Chapter 547: Star-Studded Indeed...

Morin coughed, attempting to hide the awkwardness on his face.

"Ahem... before I arrived, no one briefed me on the specific enemy and friendly commanders, only the troop distributions."

Realizing he had made an empirical error, he lowered his voice to cover his tracks. "And seeing General Alekseyev sitting here, I naturally assumed... that General Brusilov was also on the Western Rus side."

Hoffmann didn't dwell on the slip-up; he just smiled amiably.

"Understandable. Information on enemy commanders is difficult to gather, even for the Eighth Army. During these five years of civil war, not only have both sides suffered countless casualties, but the turnover rate for senior generals has also been staggeringly high."

Pausing briefly, Colonel Hoffmann added quietly, "The chaos makes intelligence gathering extremely difficult. The 'Crisis Travelers' we sent out rarely returned. The Western Rus forces only confirmed Brusilov's return to command within the past month."

"Meaning he wasn't the commander before?" Morin asked, curious.

"Correct. Although Brusilov publicly joined the White Army earlier, he hasn't participated much in direct frontline command. He stayed mostly in the rear, likely helping the White Army with force generation and building their training systems."

Hoffmann spoke casually, but Morin caught the crucial implication.

If Brusilov had been structuring the White Army... that meant a significant portion of those enemy soldiers were trained under the old Imperial standards he had maintained.

Notably, if this world's Greater Rus Imperial Army trained similarly to the Tsarist Russian Army from his previous life, their infantry tactics would not lag behind the pre-war Saxon Empire or the Gallic Republic.

Judging from their Army Field Manual, they heavily emphasized firepower from artillery and direct infantry support weapons.

The issue was the disconnect between tactics and troop quality. In actual combat, the infantry rarely received the fire support emphasized in the manual.

Furthermore, the old Rus officers favored the offensive. They stressed initiating combat through attacks during meeting engagements and loved relying on bayonet charges to deliver the final blow at decisive moments.

That said, the Second Reich's army in his original world evaluated early-war Tsarist infantry tactics far higher than the French army's... This just showed how absurd the Gallic "offensive cult" truly was among so-called "offensive armies."

However, Morin believed the current White Army, having weathered five years of civil war, must have refined their infantry tactics. They were not to be underestimated.

Especially now that Brusilov, the "head coach" himself, had taken the field. The White Army's tactical improvement would be substantial.

Morin's mind raced.

What did the name Brusilov represent? In Morin's previous world, the Brusilov Offensive was the largest and most successful offensive campaign on the Eastern Front during World War I.

Using tactics of multi-point breakthroughs and opportunistic commitment of reserves, the veteran general shredded the Austro-Hungarian defense line in 1916. He forced the German Army to transfer 18 divisions from the Western Front to reinforce their ally.

Of course, that happened in another world, but talent and capability wouldn't vanish due to a shifted timeline.

Disregarding Kolchak the "mascot," Brusilov, Denikin, and Yudenich... these three commanders in the White Army camp—or anywhere in Rus—were formidable leaders capable of holding their own.

Not to mention the high likelihood of facing fierce frontline commanders of Kappel or Wrangel's caliber...

"I can't speak to much else, but Brusilov's capability..."

Hoffmann seemed ready to elaborate, but someone interrupted him.

General Alekseyev, sitting across the long table, suddenly spoke up. "Did I hear someone discussing General Brusilov?"

He spoke fluent Saxon, almost entirely without an accent.

Morin looked up at the Western Rus military commander-in-chief, who met his gaze.

For senior officers of Saxony and Rus in this era, mastering each other's languages was practically mandatory, along with knowing Gallic and Britannian. This tradition traced back a long time. Originally intended to help study their rivals, it now saved them the trouble of relying on translators during joint operations.

Facing Alekseyev's question, Colonel Hoffmann smiled appropriately. "General Alekseyev, this is Major General Friedrich von Morin, commander of the Imperial Guard Assault Instruction Brigade, who just arrived on the Eastern Front. I was briefing him on the enemy."

Alekseyev's gaze lingered on Morin for a few seconds before he gave a slight nod.

Morin returned the polite gesture.

