the long march, their bodies no longer obeyed commands.

One tried to dive behind a nearby rock, but his legs gave out, and he fell to his knees on the spot.

Another attempted to raise his rifle to return fire, only to find his hands shaking so badly he couldn't even align the sights.

The defenders on the high ground didn't waste this opportunity. Several instruction unit marksmen lay behind rocks, aiming and firing unhurriedly.

Every bullet had a clear target; every pull of the trigger was accompanied by a Romanian soldier falling.

In less than a minute, the two squads, twenty men in total, were decimated.

In the end, only two men managed to tumble and crawl back down to the bottom of the slope.

In the temporary assembly area far from the high ground, the old colonel watched this scene through his binoculars, his expression frozen.

It wasn't that he was frightened by the casualties among his soldiers—he had seen scenes ten times bloodier during the Balkan Wars.

It was primarily due to the way the enemy fired just now: the gunfire was sparse but exceptionally precise.

The enemy on the high ground was clearly controlling their rate of fire, not even opening up with heavy weapons, consciously conserving ammunition... This indicated the opponent's ammunition supply might not be very plentiful.

But simultaneously, this level of shooting accuracy indicated the opponent was absolutely not some hastily cobbled-together force.

To be able to reach the river valley exit, occupy the high ground, establish fire emplacements, and deliver this level of marksmanship in such a short time...

"It must be the Saxon elites," the old colonel lowered his binoculars and cursed softly.

However, he immediately noticed something else.

The two soldiers who luckily escaped back were talking over each other, describing the situation up there. Although their speech was confused and unclear, one piece of information was consistent: the enemy on the high ground wasn't numerous, and the fire points weren't dense.

The old colonel quickly made a judgment.

The enemy vanguard hadn't been there long; the positions weren't fully constructed yet.

If he didn't attack now, once the opponent's follow-up troops arrived, this gap would be completely sealed.

"Have the mountain gun battalion deploy immediately!"

He turned and roared at his chief of staff.

"Conduct fire preparation on the high ground! Simultaneously, order all battalions to organize their formations and prepare to attack!"

The mountain gun battalion reinforced to the vanguard regiment by the division headquarters had a total of 12 65mm mountain guns.

The power of these small-caliber artillery pieces was limited, but their advantage lay in being light and flexible, deploying very quickly in mountain environments.

A few minutes later, the 12 mountain guns were set up behind a shallow slope behind the open ground.

"Fire!"

"Boom! Boom! Boom!"

The 65mm shells flew toward the high ground, trailing sharp shrieks.

The impact points of the first volley were somewhat off. Most shells smashed into the open ground in front of the high ground, blasting up clouds of dirt and scree.

But the Romanian artillerymen quickly corrected their firing parameters. Starting from the fourth volley, the shells accurately covered the positions at the edge of the high ground.

The instruction unit soldiers on the high ground were forced to retreat from the crest, withdrawing into reverse slope bunkers, leaving only observation posts far from the main position that weren't under attack.

Although 65mm shells couldn't blast through rock bunkers, the shrapnel and scree generated by the explosions flew everywhere in the woods. Without sandbags and a systematic bunker system, it was clearly impossible to endure it forcefully.

Steiner hid behind a large rock. Listening to the continuous explosions overhead, his mind calculated the time rapidly.

Half an hour.

As long as they held for another half hour, the 1st and 2nd Battalions would arrive.

He tightened his grip on the handle of his submachine gun, then turned his head to look at the battalion executive officer, who was also huddled in the bunker.

"Tell the mortars to hold their fire. Conserve ammunition... wait until their infantry comes up before firing."

As soon as he spoke, chaotic shouting came from the bottom of the slope.

The observation post left on the high ground also saw the scene outside the river valley—

On the open ground below the gentle slope, a densely packed mass of Romanian infantry had formed a skirmish line. Driven by their officers, they launched a charge toward the high ground.

However, at the same time, the roar of propellers sounded from the valley to their rear.