Dragon Raja: Lu Mingfei's War Journey

Chapter 94: Fighting without bloodshed

With the first line of defense of the French army completely destroyed, the Prussian army's offensive began to advance towards the main city of Verdun with unstoppable momentum.

Lu Mingfei and his men were sent to attack a small town called Samonique, where the remnants of the French 72nd Division, the first line of defense, had been reorganized and still had about a battalion of soldiers.

Prussian artillery fire rang out towards the town.

In the town of Samonieux, Michel Bernard hurried toward the camp headquarters and reported anxiously.

"Commander! The Prussian artillery fire is too intense! Our officers have suffered heavy casualties! The 6th Company's line has collapsed, and the soldiers are without officers to command. Many—many have begun to desert their positions and run towards Verdun!"

As Prussia launched a fierce bombardment, large numbers of French troops, without officers in command, began to flee, heading towards Verdun in the rear.

At this time, the battalion headquarters was taken over by a gray-haired lieutenant colonel who was the commander of another scattered regiment nearby. He temporarily gathered the remnants of his troops and tried to establish a delaying defensive line in Samonieux.

"What?! Michel, you immediately take your men and set up a command post at the main intersection leading from town to Verdun!"

Set up machine guns! We cannot allow this rout to continue! Anyone who retreats will be executed on the spot!

The somewhat elderly lieutenant colonel was taken aback by Bernard's words, but he immediately began issuing orders while asking a staff officer beside him a question.

"Where are our reinforcements? When will the 147th Battalion arrive? Send another messenger immediately! No, send two messengers, one on a different route!"

"Reporting, Colonel! The telephone line was blown up yesterday! Our last three warhorses were startled by the shelling this morning and broke their reins and ran away! The remaining bicycles were all destroyed by the collapsing roof beams! We have already sent out three groups of messengers, and none of them have returned! Now we can only wait—" the staff officer replied anxiously.

Just then, a messenger covered in blood crawled back to the camp and weakly reported: "Reporting to the commander—the reinforcements were discovered by the Prussians on their way and suffered heavy losses in an attack—they are unable to come to the rescue—and news has begun to spread in Verdun that Samonius has fallen—"

"What?!" The old lieutenant colonel stood up abruptly, his face turning deathly pale. Those reinforcements were their last hope.

The deafening roar of artillery fire rang out again, causing the soil on top of the battalion headquarters bunker to fall in a flurry. In the distance, the sounds of Prussian troops charging and shouting could be heard.

"Commander! What do we do now?" Bernard asked anxiously. His company was one of the few units in the battalion that was still relatively well-organized and had decent morale.

The old lieutenant colonel leaned on the table, glanced at the few staff officers and officers in the bunker, and then at the scene of continuous artillery fire outside. A trace of despair flashed in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by determination.

"Captain Michelle!"

"Here!" Bernard snapped to attention as if by reflex.

"I order you to immediately lead all combat-capable men of your company to the main road behind town and establish a formidable defensive line! Stop any form of retreat at all costs! Without my order, Samonieu, do not retreat a single step!"

Bernard was stunned. The order sounded reasonable, but—he was being asked to take the entire company to supervise the battle? Right now, the front line needed fresh troops to fill the gaps and stabilize the situation. Supervision usually only required a small squad or even a platoon.

He opened his mouth, as if to raise an objection.

Just then, the old lieutenant colonel suddenly stepped forward, almost touching Bernard's face, and whispered something.

"Michelle—listen, if—if you see shells coming from behind us—don't hesitate, take your men and get out of here immediately! Run as far as you can! Don't look back!"

He considered another possibility: they were now unable to contact the rear, and with a large number of deserters spreading rumors, the officers in Verdun might actually believe that Samonieux had been lost.

If they knew that Samonius had fallen, the officers in the rear would certainly not let it go and would retaliate against the Prussian troops there. There were not many troops left in the rear, and the only means of retaliation would be artillery bombardment.

"And what about you—" Bernard murmured incredulously, his eyes wide.

"My orders are to fight to the last man; I will die here—but I don't want you to die here—"

"You are my only son, it's enough for me to die here—" Old Bernard continued to whisper in his son's ear.

