Encounter with the Northumberland Fusiliers

Flanking fire from heavy machine guns was devastating to massed infantry.

They were completely exposed to the machine gun's field of fire. Advancing meant death, retreating meant death, and lying flat where they were meant death too.

The gentle slope before the heights became a slaughterhouse in every sense of the word.

Platoon Sergeant Klaus and Corporal Jonah wore expressions of shock and fervor.

They mechanically worked their bolts, aimed, and fired, sending bullet after bullet into enemy bodies.

They had never imagined a battle could be fought like this.

To them, Platoon Leader Morin's decision was nothing short of genius!

No one had ever brought a cumbersome machine gun along on a tactical advance. In the minds of 99% of Saxon Army soldiers, a machine gun was a purely defensive weapon, impossible to use on the attack...

The Royal Army's first charge ended in a complete rout after more than 70% of the soldiers in its first three ranks were killed on the spot.

The massed company column following those three ranks even attempted a charge against Morin and his men.

But their even tighter formation made the machine gunner's job easier. Sometimes a single .303 bullet punched straight through two enemies.

Within seconds of the machine gun swinging its fire onto them, the entire massed column broke.

Morin even saw a savage grin slowly emerging on the face of the inexperienced machine gunner, who had looked nervous before opening fire.

It was a grin born of overwhelming firepower.

Faced with the machine gun's merciless suppressive fire, the surviving Royal Army soldiers broke completely.

They cried out, threw down their weapons, and scrambled back in panic, their morale utterly shattered.

A few officers still trying to hold their ground kept raising their sabers, attempting to stop the rout—yes, Royal Army officers of every rank still maintained the tradition of carrying sabers.

But such conspicuous displays on the battlefield soon got them picked off by the accurate fire of Sergeant Klaus and the others.

The Royal Army soldiers who had surged up like a tide now receded from the heights like one.

Morin breathed a sigh of relief at the sight, then stopped the machine gunner from continuing to fire.

"All right, that's enough! Save your ammunition! There's more fighting ahead!"

After that, he looked around at the others.

"Everyone, check for injuries, then check your ammunition!"

They soon finished checking. No one was wounded... or rather, the Royal Army had never managed to mount an effective counterattack.

Everyone had expended nearly a sixth of their ammunition, however, and the Vickers Machine Gun had all but emptied its first belt.

"The regimental machine gun company ought to be deployed on the front line. We barely have any machine guns to begin with, and they're still holding them back..."

Morin lay flat on the ground, letting his taut body relax a little as he complained.

"Platoon Leader, what do we do next?"

Sergeant Klaus moved over beside Morin and asked, his eyes shining.

"Get ready to change positions. We've just revealed our firepower, so their next attack might target us..."

Morin got up from the ground and turned his attention to the System Map, preparing to find another temporary machine gun position.

And he did indeed find a more suitable spot.

It was a little farther from the summit, but several large trees toppled by shellfire lay scattered there, providing natural cover.

He immediately sent a soldier to sneak back to the summit, check on the rest of the battalion, and pass his plans along to Captain Hauser and the others.

Only after making those arrangements did Morin lead the remaining men away, carrying the heavy Vickers Machine Gun as they quietly began to relocate.

The routed Royal Army soldiers were still fleeing in disarray below the hillside. No one noticed the movements of their small detachment, and the relocation went surprisingly smoothly.

Once they reached the new temporary position, Morin immediately had everyone spread out, find cover, and check their weapons one last time.

"Everyone, have some water and catch your breath while you can. We're probably in for another hard fight soon."

Morin unscrewed his own canteen and took a swig, then used this rare lull to focus entirely on the System Map in the upper-left corner of his vision.

As friendly forces advanced across the entire front, large swathes of the fog of war surrounding Seville cleared, revealing the situation along the whole battle line.

Red unit markers representing Royal Army forces kept flashing and disappearing.

The main assault force, centered on the 16th Infantry Brigade, had taken all the heights southeast of Seville that offered clear fields of view.

Most of those heights with clear fields of view had now changed hands.

The markers for two 77mm Field Gun battalions were also moving slowly forward, preparing to occupy new positions and provide closer fire support for the next stage of the attack.

The three less-mobile 105mm Howitzer Batteries remained in their original positions, continuing to fire.

The battle as a whole seemed to be going splendidly.

At this rate, it seemed only a matter of time before the Saxons completely tore through Seville's outer defenses.

Yet the unease in Morin's heart only grew stronger.

He clearly remembered that the intelligence he had brought back explicitly mentioned several elite enemy units—the Highland Mages, the Armored Knights of the Order of the Garter, and the Northumberland Fusiliers.

The enemies who had captured him when he first crossed over had also belonged to the 4th Battalion of the Northumberland Fusiliers.

But even now, not a single one of those elite Britannian units had appeared on the map.

Were they really planning to abandon their outer positions and stake everything on street fighting?

The thought flashed through Morin's mind, but he immediately rejected it.

That went completely against the prevailing military doctrine of this era. How badly outmatched would they have to be to choose street fighting behind fortified city defenses?

But before Morin could work it out, a new development arose.

"Platoon Leader! They're coming up again!"

Platoon Sergeant Klaus, who lay behind a fallen tree trunk keeping watch, spoke in a low voice:

"Their officers have stopped the fleeing troops. They're reforming!"

Almost at the same moment Klaus made his report, another, fresh unit appeared in Morin's view below the heights.

Their uniforms were khaki, starkly different from the Royal Army's black uniforms.

A brisk, rhythmic trumpet melody mingled with the beat of military drums, drifting up from far below the hillside.

Morin knew that melody all too well—the Grenadier March.

His heart lurched. He rushed over to Klaus in a few strides and raised his binoculars.

Through the lenses, the newly arrived Britannian troops looked almost exactly like the British soldiers of the First World War he remembered.

They wore khaki uniforms and those iconic "flying saucer helmets" that Hong Kong film directors loved to use.

The only difference was that ranks of heavily armored soldiers stood at the very front of their formation.

Some carried enormous two-handed swords, while others held a Kite Shield in one hand and a one-handed sword in the other. All of them radiated a cold, forbidding aura.

Detailed information about the unit appeared on the System Map as well.

[Holy Britannian Empire - Northumberland Fusiliers - 4th Battalion]

[Officers: 30]

[Soldiers and noncommissioned officers: 997]