When the Vickers Machine Gun's chatter stopped, the first to react was Captain Hauser, who had been pinned flat on the ground the moment he led his men into the frontal assault.
He practically sprang off the ground, drew the pistol at his waist, and roared at the soldiers behind him, who had likewise been pinned down, unable to raise their heads.
"Everyone up! The enemy machine gun's 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.
Ahead of them, the survivors of 1st Company and 2nd Company who had weathered the machine gun fire raised their heads hesitantly when they saw the reserves launching another seemingly suicidal charge.
Once they confirmed that the deadly chatter really had stopped, the elation of surviving and their long-suppressed fury swept through them all.
"For the empire! Charge!"
Some zealous officer let out the first shout, and every soldier in 1st Company and 2nd Company who could still move scrambled to his feet. Together with the men of 3rd Company who had already reached them, they charged toward the village like madmen.
Just minutes earlier, that machine gun had reaped them like wheat in this open field. They could only watch as their comrades were riddled with bullets, and rage had long since built up in their chests.
Now, at last, that rage had found an outlet.
The machine gun position was no longer keeping them under sustained suppression, and Morin's attack from the left flank had disrupted the enemy's deployment and drawn the attention of some of the Royal Army soldiers.
The rifle fire from the positions at the village's edge could no longer stop the gray tide of hundreds of soldiers from Saxony.
After suffering one heavy blow, all the officers and noncommissioned officers of 1st Battalion, Captain Hauser included, had learned their lesson.
As they ran, they shouted for the soldiers to spread out instead of bunching together again.
A loose skirmish line formed once more. The soldiers no longer sought orderly ranks, but used their rifles and bayonets to take enemy lives as quickly as they could.
After noticing that large numbers of friendly troops had resumed their attack on the main front, Morin returned his attention to the farmhouse before him.
Their comrades would probably make it through, but that did not necessarily mean the battle would end. There were likely still enemy remnants in the village to clear out.
At that thought, he tapped a messenger beside him, pointed toward the riverbed, and gave an order.
"Go back along the riverbed the way we came. Tell Sergeant Klaus and the other squads to advance under alternating cover and join the main force here."
The messenger immediately set off to carry out his orders.
"Keep your body down and your head low. Bullets don't care who they hit!"
"Yes, sir!"
After watching the messenger jump down into the riverbed and hurry away in a crouch, Morin turned to the squad beside him.
The soldiers had already begun itching to make a move once the machine gun fell silent, but 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 hotheaded soldiers down.
"Grenadiers, over here!"
The two soldiers whose grenades had just silenced the machine gun immediately stepped forward.
"Listen carefully. When 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 they had just built in him, 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. Once he had confirmed that 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 hurried back.
Boom! Boom!
Muffled explosions came from inside the farmhouse, accompanied by the sounds of splintering boards and something falling to the floor.
"Big man, kick the door in!"
At Morin's signal, a towering, burly soldier opposite him unhesitatingly lashed out with a kick, smashing the already tottering wooden door wide open.
"Fire!"
At Morin's command, the soldiers behind him immediately fired a volley into the dark 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. Hot cartridge cases sprang free and clattered onto the ground.
When they leaned out again to fire, they discovered that the farmhouse's ground floor had fallen silent.
Three soldiers in black Royal Army uniforms lay on the floor and at the foot of the stairs leading up to the second floor.
With his rifle ready, Morin slowly led the men inside, then moved closer to inspect the three Royal Army soldiers. Their bodies were covered in bullet holes and shrapnel wounds; they clearly would not survive.
"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. Up to the second floor!"
At the new order, the soldiers beside Morin aimed their rifles upstairs and carefully made their way up the creaking steps.
Only when the leading soldier poked his head out of the stairwell for a look did they discover that the scene upstairs was even more gruesome.
In the cramped space, the grenadiers' grenades had unleashed their full destructive power.
That was especially true of the one thrown through the machine gun's firing window. Judging by the blast marks on the floor, it had landed right beside the gunner's feet.
The gunner, his assistant, and the two riflemen standing guard all lay in pools of blood, long since dead.
The Vickers Machine Gun, on the other hand, seemed to have escaped largely unscathed, as 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 gun, but its water-cooling assembly and receiver did not appear to have suffered any critical damage.
That brought him some relief. If there were no other problems, this Vickers Machine Gun would count as 3rd Platoon's first spoil of war.
Although they might not have enough compatible ammunition, in this era they could never have too many Vickers Machine Guns, deadly weapons known as the "finest Maxim derivative."
"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 comrades outside mistake us for the enemy and shoot us."
Morin left three soldiers behind with those instructions, then led the others downstairs.
Outside the farmhouse's front door, the messenger had called back the three squads dispersed along the riverbed, and they had joined the soldiers who had stayed behind.
Dozens of men crowded around the farmhouse, their faces visibly beaming with delight. The soldiers from Sergeant Klaus's squad were even boasting to their comrades about their recent success.
As Morin looked at the chaotic scene, his temples throbbed.
If the enemy suddenly counterattacked, or a shell landed here, their kill count would probably go through the roof.
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