Trench Bolts and Magic

Chapter 247 Trap
On September 1st, exactly one month after the start of the war, the army of the Saxon Empire had already reached the outskirts of Paris, the capital of the Gallo-Brussels Republic.

With the massive war machine at work, countless soldiers, artillery pieces, and vehicles were constantly being moved southwest from Amiens and even the Saxon Empire.

Amid the surging tide of troops heading towards the outskirts of Paris, one particularly distinctive unit stood out.

Their vehicles were painted with the conspicuous insignia of the Imperial Guard, and the soldiers had removed the prominent spikes from their pointed helmets. Their equipment and weapons were also completely different from those of other units—they were the newly reorganized and highly motivated Training Assault Battalion.

Maureen stood in the passenger seat of a truck being used as a 'temporary command vehicle,' letting the winds of the Gallic plains in early September caress his face.

Although his back injury still had some minor effects, it couldn't hide his radiant spirit upon returning to the battlefield, as if the previous pain had never existed.

According to orders from the First Army Command, their mission was to assist the main forces, whose offensive was stalled, in breaking through the trench defenses surrounding Paris.

If things go smoothly, they will continue to advance deeper into enemy territory, destroying the large anti-aircraft magic devices deployed by the Gauls at the front lines, thus clearing the way for subsequent aerial bombardment by armored airships.

This is also one of the reasons why the battlefront has been slow to advance.

Under the threat of large anti-aircraft magic devices, armored airships can no longer engage in close-range attacks and can only "drop their excrement" from a safe distance, which also makes them less effective at damaging trench fortifications.

Destroying the Gauls' large anti-aircraft device was a difficult but crucial task, as it was clear that the enemy would deploy a large number of troops to defend it.

But General Mackensen entrusted it to the training commando battalion, which in itself was a great trust, and Morin naturally did not want to disappoint his elder.

"Battalion Commander, according to intelligence provided by the Army Group Command, the enemy we are facing is a colonial force that the Gauls have urgently recalled from North Africa, mainly Zouaf soldiers and Algerian guerrillas."

Sitting in the back of the truck, Manstein leaned close to Morin's ear and reported the situation.

"Although their equipment is not as good as that of the local troops, their fighting style is extremely fierce, and they are good at close-range hand-to-hand combat."

"Colombian troops?" Morin stroked his chin. "These guys are definitely more troublesome than the troops from the Gallic homeland."

"Yes, Captain."

Manstein added:
"Moreover, they are becoming increasingly adept at digging trenches. I don't know where they learned it from, but they have all sorts of trenches, including communication trenches, firing trenches, and anti-artillery bunkers, making it difficult for our conventional artillery fire to inflict effective damage on them."

Hearing Manstein's words, Morin couldn't help but sigh quietly.

The trench warfare on this land has finally arrived.
This time, however, it was the Gauls who started it first.

The good news is that the training assault battalion was originally established by Morin based on the historical 'Storm Assault Battalion,' so it can be considered a return to their old profession.

"The trenches of 1914 versus the Stormtroopers with their 1918 equipment levels—I wonder what kind of clash that would be," the thought flashed through Morin's mind.
-
As the training assault battalion advanced toward Paris, the First Army's massive supply lines and the Brittany Expeditionary Force's menacing flanks also began to 'get busy'.

Just as General Mackensen had predicted, the Brittany expeditionary force that had retreated to Rouen did not remain idle. They cooperated with the Gallic guerrillas and began to frequently harass the Saxon army's long supply lines.

Reports about the attack on supply convoys were continuously submitted to the command of the First Army Group.

One of the reports, in particular, drew the attention of General Mackensen.

The report mentions that armored knights of the Brittany Gard appeared during an attack on a supply depot.

"The Knights of Garter?"

General Mackensen put down his report and looked at his chief of staff, Seekert.

"What are the Brittanyans trying to do? Attack our supply convoy with armored knights? That's not like them."

