Chapter 558: Russian Specialty: War Alchemists

When Denikin received the frontline report, the atmosphere in the Southern Army's headquarters plunged to freezing point.

All seven forced crossings had collapsed entirely. Of the more than three thousand men committed in the first wave, less than half managed to crawl back to the east bank, and many of the heavily wounded among them would likely "succumb to their injuries."

From the direct front of Rzhyshchiv to the auxiliary crossing points upstream and downstream, not a single bridgehead had been successfully established.

The faces of several staff officers were extremely grim, and the older officer who had suggested delaying the attack the day before kept his mouth shut, not saying a word.

However, Denikin himself stood up from his chair after hearing the report.

"Don't be so pessimistic. It's not as if the first wave achieved nothing..."

Everyone looked at him.

"We have at least clarified one thing."

Denikin walked to the map table and drew a large circle around the west bank of Rzhyshchiv with his finger.

"The firepower range the Saxons can simultaneously cover is only this large, and they only have these few armored vehicle counter-attack units... They've already played all their cards."

The Chief of Staff blinked, seemingly digesting the statement.

"General, you mean..."

"One armored airship, a few airplanes, over a hundred armored vehicles, plus those artillery pieces that are definitely large-caliber..."

Denikin calmly listed the Instruction Brigade units that had revealed themselves, one by one.

"These things combined are indeed ferocious, but they cannot fire infinitely or deploy infinitely... Ammunition must be replenished, personnel rotated, and those armored vehicles cannot appear in all directions at once."

Bang! Denikin's fist slammed onto the map.

"I have a hundred and forty thousand men."

With those words, the expressions of the pro-offensive officers visibly revived.

"The first wave was a probe; the losses were within expectations. Forced river crossings put the attacking side at an extreme disadvantage anyway..." Denikin noticeably accelerated his speech, continuing:

"Order the second echelon into the riverbank staging areas immediately. Simultaneously..."

He turned to his Chief of Staff.

"Have the Armored Knights ready to deploy, standing by at a moment's notice."

The Chief of Staff hesitated slightly: "General, which direction do you plan to use the Armored Knights?"

"We'll decide after the second wave establishes bridgeheads."

Denikin waved his hand dismissively, then looked at the officer responsible for coordinating aviation assets.

"What about the aviation squadron? How many planes can we launch?"

"If we launch everything... twenty-three aircraft, General."

"Then launch them all!"

The coordinating officer was taken aback.

"Don't just stand there, you heard me correctly. All of them!"

Denikin repeated.

"I know they won't be able to do anything to that armored airship, but even if they only disrupt its field of view, it'll be worth it... If they can manage to hit the enemy's artillery observation balloons while they're at it, even better!"

"Haven't you realized it yet? The enemy's precise troop movements and artillery strikes rely entirely on their overarching aerial advantage!"

"Therefore, we must find a way to destroy that advantage!"

"Understood!"

Denikin's orders were swiftly relayed.

On the various runways of the Southern Army's field airfields, the twenty-three operational aircraft began firing up their engines one after another.

Most were outdated reconnaissance models from the old Imperial era. The single-seaters had no armament and still relied on the "aerial dogfight" method of combat. A few two-seater models had a swiveling machine gun mounted in one of the cockpits.

But in Denikin's eyes, their mission wasn't necessarily to shoot anything down. As long as they flew over and created numerical pressure, that was enough. They could surely manage to shoot down an unarmed artillery observation balloon, right?

Meanwhile, the Southern Army's second wave of crossing troops, driven forward by their officers, began moving toward the riverbank.

This time, Denikin directly committed two full divisions.

Aboard the L15 armored airship.

Morin was receiving combat reports from all directions via the magitech comms equipment. The armored infantry at the southern crossing point had finished their sweep and were returning to standby positions; the White Army at the two northern crossing points had also been repelled.

Not to mention the three frontal columns—those attacking White Army troops were sent packing before they even touched the west bank.

"First wave neutralized." Morin walked back to the observation window. "But they certainly won't let it go at that. Given the scale just now, it was a probing attack at best..."