This is his only son. He had suppressed the fact that his good-for-nothing son had spent Christmas with the Prussian army. He originally planned to keep him by his side and train him carefully, but he never expected that the Prussian army would launch such a large-scale attack.

"Father—" Bernard subconsciously used a private address, his voice trembling.

"Execute the order, Captain!" Old Bernard shoved him aside, regaining his commanding authority as the regimental commander, and shouted the order, but the heavy emotion in his eyes as he looked at his son could not be completely concealed.

"Immediately organize a supervisory team! Stabilize the defensive line! This is an order!"

Bernard froze for a few seconds. He looked at his father's graying temples and straight back, then at the other officers around him, all waiting for orders with despair on their faces. He understood his father's intention. He gritted his teeth, forcibly suppressing all his emotions, stood at attention, saluted, and shouted with all his might, "Yes, Commander!"

He turned around and rushed out of the camp without looking back.

Watching his son's figure disappear into the smoke of battle, the old principal of the school, Bernard, let out a long sigh of relief, as if he had unloaded the heaviest burden from his shoulders. He straightened his uniform, picked up the rifle on the table, and spoke to the remaining officers and soldiers.

"Gentlemen, it seems that today we will be here to shed our last drop of blood for France. It is an honor to fight alongside you to the very end."

The atmosphere in the battalion headquarters was solemn and somber. No one spoke; they simply checked the weapons and distributed the last of the ammunition in silence.

Inside the trench in front of Samonie, Akira Sakurai leaned against the trench with a gun in his hand, surrounded by the constant sounds of explosions and dirt raining down on him.

"Thieri—you said—we—were we going to die here?" A young voice trembled beside him as he asked. It was his comrade, a country boy named Marechal, a shepherd before the war, whose face was now covered in mud and tears of fear.

"I don't know—but if those Prussian soldiers rush over later, you run, and I'll buy you some time," Sakurai Akira said, while holding the colorful syringe in his hand, ready to plunge it into his own neck at any moment.

Just then, their company commander, Captain Bernard, crouched low and ran along the trench, shouting, "Everyone, come with me to the rear to form a supervisory team!"

To the rear? To supervise the battle? A hint of doubt flashed through Sakurai Akira's mind. At such a critical moment on the front lines, why would he send soldiers who were still capable of fighting to the rear to supervise the battle? This didn't make sense.

But he still breathed a sigh of relief. Going to the rear to supervise the battle was definitely safer than staying in the trenches. He silently put the dangerous syringe back into his pocket, picked up his rifle, and, together with his comrades, followed Captain Bernard in a quick retreat.

They traversed the streets ravaged by artillery fire, bypassed the burning ruins, and arrived at a relatively open area behind the town, connecting to the road to Verdun. Here, a group of retreating soldiers had gathered, their faces filled with terror, their armor and weapons discarded, their only desire to escape this hell.

"Everyone, listen up!" Bernard stood on a collapsed mailbox, his voice hoarse but resolute.

"Establish a defensive line on the spot! Prevent anyone from retreating further! Anyone who disobeys will be court-martialed!"

Akira Sakurai and the other soldiers quickly spread out, using the ruins and part of the barricades to build a makeshift blockade. They raised their guns and aimed them at the fleeing soldiers who were trying to break through.

"Go back! Go back to your positions!" Bernard continued to roar, even pulling the trigger of his pistol into the air.

The gunshots were particularly piercing amidst the noise, momentarily pausing the chaotic crowd.

"The position is gone! Sir! The Prussians are coming! Let us through! Please!" a blood-covered veteran cried out, trying to break through the defensive line.

"For the defense! For Verdun! No one is allowed to retreat!" Bernard's eyes were red as he lowered his gun slightly, aiming it at the crowd.

The two sides were locked in a stalemate. The fleeing soldiers were temporarily intimidated by the gun barrels and the officers' ruthlessness, but everyone knew that this fragile balance could be broken at any moment.

The Prussian shelling had ceased, and the grey figures of some Prussian troops could be vaguely seen, clearing out resistance house by house and alley by alley.

Just then, Akira Sakurai heard the sound of cannon fire again, but to his surprise, the shells were falling from behind them, engulfing the Prussian troops who were beginning to enter Samonieux.