After a moment's thought, Seeker said, "Perhaps they are trying to tie down our main force in this way, buying time for Paris to organize its defenses."

"Whatever they want to do, since they have deployed armored knights, we cannot sit idly by."

General Mackensen made the decision immediately.

"Notify the Teutonic Knights to send a squadron to protect our supply line. Tell them that if they encounter the Garter Knights, they must drive them away completely!"

The order from the First Army Command was quickly relayed to the Teutonic Knights.

Normally, this kind of escort mission would likely have fallen to Ludwig's squadron.

After all, he was known in the Teutonic Knights for his 'flexible command' and often had some 'clever tricks' on the battlefield, making him very suitable for dealing with the enemy's armored knights.

Unfortunately, his squadron suffered significant losses in the previous street fighting in Amiens when they encountered a seventh-ring mage from the Highland Mage Corps.

He himself is still recovering from his injuries in a field hospital, busy writing that groundbreaking report on the 'two-seater armored knight' for Morin, and he certainly won't be able to return to the unit anytime soon.

Therefore, this task fell to another armored knight squadron that had just finished replenishing and resting.

The squadron leader of the armored knight squadron, Hector, a typical 'knight-type' officer, immediately led his squadron to key nodes along the supply line after receiving orders.

However, something strange happened.

Since Hector's squadron began its escort mission, those elusive Britannian armored knights have vanished as if they had evaporated from the face of the earth, never to be seen again.

"Hmph, a bunch of cowards!"

Hector stood atop his armored knight, peering through binoculars at the tranquil transport route, and gave a disdainful snort.

In his view, this was clearly a sign of the Knights of the Garter's cowardice.

They must have been terrified by the Teutonic Knights' 'charged armor-piercing shells' that shone so brightly on the battlefield of Amiens, and only dared to sneak around and bully unguarded supply convoys.

Upon seeing the Teutonic Knights' banner, they immediately tucked their tails between their legs and ran away.

However, now that we've already deployed them, we can't just do nothing.

Besides protecting supply lines, clearing out the annoying Breton infantry and Gallic guerrillas, who were like flies, also became the main task of Hector's squadron.

Hector and his men soon received a request for coordinated operations from the infantry.

An infantry battalion will clear an area on the right flank of the supply line, hoping he can send some armored knights to provide fire support.

Hector agreed without hesitation—in fact, as the battle progressed, the Teutonic Knights began to engage in more coordinated combat with the infantry.

Soon, three Siegfried 1 armored knights, accompanied by an infantry battalion, marched into the plains on the right flank of the supply line.

When the troops arrived at a seemingly peaceful farm, the infantry major leading the group decided to stop and ask the farmer about the surrounding area.

The farm owner was a Gaulish man who looked to be in his fifties, his face covered in wrinkles, and his eyes showing a clear sense of wariness and resistance. Faced with fully armed Saxon soldiers and three tall armored knights, he seemed somewhat uneasy, unconsciously wiping his hands on his clothes.

The Saxon major leading the group tried to soften his tone as much as possible, asking the farmer in slightly broken Gaulish whether he had seen any Britannian soldiers in khaki uniforms recently.

The farmer remained silent for a moment, his cloudy eyes glancing at the three armored knights that looked like steel giants not far away, before finally nodding reluctantly.

He stretched out his rough fingers and pointed to a grove of trees on the east side of the farm, mumbling a few words.

The Saxon major, whose Gaulish was not fluent, clearly did not realize that the farmer's Gaulish was not very authentic.

But he did understand what the other person was saying—he saw hundreds of Britannian soldiers heading in a certain direction yesterday afternoon.

"Only a hundred or so?"

The major frowned. This intelligence wasn't very valuable, but it was better than nothing.

This is also the general sentiment among ordinary people in the Gallo-Latin America region. They do not welcome these invaders from the bottom of their hearts, but faced with the weapons in the hands of the Saxons, they have no choice but to bow their heads and cooperate.

After asking about the situation, the major prepared to lead his team away.

