Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

Creeping barrage is a classic artillery support tactic. Its core is to allow the "wall of fire" formed by the impact of artillery shells to extend deeper into the enemy's territory in sequence with the advance of infantry, ensuring that the infantry launches an assault from the safe zone behind the smoke and dust of the explosions.

This tactic is not simply firing a few shots randomly, but rather an extremely precise procedure that coordinates time and space. The impact point of each shell, the interval of each barrage, and the timing of each extension are all accurate to the second and the meter.

First, before launching an attack, the artillery command and infantry commanders must develop a detailed firing plan. The firing zone is demarcated, and the enemy's front line is divided into several barrage lines. Each line is a calculated scale, like a grid on a ruler, and each grid corresponds to a period of time covered by artillery fire.

Next, the advance speed is determined, and the dwell time of each barrage line is calculated based on the infantry's impact speed.

Okay, the first step is complete. Next is the second step: dividing the firepower units.

This means allocating artillery groups to provide layered coverage. For example, the artillery can be divided into several groups: the first group is responsible for bombarding the current first line of fire, the second group is responsible for pre-firing the second line of fire, and the third group is responsible for pre-firing the third line of fire.

Each salvo has its own target line, each salvo has its own rhythm, and each salvo paves the way for the next salvo.

Having arrived here, the plan is now complete.

Next, we simply wait for the moment to launch the attack.

The first group of artillery pieces fired rapidly at the first barrage line under a unified command.

The shells exploded on the enemy's front line, forming a burning curtain of smoke and fragments. The infantry had to set out from trenches or concealed positions about 150 meters away from where the shells landed.

At that moment, the smoke and dust kicked up by the exploding shells in front provided cover for the infantry, while the sound of the explosions also suppressed the enemy's firing ports.

Next comes the most difficult step – dynamic extended shooting.

The key is how to get the bullet comments moving.

There are generally two methods: timed extension and blast-by-blast relocation.

If a timed extension is used, the timer starts, and when the corresponding time arrives, the artillery command post issues the "extend" command.

Then, according to the pre-calculated firing data table, the elevation mechanisms were rotated collectively. It was a precise operation; the elevation mechanism of each gun had to be rotated by the same angle, and each gun barrel had to be pointed in the same direction. If the barrage needed to move laterally, the azimuth angle was adjusted uniformly.

As the elevation adjustment was completed, the artillery opened fire simultaneously, the shells landing neatly on the next line, as if someone were using an invisible pen to draw a new, farther horizontal line on paper. Hearing the extended range of the artillery fire, the infantry immediately advanced to the next distance.

It can't be too early, it can't be too late, and there can be no hesitation.

If the artillery is moved one by one, half of the artillery continues to bombard the current line while the other half adjusts its firing data to fire at the next line, alternating between the two to ensure the fire wall is not extinguished.

It's like two people taking turns keeping the same lamp lit.

During infantry-artillery coordination, artillery forward observers must advance alongside the infantry. Standing behind the infantry, they watch where the shells land, observe the enemy's reactions, and anticipate the next move.

If the infantry advances too quickly, the observer will shout "Pause the advance" or "Increase the firing direction"; if the enemy resistance is weak, they will shout "Accelerate the progress." Furthermore, the observer must use the deviation between the impact point and the target to adjust the artillery's mil value, ensuring the next barrage accurately covers the trenches.

Once the infantry has captured the enemy's main position, the observer needs to issue a "cease fire" or "interception fire" signal: the barrage stops advancing, or the fire is switched to fixed interception fire on the enemy's retreat or counterattack routes to cut off enemy reinforcements.

This is the ultimate tactic in infantry-artillery coordination—the creeping barrage.

The implementation of the "slow-moving barrage" essentially involves using stopwatches and mil-counters to control the impact point of artillery shells, a tactic requiring precision down to the second. It's like an elevator climbing floors, smoothly and continuously, with the infantry acting as a suicide squad closely following behind.

If this tactic goes wrong, it's especially easy to accidentally hit friendly forces. For example, just before reaching the enemy's defensive line, you might get blown up by your own artillery shells; or infantry might be charging ahead while your own troops are slowly advancing and barrageing from behind.

The most classic example is the Battle of the Somme...

There was also the epic Battle of Songmaoling, where the infantry and artillery coordinated perfectly, and the barrage of bullets acted like a pair of precise scissors, cutting through the enemy's defenses step by step.

In general, to achieve a creeping barrage, infantry and artillery must possess high military skills, have a high degree of unit organization, and have mutual trust and close cooperation between the infantry and artillery.

Without a doubt, this is something that Trucchi's current army simply cannot do!
Before this, Duruchi had either Reaper Ballistae, which served as company-level support firepower and could provide low-altitude defense when necessary, or Twisted Cannons, which could be fixed in place for targeted dismantling operations.