Before heading to the Eastern Front, the Western Rus Provisional National Government, as an ally, had received intelligence regarding the Instruction Brigade and its commander. The combat reports from the Balkan campaign were particularly legendary. A commander under thirty leading a battlegroup over the Carpathian Mountains to launch a surprise attack on the Romanian capital... Such a feat would draw attention anywhere.

"A Major General already... at this age?"

"Yes, General."

"Remarkable," Alekseyev evaluated succinctly. "That is exceedingly rare in any nation."

Morin and Hoffmann then noticed a shift in Alekseyev's expression. Hard to classify as awe or regret, he leaned back in his chair and spoke with a heavy tone.

"I never expected Brusilov would ultimately choose to command armies for those warlords."

Several Rus officers around him wore complex expressions upon hearing this.

"I've known him for thirty years. We were colleagues starting from the Second Crimean War... I know him inside and out." Alekseyev paused before continuing, "I never imagined I would face him directly on the battlefield one day."

Morin stayed silent. Stories of former colleagues parting ways to become enemies were all too common in civil wars.

He simply memorized the implication in Alekseyev's words. Since he "knew him inside and out," they might extract valuable intel on Brusilov's command habits and weaknesses from this old rival.

Conversely, the enemy possessed the same advantage.

As Alekseyev finished his lament, the attendees had mostly gathered.

Morin quickly scanned the room. On the Saxon side sat the Eighth Army's command echelon led by Hindenburg and Ludendorff, the Fourth Army's staff led by Crown Prince Albrecht, along with himself and Manstein. The Western Rus side consisted of Alekseyev and his half-dozen staff officers; Morin didn't spot anyone resembling a high-ranking Provisional Government official.

"Good."

Ludendorff tapped the table to quiet the room.

"Since everyone is here, let us begin today's meeting."

He took a pointer from an adjutant and turned to the large map erected in the center of the tent.

"Gentlemen... we convened this joint conference to better counter the large-scale offensive the White Army is likely to launch next."

Ludendorff's voice was clear, though not loud. He traced the Dnieper River line on the map.

"Over the past month, although the White Army suspended direct attacks on Kyiv and its surrounding areas... based on our recon and intel from the Empire..."

He tapped a section at the top of the map forcefully.

"I'm sure you are all well aware that they are massively reinforcing the entire Dnieper front."

The tent fell silent. Morin's internal system map began auto-updating its tactical overlay based on the information shared.

Ludendorff pointed north of Kyiv.

"First, the latest developments."

"Twelve hours ago, our aviation unit reported a White Army force—an entire army group in scale—about a hundred kilometers north of Kyiv."

He looked at the attendees.

"Estimated at over 120,000 troops, they are pushing south. Based on standard marching times... they should be roughly eighty kilometers away by now."

Two staff officers quickly marked the new enemy icons on the map.

Morin's system filled in more details upon receiving this data. This force north of Kyiv was commanded by Yudenich, designated the White Army's "Northern Army." Because they hadn't captured any prisoners yet, no one in the room besides Morin knew this specific information. As for their projected location eighty kilometers north of Kyiv, it roughly correlated to the vicinity of Pripyat and Chernobyl in his old world.

Ludendorff moved his pointer south.

"Next is the direct front facing Kyiv."

"The enemy here is the White Army's 'Center Army'... we have confirmed this designation. Former Imperial Guard General Kappel commands them."

Ludendorff paused, his tone growing sterner.

"Approximately 200,000 troops."

Someone in the tent drew a sharp breath. That number was formidable even on the Eastern Front.

"The White Army's most elite Armored Knight units, remnants of the old Imperial Guard, and the massive influx of new equipment provided by the Britannians are all concentrated in this army."

Ludendorff tapped the river segment directly opposite Kyiv.

"Over the past few days, Kappel has organized several probing assaults along this line. Though we repelled them alongside our Western Rus allies, the increasing frequency of these probes is a bad omen."

Dragging the pointer down, he circled an area about fifty kilometers south of Kyiv.

"Finally, the southern sector... Rzhyshchiv."

Morin noticed the subtle changes on the Western Rus officers' faces at the mention of this town.

