Hans, your coffee tastes awful

After briefly explaining the mission to the others, Morin turned a solemn gaze on Sergeant Klaus beside him.

With such a seasoned veteran present, Morin felt somewhat reassured, even though he would not be there to command the troops himself.

It was another version of "an elder in the house is a treasure," in a sense...

"I'm leaving the troops in your hands while I'm away, Sergeant Klaus! Keep a close watch, and be especially careful of an enemy counterattack."

"Rest assured, Second Lieutenant."

Sergeant Klaus nodded firmly. After that morning's battle, he no longer had any doubts about Morin's orders.

With everything arranged, Morin turned and found Hans, his orderly, sitting nearby.

His eyelids felt impossibly heavy, and his legs felt as though lead weights hung from them. Since yesterday, the constant tension and intense physical exertion had almost drained him dry.

Morin even felt that, for him to have held out this long, this body's physical capabilities were practically superhuman.

"Hans."

"Second Lieutenant?" The young orderly immediately stood up.

"Go to the field kitchen wagon and get me a cup of coffee." Morin rubbed his temples. "As strong as possible."

"Yes, Second Lieutenant!" Hans answered, then immediately jogged off.

After his orderly left, Morin took Corporal Baumann and four other handpicked, capable soldiers toward the rear of the village, where the Battalion Baggage Train was concealed.

Morin did not know how many casualties the Field Artillery Battalion's 77mm Field Guns had inflicted on the Royal Army during the preparatory bombardment before that morning's attack, but the damage to the village was plain to see. Many buildings had been hit by the shelling.

Morin and his men passed along the village road, strewn with shell craters and rubble, and soon found the Supply Train's hiding place, which also served as its temporary camp.

More than a dozen heavy, four-wheeled horse-drawn wagons, along with several trucks like those Morin had ridden in earlier, were carefully concealed at the edge of a small grove. The horses had been unharnessed and were leisurely eating fodder nearby.

The Quartermaster of the 33rd Infantry Regiment's 1st Battalion, a middle-aged captain sporting a Prussian-style handlebar mustache, was checking supplies with the Supply Train's soldiers.

When he saw the written order Morin handed him, he paused briefly, then the tips of his mustache lifted.

"Second Lieutenant Morin?" The Quartermaster looked him over. "Were you the one behind that splendid flanking attack this morning?"

"Just good luck, sir," Morin replied modestly.

"Luck is part of ability, too."

The Quartermaster spoke quite earnestly, and the way he looked at Morin changed. He readily put away the order and waved to the soldiers beside him.

"Go pick out six bicycles in the best condition for Second Lieutenant Morin and his men."

He turned back to Morin and cautioned him, "Second Lieutenant, the country lanes around here are rough going. They're full of potholes and put quite a strain on the bicycles. Be careful when you ride."

"Thank you for the warning, sir."

While the soldiers went to fetch the bicycles, Morin glanced toward the rear of the Supply Train's camp, where a separately cordoned-off area caught his attention.

Two enormous figures stood there.

They resembled knights in heavy plate armor scaled up several times over, each a little over three meters tall, resting motionless on one knee. Together with the Arming Swords, kite shields, and enormous rifles—or cannons—on the weapons rack beside them, they exerted a wordless pressure on Morin.

Compared with their massive, bulky torsos, however, their limbs looked rather short, giving them somewhat strange proportions.

They looked like a cross between an "Onion Knight," "Sakura Wars," and "SYNDUALITY"...

Utterly bizarre.

Their entire bodies were covered in surcoats bearing black-and-white cross heraldry, with only a few thick metal pipes exposed through the gaps. Exhaust pipes protruding from their backs suggested they were powered by some kind of internal combustion engine.

At that moment, numerous personnel, likewise wearing black-and-white surcoats but carrying no weapons, bustled around the two steel giants, performing maintenance and resupplying them.

"My God... are those 'Armored Knights'?"

Corporal Baumann, following behind Morin, could not help exclaiming in wonder.

The other soldiers craned their necks as well, their eyes filled with curiosity and awe.

Like most soldiers from Saxony, they had only seen blurry photographs of these steel creations in newspapers. This was their first time seeing the real things.

For people of this era, the visual impact of that cold metallic presence and enormous bulk was far beyond anything black-and-white newspaper photographs could convey.

The Quartermaster followed their gazes and gave a knowing smile.

"So this is your first time seeing the Teutonic Order's prized possessions, too."

He walked over to Morin and lowered his voice.

"Brigade Headquarters heard we took heavy casualties this morning, so they specifically sent these two 'Siegfried'-type Armored Knights, along with a full squad of Knight Squires, to reinforce us."

The Quartermaster seemed quite favorably disposed toward this courageous officer and, unusually, offered a little more explanation:

"With these two big fellows, the next attack will be much easier! If we run into enemy machine-gun positions again, they'll go up and clear them out. Better than having our men pay for it with their lives again, or making you take another terrible risk like that."

Morin felt a stir of interest. Of course he knew how foolish and cruel it was to throw human lives against machine-gun positions. That morning's battle was still vivid in his mind.

If these units, resembling what he understood as "mechs," could truly deal effectively with enemy firing positions, they would undoubtedly be a blessing for the infantry.

He was very curious about how such things actually operated on the battlefield. Could their armor withstand machine-gun bullets? Could it also provide effective protection against fire from conventional artillery?

But he also knew this was no time to indulge his curiosity. The reconnaissance mission could not wait.

"Thank you for telling me, sir." Morin withdrew his gaze and thanked the Quartermaster again.

"Off you go. Good luck."

The men wheeled their brand-new bicycles out of the Supply Train's camp. They had not gone far when Hans, the orderly, caught up with them, panting as he carried a steaming tin cup.

"Second Lieutenant, your coffee!"

Morin took the cup, and a strange smell of burnt bitterness rushed into his nostrils.

He took a sip. The taste defied description, like a medicinal brew made by boiling scorched beans with some kind of herb. It was so bitter and astringent that it almost scraped his tongue raw.

He frowned at his orderly, Hans.

That name, together with the coffee in his hand, made him feel as though a joke was already at the tip of his tongue, about to burst out.

"Hans!"

"Here, Second Lieutenant!"

"Your coffee tastes awful!"

"..."

With that, Morin tipped back his head and drained the stimulant that tasted like poison. Then he pushed the empty cup into Hans's hands and swung onto his bicycle.

"Move out!"