Trench Bolts and Magic

Chapter 34 With all our might, we can win!
The remaining gray military uniforms converged into a resolute torrent, surging down from the high ground.

The gray tide and the black tide collided violently.

On the other side, the mixed colors and a small patch of field gray were also mixed with a large clump of khaki tide.

A fierce and bloody hand-to-hand battle was about to begin.

The commander of the 1st Battalion, 2nd Regiment, of the International Brigades' Eastern European Brigade clearly noticed the charge of Morin and his small group.

So they quickly moved in this direction and joined forces to prevent Morin and his group from being overwhelmed in an instant.

Previously, Morin had never understood what units clad in heavy armor and wielding melee weapons could do on a battlefield where bullets were flying.

But now, he knows.

He stared at the Breton tin cans, ignoring the bullets, and charged straight into the International Brigades' formation, knocking the front-line soldiers to their knees.

The greatswords they wielded were clearly far more powerful in close combat than the bayonets on rifles.

As the swords flashed, heads and limbs flew off one after another, as if no one could stop these metal cans.
As Morin charged into the enemy ranks, he felt as if his blood was on fire. The splattering blood and shrill screams around him seemed to be his most effective stimulant, making him more and more courageous in battle.

He didn't understand why this body was excited about this bloody melee, but right now, this excitement was the key to his survival in the melee.

The bayonet drills from the Saxon Military Academy and the bayonet fighting techniques he learned before his transmigration were strangely fused together in his mind.

A soldier from the Kingdom Army charged at him with a gun, yelling, his bayonet pointed directly at his chest.

Instead of retreating, Morin advanced, slightly shifting his body to the side and raising his rifle to a 'sweeping' motion, precisely deflecting the opponent's bayonet.

The soldier used too much force, and the center door opened wide.

Morin didn't waste the opportunity; with a flick of his wrist, the sharp bayonet was plunged deep into the opponent's chest.

Without a moment's hesitation, he kicked the corpse aside, drew his bayonet, and then aimed and fired at an enemy soldier not far away.

"boom!"

The enemy fell to the ground.

Morin's quick kill of two people in a short period of time soon attracted the enemy's attention.

Two more enemies rushed towards him, seemingly intending to attack him together and give Morin no chance to defend himself.

Seeing this, Morin snorted coldly and drew his P08 pistol from his waist.

"Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!"

Unsportsmanlike gunfire erupted, and two enemies fell to the ground.

Times have changed, my lord.

Using this tactic of 'coordinated attacks from both close and long range', along with shooting interspersed during assassinations, Morin took down several people in succession. Soon after, he was targeted by an even more troublesome opponent.

It was a heavily armored soldier wielding a two-handed greatsword. He roared, his heavy footsteps causing the ground to tremble slightly as he charged straight toward Morin.

Morin raised his hand and fired several shots until he emptied his pistol magazine.

The bullets struck the opponent's chest armor, leaving only shallow dents before bouncing off weakly.

As expected, the defenses couldn't be broken!

This seemingly enchanted heavy armor is completely immune to pistol bullets at close range.

Morin didn't dare to fight head-on, so he immediately used his more agile skills to deal with the tin can.

He first raised his hand to aim slightly, then fired a Gew.98 at the enemy's head. Although it failed to penetrate the enemy's armor, the impact of the full-power bullet still made the enemy's head buzz.

After forcibly closing the distance, the heavily armored greatswordsman began his attack. His slashes were wide and powerful, each strike accompanied by a whistling sound, but the heavy equipment also severely hampered his speed.

The bayonet was clearly no match for the two-handed greatsword's strikes, so Morin could only grit his teeth and keep dodging, searching for an opening in his opponent's defenses.

Finally, after his opponent's powerful sweeping attack missed, Morin seized the fleeting opportunity.

He lunged forward, his bayonet flashing like a venomous snake, precisely slipping into the gap under the opponent's armor.

"Pfft!"

The sound of a bayonet piercing flesh was clearly audible.

The heavily armored soldier let out a painful groan and froze.

Without hesitation, Morin took another step forward, pressed the muzzle of the Gew98 against the wound, and pulled the trigger.

"boom!"

Point-blade rifle fire is dull yet deadly.

The 7.92mm bullet pierced the heavily armored soldier's body without hindrance, following the wound torn open by the bayonet.

The massive body of the tin can trembled violently before crashing to the ground with a deafening thud, its heavy armor slamming into the earth.