"The approaching enemy is the White Army's Southern Army, commanded by Denikin. They have reinforced from 100,000 to 140,000 men. Aerial reconnaissance shows their railways are continuously funneling in personnel and supplies."

Ludendorff slowed his speech.

"The enemy has already initiated river crossing operations opposite Rzhyshchiv. The local garrison is resisting... but has requested reinforcements multiple times."

He lowered his pointer and faced the room.

"If Rzhyshchiv is breached, Denikin's forces will cross the Dnieper unimpeded. And you all know the terrain south of Kyiv—"

"Flat as a board," Alekseyev finished for him, his voice heavy. "Indefensible."

Morin stared at the constantly refreshing situation markers on his system map, tapping his thigh absently.

120,000 north. 200,000 center. 140,000 south.

The frontline assault forces across these three vectors totaled 460,000. And his system supplemented another piece of intel: the White Army held reserves in both the central and southern sectors, each exceeding 70,000 to 80,000 men.

Combined, it surpassed 600,000.

Six hundred thousand troops pressing on three fronts, with Brusilov commanding the strategic theater. Morin couldn't help but shake his head. With this scale... the White Army was dead set on taking Kyiv before winter set in.

Ludendorff's voice continued, delivering even worse news.

"One more thing. We cannot confirm if the White Army has completed its mobilization and reinforcement. Meaning... we don't know if they will commit even more forces to this sector."

The atmosphere in the tent grew heavier.

After a while, Alekseyev pushed himself up from the table. The surrounding officers shifted their focus to him.

"Gentlemen..." His fluent Saxon saved immense time and avoided translation errors. "I will hide nothing. Before the Eighth Army arrived, I only had 200,000 men left... many of them green recruits. Holding out until your arrival was the absolute limit of what I could achieve."

Morin looked at the old general across the table.

Two hundred thousand battered remnants had faced a full-scale assault from hundreds of thousands of White Army regulars and managed to keep Kyiv from falling. That alone proved Alekseyev's military brilliance in this world. This was likely the very reason the White Army went to such lengths to get Brusilov to take the field.

Consequently, how they countered the upcoming offensive was absolutely critical.

Ludendorff put away the pointer and stepped aside, yielding the floor.

Alekseyev spoke first.

"My suggestion is simple. Do as we did before... hold our ground."

The former Imperial Army Chief of Staff stepped up to the map, took the pointer, and drew an arc around Kyiv.

"Use the Dnieper as a shield and defend Kyiv to the death... especially since Brusilov has taken personal command."

"Could you elaborate on why, General?" asked Crown Prince Albrecht. Having recently transferred from the Western Front, the Crown Prince of Württemberg was evidently unfamiliar with their Eastern adversaries.

Alekseyev turned around. "Based on my understanding of Brusilov... he will not mass his forces for a fierce attack at a single point on the line."

He dragged the pointer slowly along the Dnieper front.

"He will create a dozen or more crossing points simultaneously. Any one of them could become his main axis of advance at any moment."

"Once he achieves even a minor breakthrough, he will decisively commit his reserves to that sector to tear the gap wide open."

Alekseyev lowered the pointer.

"This means he deploys his reserves much further forward than traditional doctrine dictates... positioning them to join the assault immediately."

The Saxon officers exchanged glances, and Morin digested the information.

Apply pressure at multiple points simultaneously, and double down wherever success is found... This was the core strategic philosophy of the "Brusilov Offensive" from his old world. Only that happened in 1916. In this world, Brusilov applied the same methodology to the civil war.

"So..." Hindenburg finally spoke slowly. "General Alekseyev, you mean we shouldn't attempt a proactive offensive?"

"Correct. We shouldn't." Alekseyev shook his head. "Not with the current disparity in forces, at least. There are three reasons."

"First, we lack the manpower to sustain a broad counter-offensive."

"Second, Brusilov's forward-deployed reserves mean he can quickly plug any spearhead we launch."

"Third, the White Army's Armored Knights must be countered by yours. Without your Armored Knights coordinating our attack, my forces would struggle to break the enemy in field combat... After all, we severely lack artillery and heavy machine guns."

Silence fell over the tent again. Hindenburg nodded with a sluggish rhythm that made it impossible to tell if he was deep in thought or falling asleep.