Before Lieutenant Colonel Andreasia could respond, massive swarms of red unit markers in the depth of the east bank on the system map began to move.

And this time, the numbers were several times larger than the previous wave.

"Just as I thought."

Morin wasn't overly surprised. Since Denikin commanded an army group of over a hundred thousand men, his brain wouldn't just short-circuit and give up completely after the first wave was crushed. Using the first wave as reconnaissance by fire, and then making targeted adjustments based on the exposed defensive firepower... that was what any competent commander would do.

Next, Morin's attention was drawn to a new set of markers appearing on the system map.

About two kilometers behind the east bank, black dots appeared in the sky. The system map labeled them as units of the [White Army Southern Army Aviation Squadron], approaching their position.

White Army planes...

Morin stepped up to the bridge window, peered through an expensive optical device, and looked toward the black dots.

Simultaneously, the lookouts on the L15 armored airship also noticed the activity in the sky.

Without needing Morin's reminder, the warning from the observation deck quickly reached the bridge.

"Aircraft approaching from the east. Notify all stations: prepare for anti-aircraft combat."

Lieutenant Colonel Andreasia didn't waste words, immediately picking up the comms microphone to issue orders.

Since the 150mm guns were still engaging ground targets, the gunners of the L15's various machine gun and autocannon turrets rapidly transitioned to anti-air readiness. The muzzles with suitable firing arcs adjusted their elevation, aiming at the eastern horizon.

The armored airship's anti-aircraft combat protocol was primarily designed to counter enemy flying spellcasters, but it was perfectly applicable to aircraft... One could even argue it was easier. After all, an airplane was much larger than a spellcaster, and much more fragile.

Morin returned to the window, looking east with his naked eye. Against the dawn horizon, tiny black dots were visibly approaching.

"What about the Brigade Aviation Squadron?" Morin asked.

The comms operator responsible for the aviation squadron replied, "A two-ship element is completing their final ground attack run on the southern flank; the other four 'Fokker E.I's are patrolling the northern airspace."

"Signal them to converge on the airship and prepare to intercept the enemy aircraft."

The orders were swiftly relayed via signal lamps and semaphore flags.

Several machine gun turrets on the armored airship opened fire first. While their tracer rounds couldn't possibly hit targets at this distance, they served to guide Richthofen and the others.

Richthofen, who had been blissfully strafing the ground, noticed the nearby armored airship firing into the sky. It took him no time at all to follow the tracer rounds and spot the approaching White Army planes.

There were easily a dozen black dots in the sky, a number already exceeding the six planes of the Brigade Aviation Squadron.

But for Richthofen, handing over the airspace to the enemy while friendly forces were still engaged was absolutely out of the question.

Without a second thought, the young pilot banked his plane toward Immelmann's position.

Once close, he pointed forcefully eastward; Immelmann immediately understood.

The two "Fokker E.I"s pitched their noses up almost simultaneously and began to climb.

The four aircraft in the other sector also noticed the armored airship's signals. The pilots quickly followed operational protocols and moved to converge with Squadron Leader Richthofen.

The six "Fokker E.I"s swiftly tightened their formation, climbing at maximum rate toward the airspace above the armored airship.

Richthofen chose an altitude roughly four hundred meters above the airship to level off and wait. He soon saw the black dots in the eastern sky rapidly magnifying, and this time he could get a good count... a full twenty-two or twenty-three aircraft.

Richthofen scoffed, his face showing no sign of nervousness.

A huge numerical gap? So what.

It wasn't as if he hadn't fought those White Army planes before... During their last encounter, Immelmann alone had downed two.

Those relics left over from the old Empire had engine power significantly inferior to the "Fokker E.I", and their handling was worlds apart. Plus, they had no ranged weapons.

The only annoyance was having too many mosquitoes to swat at once...

But right now, the aviation squadron also had the armored airship.

That behemoth's machine gun turrets provided massive defensive coverage. If the White Army planes wanted to approach it, they had to risk getting shot down. His element only needed to use their altitude advantage to dive on the White Army formation while the airship's firepower distracted them.

The White Army aircraft formation drew closer.