Morin dared not be careless. After reloading his rifle, he fired another shot into the exposed neck of the enemy before feeling relieved. Having dealt with this major threat, Morin didn't even have time to catch his breath before turning around and throwing himself into the battle on the other side.

Meanwhile, the battle situation on the high ground also underwent a decisive change.

The Kingdom's soldiers, whose morale had been shattered by Morin and his men's machine guns, were already at their last gasp.

Now, facing the 1st Battalion soldiers charging down from the high ground with high morale, they almost collapsed at the first touch.

In close combat, they were no match for these well-trained Saxon soldiers and were quickly routed, losing their armor and weapons and suffering another defeat.

After defeating the enemy in front of him, Major Thomas noticed that Morin and his men were in a tough fight.

"The entire 1st Battalion, follow me! Go support the left flank!"

He made a decisive move, gathered his troops, and immediately charged toward the flank of the Northumberland Fusiliers Regiment.

With the addition of the main force of the 1st Battalion, the pressure on Morin and others, who were originally at a significant disadvantage in terms of numbers, was greatly reduced.

The numerical gap between the two sides was quickly narrowed.

However, the fighting tenacity of the Northumberland flintlock soldiers far exceeded everyone's expectations.

Even when surrounded on three sides, these elite soldiers from Brittany did not break down.

They quickly tightened their formation, forming small, circular defensive arrays centered around the heavily armored soldiers, stubbornly resisting attacks from all directions.

Bayonets clashed with longswords, rifle butts struck shields, and the sounds of rifle fire were interspersed from time to time.

The battlefield turned into a giant, bloody meat grinder, frantically devouring the lives of soldiers on both sides.

Every second, someone falls.

Morin was also in a bloodthirsty frenzy. He gripped his rifle tightly with both hands, and with each thrust he used all his strength, aiming straight for the enemy's vitals.

His platoon leaders, Sergeant Klaus and Sergeant Jonah, were equally fearless, repeatedly thrusting their bayonets into the enemy's body with the simplest and most direct stabbing maneuvers.

The battle has reached a strange stalemate.

Although the Saxons and International Brigades gradually gained the upper hand in numbers, they were never able to completely defeat this tenacious Britannian force.

Time passed second by second, and Morin felt his strength rapidly draining away, his arms becoming incredibly sore from the repeated blocking and thrusting.

He didn't understand why, even though the brigade headquarters had clearly dispatched two 'Armor Knights' to follow the 1st Battalion, these 'elite units' hadn't come up to provide support at this time.

What are they waiting for?
Just then, a rapid and dense sound of hooves, like rolling thunder, came from the other side of the high ground.

Morin instinctively looked in the direction of the sound.

On the other side of the high ground, a Saxon black eagle flag was fluttering in the wind.

Under the military flag, a dark mass of cavalrymen stood.

They wore field gray cavalry uniforms, metal-tipped cavalry helmets, and held 3-meter-long lances aloft.

The 52nd Cavalry Regiment of the Saxon Empire Army!
The cavalry commander took the lead, pressing his lance down so that the tip drew a dazzling arc in the air.

"charge--!"

Upon receiving the order, hundreds of cavalrymen launched a simultaneous charge.

The earth trembled under their iron hooves; their overwhelming force left everyone breathless.

The 4th Battalion of the Northumberland Fusiliers Regiment, which was entangled with the Saxon infantry and the International Brigades, had their rear exposed to this torrent without any defense.

The tenacity and resolve on the faces of these Brittany soldiers were finally replaced by terror and despair at this moment.

They wanted to turn around and reorganize their defenses, but it was too late.

The cavalry, like a tidal wave, arrived in an instant.

The cavalrymen at the forefront had already lowered their spears.

The sharp spearheads, gleaming with a deadly cold light in the morning light, easily pierced the bodies of the Brittany soldiers.

The enormous impact sent them flying high into the air before slamming them heavily to the ground.

The cavalry following behind brandished their sabers, looking down upon the enemy and taking lives in the blink of an eye.

Even though many heavily armored soldiers wielded their greatswords and cut down the Saxon cavalrymen and their horses, they could only shatter the part in front of them like rocks in a tide, unable to stop the spread of the entire tide.

After the cavalry completed a charge along an arc-shaped tangent, the 4th Battalion of the Northumberland Fusiliers was caught off guard, as if bitten by a shark that had suddenly swum in, leaving a gap in their ranks.

The final straw that broke the camel's back finally appeared.

The line of the 4th Battalion of the Northumberland Fusiliers Regiment collapsed instantly under the charge of the cavalry.

(End of this chapter)