"Mhm... makes sense."

Colonel Hoffmann rapidly transcribed Alekseyev's analytical points, his pencil flying across the page. Though other officers would record the proceedings, Hoffmann seemed to prefer keeping his own notes.

Everyone soon voiced their suggestions, and the discussion moved to concrete troop deployments.

The Saxon Eighth Army would reinforce the direct front at Kyiv and the southern defenses at Rzhyshchiv. The newly arrived Fourth Army, led by Crown Prince Albrecht, would push north to intercept Yudenich's "Northern Army." Aside from keeping its main force in Kyiv, the Western Rus National Army would disperse its remaining troops along the defensive lines to support the Saxons.

The discussion lasted nearly forty minutes. Morin pulled a "mid-laner stealth" move, sitting quietly in his seat. No one asked for his opinion, and he didn't volunteer it.

The Instruction Brigade had just arrived, and his relationship with the Army brass was far less intimate than his bond with Crown Prince Georg in the Balkans. Morin knew he needed to listen more, speak less, and feel out the dynamics first.

Frankly... he also didn't want them ordered into a reckless assault right out of the gate.

The brigade had expanded barely two months ago. The integration of new equipment, coordination of the new command structure, the training level of the new recruits... By Morin's standards, they weren't ready for high-intensity combat yet. A gradual adaptation to Eastern Front combat would be the ideal pace.

He was already planning to pull the seemingly approachable Colonel Hoffmann aside after the meeting to brief him on the brigade's actual condition, preventing blind orders like those he received on the Western Front.

However, you often attract what you fear most.

"Speaking of operational arrangements."

Ludendorff's voice suddenly shifted direction during the discussion. Morin instinctively braced himself.

"The newly arrived Instruction Brigade..."

Ludendorff turned toward Morin, his tone quite serious. "This is an incredibly elite reserve force."

Morin immediately tensed up, but he could only listen as 'Fatty Lu' continued.

"Furthermore, they are supported by an armored airship formation," Ludendorff added. "Their performance on the Western Front and in the Balkans is obvious to all. Perhaps the Instruction Brigade could serve as a surprise weapon to break the stalemate."

Unexpectedly, Colonel Hoffmann chimed in with anticipation.

"I visited their vanguard camp... The mobility of those half-track armored vehicles left a deep impression! We really should map this out. Placing the Instruction Brigade in the right sector might yield unexpected results."

Everyone in the tent turned to stare at Morin.

The "stealth" had failed.

On the bright side, they didn't seem intent on tossing the brigade into a trench as cannon fodder.

Accepting he couldn't hide, Morin inhaled and stood. Facing the circle of senior officers from both armies, he spoke evenly.

"Gentlemen... the Instruction Brigade is indeed a highly combat-capable unit, but it has a specific operational role."

Without hesitation, he picked up another pointer, strode to the map, and gestured.

"Simply put, the Instruction Brigade is a mobile strike force! Our core advantages are tremendous mobility and explosive offensive power over short durations. We specialize in tearing holes in enemy defenses."

"However—!"

He lowered the pointer, looking at Hindenburg and Ludendorff.

"The prerequisite is that friendly bulk forces must swiftly follow up and occupy the positions we breach. Otherwise, once the Instruction Brigade completes its assault, the enemy will simply envelop us from both flanks."

Morin pointedly shifted his gaze to Ludendorff.

"The Instruction Brigade is not suited for defensive meatgrinder battles in the trenches."

He didn't outright mention Charleroi, but the implication was crystal clear.

Ludendorff obviously caught the meaning; his eyes slid away from Morin to the documents on the table. Their silent exchange was brief, but several perceptive officers caught the nuance.

"Please continue, General Morin," Hoffmann smoothed things over, adjusting his glasses.

Morin refocused. "Based on our prior analysis, I agree we lack the conditions for a large-scale counter-offensive. Even if I am confident the Instruction Brigade can pierce the White Army's line at a specific point... we don't have enough friendly troops to pour into that breach."

That said, Morin knew he had to find something for his troops to do. They hadn't traveled all this way just to sit in reserve. Even if he wanted to, the Army High Command and these frontline allies wouldn't allow it.

