Spoils of war

When the chatter of the Vickers Machine Gun stopped, Captain Hauser was the first to react. The moment he had led his men into the frontal assault, they had been pinned down, leaving him no choice but to lie flat on the ground.

He sprang to his feet as though launched, drew the pistol at his waist, and roared at the soldiers behind him, who had likewise been unable to lift their heads under the fire.

"Get up! The enemy machine gun has gone silent! Charge with me!"

At his command, the officers of 1st Platoon and 2nd Platoon immediately blew their whistles again. The soldiers lying on the ground scrambled up, leveled their rifles with bayonets fixed, and charged forward with gritted teeth.

Up ahead, the survivors of 1st Company and 2nd Company who had lived through the machine-gun fire hesitantly raised their heads when they saw the reserves launch another seemingly suicidal charge.

Once they confirmed that the deadly chatter really had stopped, the wild joy of surviving and the anger they had suppressed for so long swept through them all.

"For the empire! Charge!"

Some officer brimming with patriotic fervor let out the first shout. Then every soldier of 1st Company and 2nd Company who could still move clambered to his feet. Together with the soldiers of 3rd Company who had already reached them, they charged toward the village like madmen.

Only minutes earlier, that machine gun had been mowing them down like wheat in this open field. Forced to watch their comrades being riddled with bullets, they had long since been seething with rage.

Now, at last, that rage had found an outlet.

The machine-gun position was no longer keeping them pinned down, and Morin's attack from the left flank had disrupted the enemy's deployment and drawn the attention of some Royal Army soldiers.

The rifle fire from the positions at the edge of the village could no longer stop the gray tide of hundreds of soldiers from Saxony.

Having suffered one bitter lesson, all the officers and NCOs of 1st Battalion, Captain Hauser included, had learned their lesson.

As they ran, they shouted for the soldiers to spread out rather than bunch together again.

A loose skirmish line formed once more. The soldiers no longer sought orderly ranks; instead, they moved as fast as they could, taking enemy lives with their rifles and bayonets.

Once Morin noticed the large numbers of friendly troops on the frontal battlefield resuming their attack, he turned his attention back to the farmhouse before him.

The friendly troops would most likely make it through, but that did not necessarily mean the battle was over. There were probably still enemy remnants in the village that needed clearing out.

With that in mind, he tapped a messenger beside him, pointed toward the river channel, and gave an order.

"Go back the way we came along the river channel. Tell Sergeant Klaus and the other squads to advance under alternating covering fire and join the main force here."

The messenger immediately set off to carry out the order.

"Keep down and tuck your head in! Bullets don't care who they hit!"

"Yes, sir!"

After watching the messenger jump down into the river channel and hurry away in a crouch, Morin turned to the squad beside him.

Ever since the machine gun had fallen silent, the soldiers had been itching to act. Morin raised a hand to stop them from charging straight into the farmhouse.

"Don't be so eager to get yourselves killed."

His voice was quiet, but it instantly cooled the heads of the few overexcited soldiers.

"Grenadiers, over here!"

The two soldiers who had just silenced the machine gun with their grenades immediately stepped forward.

"Listen carefully. Once I pull the door open a little, throw your grenades through the gap."

The two grenadiers found this order strange; they had never heard anything like it before.

But thanks to the trust he had just earned, they did not hesitate. They took spherical grenades from the carrying clips at their waists and held them ready to throw.

Morin took a deep breath. After making sure everyone else was ready, he tucked his head down and carefully pulled the farmhouse's wooden door open a crack.

Almost simultaneously, the two grenadiers pulled the fuses and rolled their grenades through the gap, one after the other.

Morin immediately shut the door and backed away quickly.

Boom! Boom!

Muffled explosions came from inside the farmhouse, accompanied by the sounds of splintering boards and something falling to the floor.

"Big fellow, kick the door in!"

At Morin's signal, a hulking soldier standing opposite him lashed out with his foot without hesitation, kicking the already tottering wooden door wide open.

"Fire!"

At Morin's command, the soldiers behind him immediately fired a volley into the pitch-black doorway.

Sharp gunshots echoed in front of the farmhouse. Bullets struck the walls and the wooden farming tools nearby, throwing up clouds of dust.

Everyone quickly ducked back behind the walls and worked their bolts. Scalding cartridge cases sprang free and fell to the ground with a clatter.

When they peeked out again to fire, they found that the farmhouse's ground floor had fallen silent.

Three soldiers in the black uniforms of the Royal Army lay on the floor and at the foot of the stairs leading to the second floor.

With his rifle at the ready, Morin slowly led the men inside, then moved closer to examine the three Royal Army soldiers. Their bodies were covered in bullet holes and shrapnel wounds. Clearly, they were beyond saving.

"Put them out of their misery."

Morin gave an almost imperceptible sigh before issuing the order. Three soldiers stepped forward and ended their suffering with bullets.

"Careful now. Up to the second floor!"

At the new order, the soldiers beside Morin aimed their rifles toward the second floor, then cautiously made their way up the creaking stairs.

Only when the lead soldier poked his head out of the stairwell for a look did he discover that the scene upstairs was even more gruesome.

In the confined space, the grenadiers' grenades had unleashed their full destructive power.

The one thrown through the machine gun's firing window had been especially devastating. Judging by the blast marks on the floor, it had landed right at the gunner's feet.

The gunner, his assistant, and the two riflemen assigned to guard them were all lying in pools of blood, long since dead.

The Vickers Machine Gun, on the other hand, seemed largely unaffected, perhaps because the two gunners had absorbed most of the grenade's damage.

Keeping his head down, Morin moved to the side of the window and gave the Vickers Machine Gun a quick inspection.

Dust and wood chips covered the weapon, but its water-cooling assembly and receiver did not appear to have suffered any critical damage.

That let him breathe a sigh of relief. If there were no other problems, this Vickers Machine Gun would count as 3rd Platoon's first spoil of war.

They might not have enough compatible ammunition, but in this era, one could never have too many Vickers Machine Guns, deadly weapons hailed as the "finest derivative of the Maxim."

"Get this machine gun and the ammunition boxes down to the ground floor... Keep your heads down and approach from the side of the window. Don't let our troops outside mistake us for the enemy."

Morin left three soldiers behind with those instructions, then led the others downstairs.

Outside the farmhouse door, the three squads deployed at intervals along the river channel had already been called back by the messenger and had joined the soldiers left on guard.

Several dozen men crowded around the farmhouse, their faces plainly jubilant. The soldiers from Sergeant Klaus's squad were even boasting to their comrades about what they had just accomplished.

Watching the chaotic scene, Morin felt his temples throb.

If the enemy suddenly counterattacked, or a shell landed here, their kill count would probably go through the roof.