Before leaving, he glanced at the Gallic tricolor flag fluttering in the wind on the farmer's roof and, out of kindness, gave the farmer another reminder.

"Sir, I suggest you take that flag down."

The farmer paused for a moment, looking at him with a puzzled expression.

The major patiently explained:

“Not all officers in the Saxon army are as reasonable as I am. If you encounter other units and they see this flag, they might use it as an excuse to cause you trouble.”

Upon hearing this, the farmer's face showed a look of gratitude. He bowed repeatedly to the major, saying, "Thank you, thank you, sir."

“No need to be so polite.” The major waved his hand. “I will also notify the other patrol teams to keep them from disturbing your farm.”

After saying this, he ordered his troops to continue advancing and search in the direction the farmer had indicated.

Three armored knights strode heavily behind the infantry battalion, advancing in the direction the farmer had indicated.

As the Saxon troops walked away, the gratitude and humility on the farmer's face vanished instantly.

Without a word, he went into the house, took out his tools, and quickly climbed onto the roof to take down the Gallic tricolor flag.

Then he took out another folded flag from his pocket—a white flag.

He slowly raised the white flag to the flagpole. The moment the flag was fully unfurled, a distinct square mark was clearly visible in the lower right corner of the white flag, painted with black pigment.

After doing all this, the farmer glanced once more in the direction the Saxon troops had left, a cold and eerie smile spreading across his face.

Meanwhile, in a dense forest about 3 kilometers away from the farm.

A man wearing a dark green driving suit and with scars on his face stood atop the armored knight, holding a monocular telescope and observing the distant farm without moving.

He is Colonel Irwin, the commander of the 'Ranger' squadron.

When he saw the white flag with its distinctive markings raised from the farm roof, a gleam of excitement flashed in his sharp, hawk-like eyes.

"The float moved."

He lowered his binoculars and spoke to another officer standing beside the armored knight.

"Pass down the message: the prey has taken the bait and is moving towards the second pre-set ambush area."

"Yes, Major."

The officer quickly turned and left, while a hunter's smile crept onto Erwin's lips.

His carefully laid trap has finally caught its target.

In order to lure out the Saxon armored knights, he devised a meticulous plan.

First, he had John French send out several raiding squads composed of elite soldiers, disguised as Gallic guerrillas.

They were instructed to create small-scale disturbances near the Saxons' supply lines, but to deliberately avoid direct confrontation with the main Saxon patrols.

Then, he had an armored knight of the Order of the Garde make a brief appearance during a night raid on a supply depot, deliberately leaving clues about the Order of the Garde and successfully drawing the attention of the Saxons.

Just as he expected, the proud Teutonic Knights fell for the trap and sent a squadron of armored knights to protect the supply line and drive away the enemy armored knights.

The seemingly ordinary farmer was actually a spy planted there by the Brittany intelligence agency.

As for where the original owner of the farm went?

Irwin didn't know, and didn't care.

All he knew was that everything he did was to lure the Saxon troops into the hunting grounds he had carefully chosen.

After completing his reconnaissance, Erwin jumped back into his armored knight and closed the cockpit armor plate.

He activated the communication stone built into the armored knight and quickly made contact with the other Ranger armored knights involved in the operation.

"Order the second and third teams to prioritize paralyzing the leg joints of the targets once they enter the ambush zone, and try not to damage their core cockpit and weapons."

"Remember, our mission is to capture, not destroy."

"First team, take care of clearing out the accompanying infantry and prevent them from interfering with our operation."

Erwin calmly issued a series of orders, his voice devoid of any emotional fluctuation.

Upon receiving his order, ten 'Hound Type 4' special combat armored knights, painted entirely in dark green, silently activated their magic engines in the forest.

Without making any unnecessary noise, they quickly dispersed to their designated ambush positions, quietly waiting for the moment their prey stepped into the trap.

A hunt specifically targeting armored knights is about to begin.

(End of this chapter)