Weighing his options rapidly, Morin tapped the map near Rzhyshchiv.

"Therefore, what the Instruction Brigade can do right now is leverage its mobility to reinforce the south. Based on the briefing, the situation at Rzhyshchiv is critical."

Morin circled the plains south of Kyiv.

"Moreover, the terrain here is relatively open, perfect for deploying and maneuvering mechanized forces."

Ludendorff and Hindenburg exchanged a look, seemingly agreeable. But Morin wasn't finished.

"However... I have one more concern."

He turned to Alekseyev and the Rus officers.

"Regarding the weather here in Western Rus."

Upon hearing this, the Rus officers reacted far more strongly than the Saxons.

Morin continued. "From what I understand, as rainfall increases into October, massive stretches of the wilderness will turn into mud... I'm not sure if everyone here is familiar with the concept of the Rasputitsa—the mud season?"

Morin quickly explained. Several Western Rus officers nodded, acknowledging they were familiar with the seasonal phenomenon, even if they didn't use that specific term.

Seeing everyone understood, Morin circled large swaths of Western Rus on the map.

"Couple that with the numerous swamps in this region... if the Instruction Brigade gets bogged down and loses mobility, or if we have to spend effort recovering stuck vehicles, our combat effectiveness will plummet. We must factor this in."

Alekseyev leaned forward, staring intently at Morin for several seconds.

The surrounding Rus officers mirrored his reaction. They never expected a young, newly arrived Saxon general to casually bring up the mud season—a logistical nightmare usually only appreciated by veterans who had fought long campaigns on Russian soil.

Morin gently placed the pointer back on the table.

"In short, I urge you all to consider this carefully. Do not use the Instruction Brigade to plug holes in the defensive line. That would be a sheer waste of our combat potential."

The tent remained silent for quite a while.

Morin spoke bluntly, but no one present was a fool. They knew they couldn't just throw away such a unit.

It was Alekseyev who broke the silence.

"Major General Morin," the old general said slowly in Saxon. "Your mention of the mud season... is a crucial reminder."

He pushed off the table, walked to the map, and said, "Based on past years, starting in mid-October, continuous rain turns most of the region south of Kyiv into a quagmire. The White Army knows this well... so my judgment is this."

He slapped his hand over Rzhyshchiv.

"Denikin will fight desperately to complete his crossing and establish a solid bridgehead in the south before the mud season hits. Once he secures a foothold on this bank, it won't matter if the mud prevents both sides from moving... he'll already have a knife to our throats."

Morin processed this analysis, cross-referencing it with his system's tactical intel. Alekseyev's judgment was flawless. Denikin wasn't pushing recklessly in the south; he was racing against the weather.

"In other words..." Morin interjected. "The time window for the southern sector is roughly two to three weeks."

Alekseyev looked at him and nodded. "Exactly."

Colonel Hoffmann chimed in. "If the Instruction Brigade can push south and reinforce Rzhyshchiv within this window, ensuring Denikin fails to cross before the mud season... that would be a monumental contribution! At the very least, it buys us critical time in the south."

He glanced at Hindenburg, who slowly nodded. "This arrangement is acceptable." The Eighth Army commander had finally given his blessing.

Morin didn't immediately agree, instead rapidly reviewing the logistics in his head.

Rzhyshchiv was fifty kilometers south of Kyiv. Traveling by road from the brigade's current location would be about sixty to seventy kilometers. Given their demonstrated marching speed, they could arrive within a day.

The southern terrain was flat, suitable for mechanized deployment. Plus, the White Army's focus was river crossing. They would likely string their firepower along the riverbank, leaving specific points relatively under-defended. If the Instruction Brigade exploited its rapid mobility to catch Denikin off guard before he completed his crossing...

It was indeed a perfect battle for his troops to acclimate themselves.

"The Instruction Brigade can set out as soon as possible, but I need about a day and a half to mass the forces and conduct maintenance," Morin said. "Several of our rear echelon trains haven't arrived yet."

"No problem," Ludendorff agreed readily.

"One more thing." Morin raised a hand. "The friendly units in the southern sector... what are they? What is their combat effectiveness? Do they have forces capable of coordinating with our maneuvers?"