There was no coordinated tactic that required repeated deliberation and precision down to the second between the artillery command post and the infantry commander, and no tacit understanding where the infantry followed the artillery shells.

So the infantrymen assembled on the other side of the river didn't move at all, but instead acted as spectators. Standing at a safe distance, they watched the shells explode on the opposite bank, watched the soil being turned up and shattered, watched the smoke and dust being blown away by the wind and covered by new smoke and dust.

But the artillery moved.

The method of movement is also very simple: the officer operating the gun shakes the elevation mechanism, advancing it fifty meters forward.

The standard rate of fire is five rounds per minute, with a 5-round interval between each round.

The whole process was like someone using an invisible hand to push the cannon barrel forward section by section.

It can be simply understood as: Ah, we are going to conduct artillery firing, but simple artillery firing is too monotonous, why don't we do something else? What should we do?
At this moment, the idea generator randomly refreshed.

It should be noted that there is never a shortage of sons in Tariendan.

Among the staff officers who had simulated countless times on the sand table, imagined countless times in their minds, and drawn countless times on paper, there would always be one who would suddenly look up at that battle map full of arrows and say, "How about we try this?"

Thus, a kind of "Xu Jin bullet screen" that cannot be called Xu Jin bullet screen at all appeared.

But whatever it's called, as long as it looks good, that's fine.

After all, this should be the first time in the world that smokeless gunpowder artillery has appeared and been used on a large scale, so... what it's called doesn't matter at all.

The important thing is the first time.

The important thing is that all the elves who witnessed this scene will remember this day.

Unforgettable!

Whether it's as precise, as coordinated, or as textbook-perfect as Xu Jin's bullet comments is irrelevant...

As I said before: the scene was just really good.

“Show…chemistry!” Five minutes elapsed between the start and stop of the cannon fire. Then silence fell; the barrels cooled down, and the gunners waited, like long-distance runners who had just finished a sprint, bent over, breathing heavily, waiting for their heart rates to return to normal. At that moment, Asanok, on the hillside, responded to Belanar's confusion, then added, “Chemistry!”

Although his advanced alchemy skills weren't that high, it depended on who he was compared to. He usually stayed in the Felber Gardens in La Plata researching crops, but he was involved in the construction of various chemical plants in Ashriel.

As a participant, he understood the intricacies of the process better than many others: what liquids flowed in those pipes, what changes occurred in those reactors, and what the powders packed into iron drums and labeled with hazard signs were made of.

“A prominent field of study?” Berlanal chewed on the unfamiliar word, a conjunction coined by Dakous, like two stones of different materials that had been forcibly ground into one, with the edges still bearing the burrs of the grinding process. His lips moved slightly, as if he were using his tongue to feel the weight and texture of the word.

“Yes, a prominent field.” Asanok nodded, the nod not large, but very confident. “As far as I know, the Sigma Empire, the Mountain Dwarves, and the Divine Lands are still stuck in the black powder era, using a mixture of charcoal, sulfur, and saltpeter—an old thing that produces a lot of smoke, has little power, and is unstable. We, on the other hand, have evolved to the smokeless gunpowder era. Isn’t that a prominent field? And… that’s not all! You should know this.”

Berlanal nodded.

He did know this news. He had returned to the White Tower of Hoss to assist Drusala in creating a new language system, but he did not cut off contact with the outside world during that time.

He knew that Lorthion had come up with a lot of new things during this period, including some from the Archmage of the White Tower of Hoss.

“Even more powerful than that!” Bel-Tanya said with a particularly bizarre expression. Her face seemed to be pulled by two forces simultaneously: the pride of participating and the lingering fear of being involved.

She was involved in upgrading smokeless gunpowder, and her expertise in advanced alchemy was exceptional.

“Yes, this is inventory,” Asanok confirmed.

He was referring to artillery shells.

Those artillery shells that are turning over the soil on the other side of the river, each one capable of creating a crater several meters in diameter, turning a position from existence to a thing of the past, are stockpiles.

It's from the previous batch, made before, produced using an old formula, and is an old product that we thought was still usable.

"Now, the inventory is gone?" Berlanal asked another question, his brow furrowing slightly.

"No, it's that the cannon barrel gets hot after continuous firing and needs to be cooled down, otherwise an accident will occur." After saying that, Asanok pointed to the artillery position.

Berlanal looked enlightened. The previous question involved chemistry, but now it involved physics. Chemistry determined the explosive energy of the powders, while physics determined the way that energy was transferred.

Chemistry makes the shell fly, physics makes the cannon barrel hold.

Both are indispensable.

The artillerymen started moving again, and the second round of dog walking began.

The whole process was like an invisible conveyor belt winding across the grass.

The artillery fired again.

"Where did he go?" After the second round began, Aris went from initial shock to numbness. It was all the same now, and the shells hadn't hit him anyway. He accepted the fact and let go of the burden of wondering how long he would be shocked.

