Three Platoon, Chow Time!

The order came down, and the troops who had been basking in victory immediately re-formed their ranks.

The battlefield grew tense and orderly once more.

The bearded commander of the International Brigades found Major Thomas. After a brief discussion, they decided his men would accompany the 1st Battalion as it advanced into Seville.

Ludwig said the Teutonic Order had come to support the operation, so it would enter the city with them.

Their decisions came as a relief to Major Thomas. He had been uneasy about pushing forward with the battered 1st Battalion on its own.

Morin used the time to make a quick count of his platoon's casualties.

His heart sank at the sight of the thin ranks before him.

After the battle for the high ground, his once-full 3rd Platoon had only forty-eight men left.

Corporal Jonah, who had fought so fiercely at Morin's side, had fallen in the final melee. He would never get up again.

In that moment, the brutality of war stood before Morin in its starkest form.

It was the first time he had truly felt what it meant to lose soldiers under his command...

They left behind a platoon that had been nearly destroyed to wait for the medical personnel and stretcher teams coming from the rear to recover the fallen.

Then Major Thomas led his troops in pursuit toward Seville, with the International Brigades and the Teutonic Order alongside them. They followed the trail of wreckage the enemy had left behind.

But to everyone's surprise, they met no resistance along the way.

Major Thomas sent a messenger to report their progress to Regimental Headquarters. Morin did not know the details of the message; he only heard the major say:

"My battalion's advance is completely unobstructed! Completely unobstructed!"

Even when an advance party of more than a dozen men from the International Brigades stepped onto the cobbled streets at Seville's edge, they met no resistance.

The enemy had done more than "withdraw along the entire line," as the order from Regimental Headquarters had said. They had abandoned the whole city.

"Something's wrong. Who fights a war like this...?"

Morin frowned at the city before him. It was eerily quiet.

According to his earlier reconnaissance, the Royal Army and the Britannians had massed troops here and built strong defenses. They had looked ready to fight the allied forces to the death.

How could they abandon the city so readily after a single failed attack?

It made no sense unless... it was a trap.

Morin tried to find Captain Hauser, his immediate superior, but could not locate him.

In the end, he went straight to Major Thomas, who was speaking with the bearded commander of the International Brigades, and voiced his concern.

"Major, I think this may be a trap. The enemy clearly wants to lure us into the city..."

"Morin, you have a point."

Major Thomas cut him off.

"But I think it's more likely they simply weren't prepared to fight in the streets. Once we broke through their defensive line, holding the city no longer made sense."

The bearded commander nodded in agreement.

Just then, Ludwig came over from having his squires and technicians inspect the damage to the Armored Knights. He had caught their conversation.

"I think their losses were too heavy."

Ludwig's voice drew the attention of all three men.

"Set aside the casualties among the Royal Army's ragtag units. The Britannian Northumberland Fusiliers alone lost most of a battalion on the high ground fighting you."

"More importantly, they lost two Armored Knights and every one of their Knight Squires. For the Britannians, who think so highly of themselves, it's a defeat unlike any they've suffered in years."

Ludwig paused, then continued:

"I don't think they'll let this go. This withdrawal looks more like a tactical pullback. They'll likely regroup outside the city and counterattack."

Morin frowned at Ludwig's words.

"They'd give up the defender's advantage and attack the city instead, even if it cost them more lives?"

Ludwig replied, "That suggests they're confident they can do it. And they've seized on something we can't refuse..."

"Seville matters too much to us. We can't withdraw as easily as they did."

Major Thomas had grasped the point. He looked up at Morin.

"That means we're pinned here... Second Lieutenant Morin, your concern was justified."

"We'll have to stay alert. The fighting ahead may be harder still," Ludwig concluded.

Before long, the National Army, the International Brigades, and the remaining troops of the 16th Infantry Brigade entered the city and swept it thoroughly.

After some time, they confirmed that the enemy had indeed withdrawn completely.

Once the city was declared safe, the supply units, Field Hospital, and Field Kitchen followed close behind and set up camp on open ground at its edge.

Morin first had the platoon's more seriously wounded men taken to the Field Hospital. They had received only emergency treatment, and sending them away reduced the number of men still fit to move to forty-two.

Then he called Platoon Sergeant Klaus aside.

"Klaus, tally the ammunition each squad has used. Take a few men to the company Quartermaster and replenish our supplies."

"Yes, sir!"

"Especially grenades. Get as many as you can. If we're going to fight in the streets, nothing will be more useful."

Klaus promptly went to carry out the order.

"Corporal Baumann!"

"Here!"

"Make a detailed list of everyone in the platoon who was killed or wounded, then give it to the company clerk."

Morin looked at the young corporal, his tone turning grave.

"Be careful. Don't leave out a single name or get so much as one letter wrong. Whether our fallen soldiers receive their death benefits depends on it, and so do the lives their families will lead back home. Understood?"

"Understood! You can count on me, sir!"

Corporal Baumann nodded firmly. The soldiers around him—and even a few volunteers from the International Brigades listening nearby—looked at Morin a little differently.

By the time Morin had dealt with those details, Klaus had returned with ammunition and two crates of grenades. Baumann and the others had also rejoined the platoon, and an enticing aroma drifted over from the Field Kitchen.

Hunger soon pushed aside the soldiers' grief for their fallen comrades. It was cruel, but that was life on a battlefield.

If they wept and lost their appetite every time a comrade died, they would never be able to fight...

Morin looked at the hungry survivors of 3rd Platoon and waved his hand.

"Third Platoon, all of you! Chow time!"

After a full morning of fierce fighting, Morin and his men were ravenous.

And today's combat meal was richer than any of them had imagined.

Chunks of potato had been added to the thick Erbwurst soup. After a long simmer, it had grown thicker still.

There was plenty of black bread and hot coffee, too.

Beyond those three staples, the Field Kitchen had even prepared fried sausages. Everyone got a whole one.

The Saxon Empire had clearly not yet reached a time of shortages, and military supplies were plentiful.

It was nothing like the German Empire in another timeline, where blockaded shipping routes and mounting shortages left frontline soldiers eating bread bulked out with sawdust...

In the Saxon Empire, cooks did not score the sausages before frying them.

They laid each sausage whole in a skillet and fried it in butter until it sizzled, its skin golden and crisp.

That kept as much juice and fat as possible inside the sausage and preserved its full flavor.

Morin had already earned a company-wide reputation for his appetite. As soon as he got his food, he hurried to find a place to sit.

He blew briefly on the steaming sausage, then took an eager, generous bite.

Crunch.

"Hsss—hah—"

It was hot enough to burn his mouth, but the instant his teeth broke through the crisp skin, scalding juices and a rich meaty aroma burst across his tongue.

For a moment, Morin felt as if that incomparable flavor had restored both his exhausted body and his spirits.

He quickly recognized it as a classic Thuringian Sausage.

Of the many German sausages, it was one that particularly suited Chinese tastes.

The soldiers around him saw the bliss on their platoon leader's face and could not help swallowing.

Their appetites thoroughly roused, they bent over their meals and dug in.