Judging by their formation, the enemy clearly lacked proper aerial combat training... The twenty-odd planes were strung out loosely, with no distinct altitude layering or clear formation, swarming forward like a chaotic flock of sparrows.

When they were about a kilometer away from the L15 armored airship, the White Army formation finally met its anti-aircraft fire.

Tracer rounds spat from the airship's machine gun turrets in all directions, drawing dense webs of light in the air.

The White Army planes began scattering to evade, most breaking off to the flanks, attempting to bypass the armored airship's frontal kill zone.

Richthofen quickly realized their intent was likely to flank around and attack the artillery observation balloons in the rear.

But by scattering, their formation completely shattered.

This was the exact opportunity Richthofen had been waiting for. He signaled the planes to his left and right—extending his right hand flat, then chopping downward sharply.

Commence attack.

Pushing the engine RPMs to the maximum, Richthofen was the first to push his nose down, sending his entire "Fokker E.I" into a shallow dive.

The wind howling through the open cockpit turned into a shriek, and the airspeed needle rapidly climbed.

In Richthofen's sights, a White Army biplane evading tracer fire grew larger and closer.

Three hundred meters.

Two hundred meters.

One hundred and fifty meters.

Tat-tat-tat-tat—!

The vibration from the muzzles traveled through the airframe into his arms. 7.92mm bullets spat from the forward synchronized firing mechanism, ripping a continuous line into the White Army plane's back.

The White Army plane jerked violently. Black smoke billowed from its left wing, and it began plummeting in an uncontrollable spin.

Richthofen had already pulled his nose up, barely sparing it a second glance.

Beside him, Immelmann also completed his attack run. His chosen White Army plane fell into his crosshairs after a roll; a short burst, and flames erupted from the enemy's engine block.

The two men's grasp of leading the target during aerial combat was completely on another level compared to the rest of the aviation squadron...

In less than twenty seconds, two White Army planes went down.

Only then did the remaining White Army pilots realize there was someone above them.

Panic spread among them even faster than among the infantry getting strafed in the ground trenches.

The sheer despair of having someone on your tail in the sky was something ground soldiers could never comprehend.

The six "Fokker E.I"s had now split into three two-ship elements. Like acrobats performing a thrilling circus act, they wove through the gaps between the White Army planes.

Led by Richthofen, they utilized the "Fokker E.I"'s advantages in speed and climb rate to dive, attack once, and immediately pull up.

In short, they refused to tangle with the enemy at the same altitude. They climbed back above them before selecting their next target.

Standing behind the bridge's observation window, Morin watched this aerial dogfight unfold practically right against the armored airship's outer spell shield.

One "Fokker E.I" skimmed past the very edge of the L15's spell shield, so close that Morin could even make out the red flight helmet in the cockpit—Richthofen's signature.

Clearly, this incredibly skilled and audacious bastard was actually using the armored airship as cover.

Truly fitting for the future "Ringmaster of the Flying Circus"...

He would first dive at high speed to take out an enemy plane, then pull a hard turn while being pursued by White Army planes to hug the L15's anti-air perimeter, using the armored airship's turret fire to force his pursuers to break off, then climb again, rinse and repeat...

"...Did he almost scrape us?"

Lieutenant Colonel Andreasia, the airship's commander, wore a somewhat delicate expression.

Morin: "It's fine. The guy's exceptionally talented; there shouldn't be any issues~"

"Shouldn't?"

Lieutenant Colonel Andreasia sighed helplessly, though he noted the tactic was undeniably effective.

"General, isn't this pilot a bit too daring? Every time he skims past, our gunners have to hold their fire in panic, afraid of hitting him."

"It's fine, just keep firing normally." Morin waved a hand, then shot Lieutenant Colonel Andreasia a sly grin.

"Say, care to make a bet? If this kid survives, he'll be a legend."

"No bet, Gen... You only bet when you know you'll win."

"Tch... no fun."

The aerial battle lasted nearly twenty minutes.

Six "Fokker E.I"s against twenty-three White Army planes. Despite the nearly one-to-four numerical disadvantage, the battle was entirely one-sided.