So he shifted his focus to other things. For example, where did the vanished Malekith go?

Dakos did not respond with words. He pointed to the position bombarded by artillery fire, a piece of land that had been turned over several times, as if it had been plowed from top to bottom, and was still emitting wisps of smoke.

Then he turned his hand back and tapped his forehead. Although he had no crown, no headdress, none of the things popular among elven nobles that signified status and rank, Aris did!

The Crown of Nagarius was worn on Aris's head.

The crown seemed somewhat out of place on this occasion; it was too old, too traditional, and too much of a product of the pre-Truucci era.

As for why Malekith didn't take it back and kept it on Aris's head, that's between the two of them. Perhaps he forgot, perhaps he was too lazy to take it, perhaps he thought it was just a crown and it was fine to wear it, or perhaps he didn't need the crown to show anything.

As for politics, times have changed, and this crown no longer represents anything. It's more like a magical artifact than a symbol of power.

As a magical item, the crown has one function: to slow down the passage of time.

While not slow enough to stop time, it's enough to give the wearer more time to think and react in crucial moments. Although it can't compare to the brass ring worn by Dakota, it's sufficient.

"I see, he's taking some kind of test? What's the point?"

As the crown activated, he saw Malekith, a figure that was half real and half illusory, seemingly formed by the boundary between shadow and light, moving through the position that was being repeatedly bombarded by artillery shells.

The shockwave and shrapnel from the exploding shell passed through his body as if passing through a layer of intangible mist. He wasn't blown away, wasn't injured, and didn't even flinch at the energy churning in the air.

To reiterate: compared to other novice spellcasters, a novice shadow spellcaster is useless. At least a novice fire spellcaster can conjure a fireball, while you can't even pull off a decent trick.

But high-level shadow casters are different. When they reach the late game and their power spikes, they have both offensive and defensive capabilities.

The most typical examples are Moras, who was ambushed by Darkus, and Marekis in his current state. In the intervals between the explosions, he is a shadow without a physical outline, a wisp of smoke being illuminated by the artillery fire but pierced by the shockwave of the explosion.

"Does the rule of magic supersede the rule of physics?"

Without a doubt, Dakota uttered a pointless statement. The mockery in his tone was like pointing to the sky and saying it's blue—correct, but useless.

And without a doubt, his nonsense was met with disdain from Aris.

So Dakous increased Aris's strength.

"I wonder if you've ever seen this? Some people have physically entered the new era, but their minds are still stuck in the old era..."

“I’ve seen it!” Aris said through gritted teeth.

He finished speaking and sighed. The sigh was light but heavy, like a stone being put back in its place, finally finding its rightful spot. His shoulders relaxed in that instant, as if something had stripped away the last layer of his disguise, leaving only a quiet, forlorn acknowledgment, as if saying, "I know you're talking about me."

"Where? Where?" Dakos's performance time had arrived. His tone was exaggerated, like a Loik believer performing on the street. He opened both hands at the same time, as if waiting for an answer.

"From the reflection in your pupils!"

“You’re quite… self-aware.” Darkus’s voice dropped from its exaggerated tone, becoming lighter and more casual.

While Dakota was joking, another simple conversation was taking place.

"I'm going to retire," Lechkiel said with a sigh.

“Hmm.” Roxia initially ignored it, his gaze still fixed on the position on the opposite bank of the river, which was being repeatedly churned by artillery shells. The flashes of those explosions lit up and went out again and again in his pupils, as if someone was fast-forwarding a war movie that had nothing to do with him, but which he did not want to miss.

Then, he turned to look at his aunt, his expression turning one of utter shock.

"Ok?"

“Yes!” Leishikiel nodded emphatically.

"You've made up your mind?" Roxia asked slowly, confirming only after the second round of artillery fire had ceased. His voice was slow, as if he were processing the information at an even slower pace.

“I’m very old.” As she said this, Lexikill touched her chest to indicate that her body had entered old age, and then pointed to her temples, where she still believed she was senile and capable of making correct judgments.

Roxia knew his aunt; he knew she could be stubborn in certain matters. It was a stubbornness forged by a thousand years of sea winds, the tenacity of a commander who could hold the helm and keep course even in the worst storms. He could only nod slightly, accepting the decision.

It's not about agreeing, it's about respecting.

“I’ll go see him after today. Although you didn’t perform anything significant, your qualifications and the labels you carry… you know what I’m talking about.” Lexikiel’s gaze shifted from Loxia’s face to the distant, cooling battlefield. Her voice wasn’t loud, but she emphasized the words “qualifications” and “labels.”

“I know, but more important than that is him…” Roxia lowered her voice slightly.

He knew what his aunt was talking about: she was a key member of the Naval Council, whose presence represented the most sophisticated strategic deployment in the Truc Navy, assisting Dakos with operational and technical matters. At the end, he waved his hand in the air, a gesture that seemed to draw an invisible arc.