Sakurai Akiichi was overjoyed, thinking that French reinforcements had arrived, but the shells kept falling and began to bombard Samonieu indiscriminately.

Bernard remembered his father's instructions, his expression changed drastically, and he almost simultaneously roared, "Lie down!!!"

Deafening explosions rang out one after another in the center and rear of Samonieux! French heavy artillery shells descended like divine punishment! Shockwaves, carrying shrapnel and debris, swept everything in their path!

"Help!"

"It's our own people! They're attacking us!"

Screams and desperate cries instantly drowned out all other sounds. The supervisory team's defensive line was blown to pieces, and the fleeing soldiers fell like harvested wheat. The open space instantly turned into a slaughterhouse.

Sakurai Akira was so shocked that his ears and nose bled and he was dizzy. He struggled to lift his head and saw a scene that looked like hell. A soldier he knew had half of his head blown off by shrapnel and was lying not far from him.

The young shepherd lay on his back not far away, a huge piece of shrapnel embedded in his chest, his eyes wide open, staring at the gray sky, lifeless.

What made his heart stop even more was that he saw a shell hit the tallest building in the town center, which was in the direction of the regimental headquarters, and a huge fireball and thick smoke rose up.

He stared blankly at everything happening around him, unable to understand why his own people were being targeted by enemy fire.

Just then, Captain Bernard stood up, grabbed Sakurai Akira who was sitting on the ground, and shouted loudly to the people around who were still alive.

"Retreat! Retreat!" He grabbed the still somewhat dazed Sakurai Akira and roared at the surviving soldiers around them, "Get out of here! Retreat to the east of the town!"

His father's prophecy came true: the artillery fire from his own side was more deadly than that from the enemy.

Outside the town of Samonieux, as the Prussian artillery fire ceased, the Prussian charge whistle sounded, and the Prussian soldiers began their charge.

On the starting line of the Ninth Company's attack, Lu Mingfei frowned slightly, raised his hand, and made a gesture to wait a moment.

The soldiers of the third platoon instinctively stopped leaping out and remained prone on the cold edges of the shell craters or in the remaining trenches, looking at their platoon leader with confusion.

Lu Mingfei couldn't explain the specific reason, but it was an almost beast-like intuition honed from countless brushes with death. It was those few seconds of hesitation that saved them.

Because the shelling resumed shortly afterward.

"That looks like French artillery fire?" Lu Mingfei said, somewhat dazed. Just as he finished speaking, a second volley of shells roared in and crashed into the outskirts of Samonieux.

The explosion's flames almost grazed the advancing Prussian vanguard.

"Lie down!"

"Get down!"

"Artillery fire! It's artillery fire!"

Screams and angry curses erupted instantly in front of them.

The Prussian soldiers who charged the fastest didn't even have time to react before they were thrown to the ground, their severed limbs and dirt flying into the air. The charging formation was instantly disrupted, the whistles stopped abruptly, and the officers desperately waved their sabers in an attempt to reorganize the ranks, but they couldn't suppress the sudden chaos.

"Damn it! It's their own cannon!"

Otto lay in the crater, looked up at the trajectory of the bullet, and said in disbelief.

The shells fell from behind the town of Samonieu at an extremely deep angle, unlike any shot prepared for defense; they were a barrage of fire aimed at an area already deemed lost.

"The people behind Verdun think the town has fallen, so they are cleaning up the battlefield," Lu Mingfei said in a low voice.

"So they're helping us—killing their own people? Will we be able to easily take over that town later?" Karl said, his eyes wide.

"It seems so," Caesar said.

When the shelling finally ended an hour later, Samonieux in front of us was basically reduced to ruins.

Lu Mingfei then cautiously led his men inside to search for any survivors. The entrance to the town was completely unrecognizable; the streets had been repeatedly shaped by artillery shells, leaving the ground riddled with craters. The French artillery fire on their own people was even more intense than the Prussian artillery fire.

The soldiers instinctively slowed their pace, lowered their gun barrels, and scanned the ruins with their eyes.

But there were no gunshots, and no counterattack.

Only the crackling of burning wooden beams in the distance and the occasional sound of collapsing bricks and stones could be heard. In this way, they took over the town almost without bloodshed.