Most of the White Army planes were obsolete reconnaissance and patrol models, lacking both synchronized machine guns and the agility of dedicated fighter aircraft.

The only armament capable of threatening the "Fokker E.I" was the swivel machine gun on the two-seater models, which not only had a limited firing arc but also abysmal accuracy.

Conversely, the "Fokker E.I" was designed specifically for aerial combat. The line of fire aligned perfectly with the flight path: where it flew, it shot.

Coupled with Richthofen and Immelmann—two pilots whose skills vastly outstripped their era—leading the charge, the outcome of the dogfight was never in doubt from the start.

When the air battle concluded twenty minutes later, over a dozen White Army planes trailing black smoke plummeted from the sky.

The morale of the remaining less-than-ten White Army planes finally broke. They abandoned their mission to attack the armored airship and observation balloons, turning tail and fleeing toward the east bank.

Meanwhile, sixty-five kilometers away from Rzhyshchiv, in Kyiv.

The White Army Center Army's offensive started even earlier than at Rzhyshchiv.

Before dawn, General Kappel had his vanguard push to the banks of the Dnieper River under the cover of darkness.

The moment the first ray of light broke over the horizon, hundreds of crossing boats launched simultaneously.

Unlike Denikin's approach at Rzhyshchiv, Kappel's strategy towards Kyiv leaned closer to that of his superior, General Brusilov.

He concentrated his forces within a four-kilometer radius upstream and downstream of Kyiv. He didn't bother dividing them into specific crossing points; he simply rolled forward in a dense, overwhelming forced crossing.

But Kyiv's defenses were far superior to the meager National Army forces at Rzhyshchiv.

The two Saxon Eighth Army infantry divisions, their attached artillery, and Kyiv's own city defense forces formed an incredibly deep defensive network.

The moment the White Army's first wave of crossing troops rowed to the middle of the river, they were met with dense artillery and machine gun fire.

And the newly completed L34 armored airship, a standard model armed with 203mm naval guns, stood like an immovable sentinel over Kyiv.

Its ferocious ground-attack capabilities made it the greatest obstacle to the White Army's advance.

Kappel stood before the observation slit of his forward command post, silently watching the attack along the Dnieper River through his binoculars.

The staff officers behind him were so quiet their breathing grew faint, waiting until the Center Army's Commander-in-Chief finally lowered his binoculars.

"That airship." Kappel spoke. "As long as that thing is in the sky, we aren't crossing."

An operations staff officer stepped forward. "General, frontline reports indicate the airship's 203mm main battery fires a salvo roughly every thirty seconds. This has continued for nearly an hour... Based on this rate of consumption..."

"Wait until it runs out?"

Kappel shook his head, cutting him off.

"Have you calculated how much ammunition it can carry? That's an airship several hundred meters long. It could stuff half an arsenal's worth of shells in there... By the time it runs out, how many men will we have left?"

The officer shut his mouth immediately.

Kappel remained silent for over ten seconds before turning to the two individuals standing in the corner.

Their attire was entirely different from all the military officers present.

Black Orthodox robes, the iconic 'Klobuk' headwear, and silver chains fastened at their waists, from which hung strangely shaped containers.

"Are you ready on your end?" Kappel asked.

The older religious figure gave him a slight nod.

"General, the alchemical array is fully deployed and ready for activation at any moment."

"How long will it take?"

"From activation to covering the target area... roughly twenty minutes."

"Then begin... We must rely on the power of your 'War Alchemists' now."

Three kilometers from the east bank of the Kyiv frontline, in an open clearing.

Six Orthodox War Alchemists stood around an alchemical array over thirty meters in diameter.

The lines of the array on the ground were drawn with some sort of silver-gray powder. The powder shimmered coldly in the morning light, looking somewhat like crushed ore.

War Alchemy... Battlefield spellcasters unique to the old Greater Rus Empire.

However, calling these "Rus local specialties" "spellcasters" wasn't entirely accurate, as their power system differed completely from the magic used by Morin and the Highland Mages.

The power of these War Alchemists was based on an ancient alchemical law known as "Equivalent Exchange."

