Bad News

Ten minutes earlier.

The 16th Brigade had set up its temporary headquarters in a building south of Seville that was still mostly intact. Bullet scars from the fighting were faintly visible on its walls.

In the building's largest room, Brigadier General Paul, the brigade commander, rubbed hard at his temples. His brow was knotted tight.

A casualty report lay spread across the table before him. More than 37% of the brigade had been killed or wounded, and several of the hardest-hit battalions had nearly ceased to function as units.

Beside it were urgent reports just delivered by scouts from the front. His chief of staff was briefing him on their contents.

"The Royal Army and the Britannians haven't gone far. They've stopped less than eight kilometers outside the city and are regrouping."

"And they've received substantial reinforcements. Our preliminary estimate is at least two or three regiments."

That news was bad enough, but worse was still to come.

"Most importantly..."

The staff officer paused, as though unsure how to continue.

"We've confirmed that the number of Armored Knights with the enemy's Order of the Garter has risen from two to eight."

"Eight?!"

Brigadier General Paul jerked his head up. It felt as if someone had slapped him across the face.

That meant the Teutonic Order's Armored Knights had lost even the meager numerical advantage they had held before.

In the previous battle, Ludwig and the others had outnumbered the enemy three to one, yet they had lost half their Armored Knights just to bring down two of the enemy's.

Now the enemy outnumbered them. If they clashed again...

Brigadier General Paul could not bear to think about it.

"General, should we consider... pulling back for now?" a young officer suggested quietly.

"Pull back?"

Brigadier General Paul gave a cold snort and slapped the table.

"Pull back where? We're in Seville, which we've only just captured! It's a major city in southern Aragon and the empire's primary objective!"

"If we give it up, every sacrifice we've made will have been for nothing, and the entire southern front will be thrown into disarray!"

He rose and paced the room, his boots thudding heavily against the floor.

"We cannot retreat. Not one step."

Brigadier General Paul stopped pacing, his gaze sharpening.

"Send a telegram to the Expeditionary Force Command Headquarters and the General Staff. Report the situation and tell them the 16th Brigade will hold Seville until the Armored Airships arrive!"

He looked around at his subordinates, his voice firm.

"Order every officer of battalion rank and above to report to Brigade Headquarters for an emergency military conference. Immediately!"

The order went out at once.

Major Thomas and Lieutenant Colonel Ludwig, who had just finished dealing with a disciplinary matter involving Morin, soon received word from a messenger.

They exchanged a grim look. Without a word, they set off for Brigade Headquarters.

Meanwhile, at the 1st Battalion's 3rd Platoon's temporary position, Morin was holding his second post-battle review since arriving in this world.

Unlike the first, when everyone had been reserved, this meeting was decidedly lively.

They had just survived a bloody battle, and the soldiers had plenty they wanted to say.

"Platoon leader, that flanking fire was incredibly effective!"

A corporal was the first to stand. His face lit up as he spoke.

"Especially that heavy machine gun. Good God! From where we set it up, it was a slaughterhouse! Royal Army soldiers went down in rows like wheat!"

His words drew immediate agreement.

"Exactly! We used to think a heavy machine gun was just a cumbersome thing for defending a position. Who knew that if you found the right spot, it could do so much during an attack?"

"Yeah! We used to bunch up too close together, and one shell would take out a whole group. This time we spread out like the platoon leader said. It looked messy, but we really did take fewer casualties!"

The soldiers talked over one another, each sharing something they had learned.

Morin listened with satisfaction. This was exactly what he wanted.

These soldiers were no longer puppets who did nothing but follow orders. They were starting to think for themselves and learn from experience.

That growing initiative mattered far more than winning a single battle.

Before long, though, someone raised a question that silenced everyone.

"Platoon leader... how are we supposed to deal with those heavily armored Britannian soldiers?"

The soldier who asked had survived the hand-to-hand fighting, and his voice wavered.

"Our bullets didn't do a thing to them."

The lively mood vanished.

Everyone remembered those heavily armored soldiers charging through their positions like walking tin cans, and a chill ran through them.

Morin turned to his platoon sergeant. "Klaus, how did the army handle enemies like that before?"

Klaus frowned in thought, then shook his head.

"Honestly, platoon leader, ordinary infantry regiments like ours rarely face that kind of enemy directly. From what I've heard, it's usually left to the Saxony Royal Guard Divisions."

"Some of the Royal Guard divisions have heavily armored soldiers of their own who can fight them on equal terms. I've never heard of ordinary infantry like us being sent to take them on head-on."

The answer was much as Morin had expected. Saxony could not be entirely helpless against heavily armored troops. As with Armored Knights, there had to be units capable of countering them.

It seemed that in this world, elite units were meant to fight other elite units. The counters between troop types were clearly defined.

While everyone was at a loss, a messenger from Battalion Headquarters came galloping up and reined in his horse at the 3rd Platoon's temporary assembly point.

"Is Second Lieutenant Morin here? Major Thomas orders you to report to Battalion Headquarters for a meeting immediately!"

Morin stood at once. If Thomas was calling him to a meeting now, he had probably learned something at Brigade Headquarters and needed to pass it down.

"Klaus, keep the discussion going and write down all the questions."

"Yes, platoon leader!"

After leaving Klaus in charge, Morin wasted no time. He followed the messenger toward Battalion Headquarters at a brisk pace.

He had a feeling something serious was about to happen.

I hope it isn't bad news...

When Morin reached the 1st Battalion's temporary headquarters, he found it packed.

Every surviving company and platoon commander had gathered in the makeshift command post, which had been put together with a few folding map tables.

Unconcealed fatigue showed on every face, and several officers were still wrapped in bandages.

Major Thomas stood before the map, his expression dark. He clearly had not received good news at Brigade Headquarters.

When Morin came in, Thomas merely nodded and gestured for him to find a place to stand.

Once everyone had arrived, Major Thomas cleared his throat and got straight to the point.

"Gentlemen, we learned at Brigade Headquarters that the enemy hasn't fully withdrawn. They've regrouped and received substantial reinforcements. Brigade Headquarters expects them to launch a counterattack as soon as they've finished assembling."