Such a Perfect Opening?

General Jose Sanjurjo, commander of the 24th Division, was an excellent sleeper.

While cannon fire thundered outside Seville, he was still fast asleep in his mistress's arms.

Only when his chief of staff burst into the detached house he had personally "requisitioned" and hauled him out of bed did the Royal Army division commander learn that the enemy had launched an attack.

When his chief of staff told him that seventy percent of the Magic Crystal Cannon Positions outside the city had come under accurate bombardment, his mind went blank.

He shoved his mistress off the bed and sprang up, disbelief written all over his face.

"What did you say? Seventy percent of the Magic Crystal Cannon Positions are gone?!"

"Yes, General... Their artillery is too accurate. And somehow, they know exactly where our Magic Crystal Cannon Positions are..."

The world spun around Sanjurjo. He had planned to pull back into Seville, force the enemy's main force to mass for an attack,

then use the Magic Crystal Cannons' devastating fire against concentrated troops to inflict heavy casualties. The tactic had worked extremely well against the National Army and the International Brigades on other fronts.

The Britannians had also assured him that even Saxon infantry would suffer terrible losses under Magic Crystal Cannon fire.

What the Britannians had neglected to tell Sanjurjo was that Saxon artillery would not be suppressed...

The battle had barely begun, and his most important heavy firepower had already taken a crippling blow. Sanjurjo suddenly had no idea what to do next.

He forced himself to calm down and all but roared at his chief of staff:

"Pass on my orders! All units are to move into their designated positions immediately! Organize the defense according to plan! Do not let the enemy reach Seville!"

The chief of staff nodded and was about to speak when the door flew open again.

A messenger stumbled in, his voice on the verge of tears.

"General! The enemy's main ground force is attacking our southeastern defenses all along the line!"

As the whistle of the final salvo faded, the shrill blast of an assault whistle cut through the battlefield's brief silence.

"Whole company, advance!"

Captain Hauser's roar rang across the 3rd Company's position. A moment later, scores of figures in Field Grey uniforms sprang from behind the slopes and shell craters that had concealed them.

The 1st Battalion's three companies spread out into several skirmish lines, with four or five paces between each soldier.

The formation flowed like a thin grey line toward the high ground ahead, where black smoke still rose...

Along this front outside Seville, twenty thousand troops took part in the attack: three infantry brigades and two cavalry regiments from the Saxon Expeditionary Force, the International Brigades, and the National Army.

Morin's 1st Battalion of the 33rd Regiment was just one tactical unit in the massive offensive.

As far as he could see, soldiers surged forward across the horizon. Battle cries, officers' orders, and the pounding of boots blended together.

It was a symphony that belonged to war alone.

Morin was one note in that symphony. Since arriving in this world, he had never personally taken part in a charge on this scale.

Under the military technology and rules of the world he had come from, charges involving this many troops no longer happened.

Right up until the moment he crossed over, Morin had planned to graduate from military academy, join the army, and steadily hone his abilities and professional skills.

Then, someday, he would command Blue Star's strongest heavy combined-arms battalion across the battlefield, ride to Zhurihe, and scale the heights of Narodnaya...

So why was I charging across an unfamiliar battlefield with a long, heavy, old-fashioned rifle, risking a bullet at any moment?

And why was I wearing this damned spiked helmet that offered no protection and trapped all the heat?

He gripped his rifle tightly. His heart hammered in his chest, and he could not tell whether he felt anger, nerves, or excitement.

On the System Map in the upper left of his vision, countless blue arrows representing the 16th Infantry Brigade and its allies combed across the land outside Seville.

The 33rd Infantry Regiment held the brigade's far left flank, and the 1st Battalion held the regiment's far left.

Having already taken casualties, the 1st Battalion had been assigned a Magic Crystal Cannon Position that the artillery had struck.

The effect of the 105-millimeter field howitzers was obvious. They met almost no serious resistance on their way up the high ground.

Across the wrecked artillery position lay the twisted bodies of Royal Army soldiers and weapons blown into pieces.

The air stank of gunpowder, earth, and blood.

Morin led the soldiers of the third platoon over the soft, scorched ground and swiftly occupied the position that had belonged to the enemy moments before.

The Magic Crystal Cannons that had given them so much trouble were now heaps of twisted metal belching black smoke. They posed no further threat.

Morin carefully made his way to the side of the high ground facing Seville. The view opened up before him.

With the System Map to guide him, he could clearly see the situation across the battlefield. For the first time, he saw what an army of twenty thousand looked like attacking head-on.

In the center, the three infantry regiments of the Saxon Army's 16th Infantry Brigade, the main assault force, advanced side by side. Like a sharp blade, they had already driven straight into the Royal Army's defenses.

About six hundred meters to the left of the 1st Battalion, another force was pressing its attack just as fiercely.

They were soldiers of the International Brigades.

Their uniforms were a jumble, and their weapons were only obsolete rifles supplied by the Saxon Empire. They had neither heavy machine guns nor mortars to support them.

Yet their fighting spirit was astonishing.

Facing the Royal Army's defenses, they forced their way forward with their own flesh and blood.

After only a brief exchange of fire, they launched a fearless charge. With bayonets and shovels, they drove the numerically superior enemy back in close-quarters combat...

"Attention, all companies! Establish a defensive line where you stand! Hold this high ground!"

Morin's blood was still stirring at the sight of the International Brigades' attack when messengers relayed Major Thomas's orders to every company.

It was a decision entirely in line with current Saxon military doctrine.

The high ground offered an excellent view over a wide area, making it an ideal artillery observation post and fire-support position.

They could even deploy artillery here later and bring all of Seville under fire. They had to keep it firmly in their hands.

The soldiers went to work at once, using existing shell craters, abandoned enemy crates, and sandbags to throw up makeshift cover.

But a powerful unease rose in Morin's chest.

He knew the earlier reconnaissance was unlikely to have marked every enemy artillery position.

However successful the counter-battery fire had been, it probably had not destroyed every one of the enemy's long-range firing positions.

And since this had been a Royal Army Magic Crystal Cannon Position, the enemy was certain to have its precise coordinates and topographical information...

Now that the Saxons had taken it, any surviving enemy artillerymen with half a brain would make it the target of their next barrage.

The 1st Battalion had concentrated almost all its troops in this cramped area...

They might as well have written "Bomb us here" across their faces.