Simply put, to achieve a certain effect at Point A, a corresponding price had to be paid at Point B.

The oldest War Alchemist in the array, an elder with snow-white hair and beard, took a handful of faintly glowing blue crystal powder from his component pouch and tossed it toward the center of the array.

The moment the powder landed, the intricate patterns carved into the ground flared to life.

A spectral blue light pulsed outward from the center, bathing the surrounding several dozen meters in a cold, eerie halo.

The younger War Alchemist turned and walked toward a waiting White Army major.

"The 'Exchange' can begin."

Upon receiving the order, the messenger beside the officer mounted his horse and galloped toward the edge of a woodland about three hundred and fifty meters away.

A large number of White Army soldiers were gathered around the woods. They weren't making any combat preparations; they merely stood there in silence, holding torches, watching the trees with complex expressions.

Looking closely, one could see a continuous ring of crystalline powder sprinkled around the very edge of the woods.

The messenger hauled back on his reins and shouted to the officer in charge there:

"Commence Exchange!"

The officer signaled, and the soldiers threw their torches into the pre-laid piles of kindling at the edge of the woods.

Flames erupted almost instantly, but this wasn't a normal fire.

The trees caught fire at an unnatural speed... as if every tree had been instantaneously drained of moisture and turned into bone-dry kindling. Moreover, throughout the entire burning process, not a single wisp of smoke rose from the trees. The eerie blue-white flames silently consumed tree after tree.

All the surrounding White Army soldiers instinctively took a few steps back.

They had seen many things burn, but they had never witnessed a smokeless, silent fire like this...

The messenger looked back at the alchemical array three hundred and fifty meters away. It was doing the exact opposite of the woodland.

Dense, black smoke billowed out of thin air from the center of the array in unimaginable quantities.

The smoke didn't diffuse naturally; it was manipulated by some unseen force, surging directly toward Kyiv.

An entire woodland was thus transmuted via arcane means into smoke that the War Alchemists could control.

About ten minutes later, the sky in front of Kyiv was completely obscured by a wall of black smoke stretching for several kilometers.

This wall of smoke was over a kilometer thick, extending from the ground to nearly three hundred meters in the air, and it was slowly advancing westward.

Kappel watched this unfold through his binoculars from the command post. The smoke wall advanced slowly, but its coverage area was expanding at a staggering rate.

About ten minutes later, the main engagement front of Kyiv was completely swallowed by the blackout.

"Excellent."

He lowered his binoculars, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Now the Saxons' airship is blind."

Kappel turned to the other officers.

"Order the frontlines to resume the offensive. Deploy the 'Linebreaker' Armored Knights, and have the Magic Crystal Cannon batteries drop their camouflage and join the attack!"

"All combat units must cross the Dnieper River and take the eastern Kyiv fortresses while the smokescreen holds."

"Yes, General!"

The officers immediately dispersed.

Under the cover of the dense wall of smoke, the twenty-odd Magic Crystal Cannons, which had been hidden in the woods three to four kilometers behind the east bank, threw off their camouflage netting.

These incredibly cumbersome, massive magical weapons provided by the Britannians had been secretly transported piece by piece under the cover of night over the past few days.

Each required dozens of soldiers to operate. Fist-sized purple crystals embedded in their barrels were now slowly heating up and glowing.

On earthen mounds a certain distance from these batteries, specially selected soldiers possessing mana affinity, who had received guidance training, knelt on the ground, gesturing with their hands to aim toward Kyiv.

The Saxon Eighth Army's artillery units were equipped with the same 105mm long-barreled guns as the Instruction Brigade, significantly outranging the Magic Crystal Siege Cannons.

If exposed prematurely, these fully assembled 42-ton Magic Crystal Cannons could never dodge an enemy counter-barrage. Therefore, Kappel had kept them strictly concealed.

But now, the opportunity to strike had arrived.

Under the guidance of the mana-affine soldiers, capable of directing the Magic Crystal Cannons for precision strikes, the gun mounts slowly adjusted.

This time, they planned to attack the Saxon armored airship from above, utilizing a high-angle, plunging trajectory.