The Rus officers' expressions turned awkward.

Alekseyev murmured to a fellow officer before turning back to Morin.

"Rzhyshchiv is currently garrisoned by the Western Rus National Army's 7th Infantry Division and 9th Reserve Division, along with a Cossack cavalry unit. Total strength is roughly 34,000." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "The backbone of these two divisions consists of International Brigade veterans and some newly organized troops. Their combat resolve is adequate. However, regarding equipment... they only possess light weapons and a handful of obsolete artillery pieces."

Morin processed this, nearly wincing.

34,000 light infantry lacking heavy firepower... holding off 140,000 of Denikin's men trying to cross the river? No wonder they were desperately begging for reinforcements.

"And the forces capable of coordinating mobile operations?" Morin pressed.

Alekseyev slowly shook his head. "None."

The younger Rus officer beside him added, "The only reserve we can draw upon in the south... is a single cavalry division. But they have to plug holes along the river defense line at a moment's notice. We cannot deploy them lightly."

Morin stayed silent for a moment, then nodded. "Understood."

This meant once the Instruction Brigade reached the south, they would essentially be fighting alone. The friendly units could only hold their ground; coordinating a mobile offensive with them was a pipe dream.

The conditions weren't great, but they were acceptable. The Instruction Brigade was used to fighting outnumbered. Moreover, the southern plains boosted mechanized forces. As long as Denikin was stuck crossing the river, Morin had plenty of tactical flexibility.

"Then it is settled. The Instruction Brigade will deploy south to reinforce Rzhyshchiv," Ludendorff concluded.

Hindenburg nodded again.

The meeting moved on to logistical coordination and communication protocols. Morin sat back down, already sketching out the framework for the southern operation in his head.

Twenty minutes later, with all matters settled, Ludendorff adjourned the conference. People stood up, filling the tent with the clatter of chairs dragging across the floor and murmured conversations.

As Morin and Manstein prepared to leave, Colonel Hoffmann approached.

"Major General Morin, wait a moment."

Morin halted. Hoffmann checked his surroundings to ensure no one was listening, then lowered his voice.

"There's something you should know beforehand... Regarding the southern sector. I couldn't bring it up during the meeting."

Morin frowned slightly. "What is it?"

Hoffmann pushed up his glasses, wearing an apologetic and helpless expression. "The Rzhyshchiv garrison... lost an outer position last night. An unknown number of Denikin's vanguard successfully crossed the river and established a small bridgehead on the west bank."

Morin's expression barely changed, but a twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed his thoughts. "Wait, such critical information... why wasn't it mentioned in the meeting?"

Hoffmann glanced toward the departing Rus officers. "The Western Rus obscured the wording in their report... citing 'increased localized pressure.' I only confirmed the true extent when I received our Eighth Army's own aerial reconnaissance report."

He threw his hands up. "You understand... tearing down our allies' pride in a joint conference at such a crucial moment isn't appropriate."

Morin withheld judgment on this "big picture" approach and simply asked, "How large is this bridgehead?"

"The good news is that it isn't very large, roughly a kilometer wide... Moreover, the garrison is already attempting to drive the enemy back into the river. Who knows, by the time you arrive, the White Army might already be gone."

"Tsk... Then it looks like I can't wait for my entire force to arrive. I need to move out immediately."

Relying on his system map, Morin quickly analyzed the situation.

If this dragged on too long, and the friendly forces at Rzhyshchiv failed to stop Denikin, allowing him to open more bridgeheads, it would be disastrous.

The Eighth Army's armored airships were tied up supporting Kyiv, while the Instruction Brigade's own airships and Armored Knights were still en route. The only asset capable of reaching Rzhyshchiv at top speed was the mobile force currently in his hands.

The current Instruction Brigade was a far cry from its past self. The Armored Instruction Regiment, in particular, possessed enough combat power to hold its own even against a small number of Armored Knights... A sharp sword couldn't remain sheathed forever.

Only by drawing blood could their allies truly comprehend the brigade's strength.

"Colonel Hoffmann, I will lead my troops out as quickly as possible, but regarding supplies..."

"Say no more! You have the highest supply priority. Your armored vehicles can run as hard as they want!"

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