“Yes.” Lechiel nodded in agreement.

As soon as the words were spoken, the third round of shelling began.

No one checked the time anymore, no one counted the shells. Time ticked by, the shelling began on schedule and ended on schedule. The sound of the last shell hitting the ground was carried back by the wind from the other side of the river, then vanished into the air.

The elves in the scene were all thinking different things. Some were still numb and hadn't recovered yet, some had already begun to whisper about their next move, and some just stood there, looking at the land that had been repeatedly ravaged, as if waiting for something or thinking about the future.

And the underground fortress.

Dorian parked his two-wheeled vehicle at the edge of the corridor and then stepped into a huge space. As he entered, the previously noisy space instantly fell silent; all ongoing conversations, all moving figures, and all objects being passed around were frozen in the same second.

"Stand up! Salute!"

As the centurion roared, the soldiers who had been sitting stood up in unison. The sounds of metal buckles, belts, and boot soles scraping against the ground merged into a short, sharp sound, like a huge, awakening creature yawning.

Then, the shelling started again.

The sound came from overhead, passed through the ground, through the beams, through the concrete pillars that supported the underground space, and vibrated gently on the helmets of every soldier.

Undoubtedly, the bombardment was an ordeal for Duruci, who was under constant bombardment in the fortress.

They had to endure violent shaking, the tremors coming from the ground, coming in from the walls, and coming down from the ceiling, each tremor different in its own direction, as if the ground was trying to shake off a layer of its skin. They also had to endure the dust that would occasionally fall on their helmets, making them clang, the debris that had been shaken down from the cracks in the ceiling, loosened by the explosions above, falling one by one under the pull of gravity, landing on their helmets, on their shoulders, on the backs of their outstretched hands.

Fortunately, staying in the fortress is far better than staying on the front lines.

You have to understand, those falling shells were loaded with smokeless gunpowder, not some harmless lump of iron. They could tear through steel plates, fill trenches, and turn an entire position into a cratered, smoking mess in milliseconds.

That can kill people.

At this moment, Dorian was no longer sentimental. His expression was exceptionally serious and solemn, his brows were slightly furrowed, his lips were flat, and his entire face seemed to be taut by something, without a single extra wrinkle.

He squinted and looked up at the shaking ceiling. On its surface, a thin crack would open slightly with each explosion and then close again when things quieted down, like a breathing mouth. He then turned to look at the row of ventilation systems below the ceiling. The system was made of steel, with thick pipes and louvered blades at the outlets, continuously expelling the air generated in the ventilation chamber.

After looking around, his gaze fell on the soldiers standing ramrod straight. They stood there, looking straight ahead, their faces showing no fear or tension, only a calm, expectant demeanor, as if they were ready for anything.

He didn't move around, he didn't say any inspiring words, he didn't give a speech, and he didn't make any gestures or movements. He just stood there, and that was enough.

He simply stood there quietly, waiting for the shelling to end.

Five minutes later, the shelling ended. After the last shell landed, it felt like a train passing through a station, its carriages slowly disappearing into the distance.

Quietly returned to the underground space.

He rolled up his sleeve and glanced at the time. Then he looked at the ground, where weapons, ammunition boxes, water tanks, and various tools were neatly arranged, as if divided by a huge, invisible grid. Every item was in its proper place, like the army itself, never having been moved.

"Go, let them see that war can be waged in another way."

After speaking, Dorion stepped aside, leaned forward slightly, put his left hand behind his back, and stretched his right hand forward with his palm facing up, making a gesture of invitation to the entrance on the side.

The invitation was very formal, like extending your hand to a lady at a court ball and saying, "May I ask you to dance this dance?"

This action amused the soldiers; some let out short laughs, some had their mouth muscles twitch uncontrollably upwards, and some lowered their heads with their shoulders trembling slightly.

The soldiers saluted amidst laughter, their movements swift and synchronized, as if they had all pressed the same button at the same moment. Then, following a pre-arranged order, the first rank went first, followed by the second, and then the third, bending down to pick up various items from the ground. Some lifted ammunition boxes, some carried tools, and some carried water tanks.

No one took more, no one took less, and no one took the wrong thing.

They filed out.

The movement was like a stream of water, flowing out from the doorway of the underground space, through the corridors, through the passageways, through the underground world that was illuminated by lights, breathed by ventilation ducts, and shaken by the vibrations of the ground, but which did not hinder their steps.

Soldiers of the 14th Army, located in an underground fortress beneath the surface of the position, moved.

They waited from the moment the first shell landed; they waited from the moment the second shell blasted through the soil; they waited from the moment the third shell turned the entire position upside down.

They waited a long time.

Now, the shelling is over, and we can finally move. (End of Chapter)