Chapter 561: General Morin: I Told You We Needed Bigger Guns!

As the battle raged on, Morin had to admit that the White Army's combat effectiveness was higher than he had anticipated.

In the historical materials from his past life, the White Army was a motley crew sustained by Entente relief supplies and patched together from warlords' private armies. Their command was chaotic, their logistics broken, and their morale always on the brink of collapse.

Yet this army, reforged by Brusilov, exuded the distinct flavor of the old Greater Rus Imperial Army.

At this moment, across the entire Dnieper River defense line, the White Army's Center and Southern Armies launched massive synchronized offensives. Innumerable red unit markers emerged from the fog of war.

Right before Morin's eyes, the Southern Army's artillery went all out. Besides the 76.2mm field guns that had relocated and resumed firing, their precious 122mm howitzers also joined the barrage.

The shell impacts were chaotic. Some plunged directly into the river, others overshot the defending trenches and landed harmlessly in the rear. But with enough volume, some inevitably found their mark inside the trenches.

On the system map, sporadic casualty markers began appearing over the National Army's unit icons.

Meanwhile, the [Intelligence] interface notified him: White Army Center Army has committed Magic Crystal Cannons to combat. This made Morin realize the Britannians had truly invested heavily this time.

Magic Crystal Siege Cannons, massive ammunition supplies, accompanying tactical manuals... To hand all these over to one side in a civil war proved the Britannians' obsession with Rus was far deeper than he imagined.

Perhaps they realized their other allies on the European continent were somewhat "useless," so they pinned their final hopes on Kolchak.

Couple that with the elite-packed Center Army, Kappel's outstanding frontline command, and Denikin's 140,000 troops ready to swarm across the Dnieper...

No wonder the Imperial Army General Staff suddenly transferred the Eighth Army to the Eastern Front, and then pulled the Fourth Army and the Instruction Brigade over as well.

At the time, many in the Army felt the decision was too conservative. Throwing two armies and an armored airship into Kyiv, thousands of kilometers from the homeland...

Looking at it now, without the Eighth Army, Kyiv would likely be flying a different flag by now.

"They're really treating us like the Austro-Hungarians..."

Morin couldn't help but chuckle as he watched the red markers constantly squeezing out of the fog of war on the system map.

In his past life, the offensive bearing Brusilov's name shredded the Austro-Hungarian Empire's Eastern Front defenses, sweeping away hundreds of thousands of men whole units at a time.

And now, this Russian "God of War" was applying the exact same philosophy to the Dnieper River.

Applying pressure simultaneously across multiple points, coordinated with ferocious artillery bombardments to constantly probe the enemy lines. Although the attack on Kyiv was currently fierce, one had to remember the enemy still held untouched reserves...

Furthermore, the cards in Brusilov's hand this time were better than in Morin's original world.

Britannian Magic Crystal Cannons, old Imperial Paladin Orders, alchemical consumables scavenged from various warlords...

Unfortunately for him, his opponent this time wasn't the Austro-Hungarians. And the Saxon Army, after a year of development, had drastically improved both the tactical proficiency of its soldiers and individual equipment.

Especially in firepower, which in Morin's view already surpassed the 1918 German Army.

Apart from the Instruction Brigade, the elite assault battalions attached to the various infantry divisions, bolstered by massive numbers of automatic weapons, had practically reached Battlefield 1 levels of individual firepower.

Moreover, the resilience displayed by the Western Rus National Army in the trenches of Rzhyshchiv was remarkably impressive.

These soldiers, who perhaps couldn't even march in formation a few months ago, were now capable of hunkering down under a 122mm howitzer barrage, waiting for it to pass, and immediately popping back up to fight.

"At least it's not a sloppy mud-wrestling match on Russian soil. Both sides are fighting quite well..." Morin muttered to himself.

However, the "City-Level War Alchemy" the White Army deployed toward Kyiv, and the "Linebreaker" Armored Knights committed across multiple sectors, were indeed causing some minor headaches.

He watched as the "Fire Support Vehicles" and the anti-armor squads' "RAK15" 50mm guns seemed unable to inflict effective damage on the Russian Armored Knights at long range.

Morin had to admit Ludwig wasn't joking earlier; those things were genuinely tough to crack.

"General, the Fire Support Vehicles and the brigade anti-armor squads fired a few more salvos. Still no effect."

Klaus walked up from behind to report.

"The 50mm AP shells cannot penetrate their frontal armor at long range. Major Weichs is asking if the armored vehicles should close the distance to engage."

"Stop, stop, stop... Do not close the distance!"

Hearing this, Morin frantically waved his hands, terrified his hot-blooded officers would throw away their precious armored units.

"Sending half-tracks in close against Armored Knights is just serving them a meal!"

The 50mm anti-armor gun had been the Instruction Brigade's "skeleton key" over the past half-year.

Against all previously encountered Armored Knights, as long as the distance and angle were right, one AP shell was enough to instantly scrap the pilot inside.

But now, encountering Russian Armored Knights for the first time, the key wouldn't fit.

"Looks like the priority for developing large-caliber anti-armor guns is truly high..."

Morin took a few steps back on the bridge, stopped by the comms equipment, and connected to the speaking tube leading to the cargo bay holding the Armored Knights.

"This is the bridge. Is the Armored Knight squadron ready to deploy?"

A low hum of engine noise filtered through the tube first, followed quickly by Ludwig's familiar voice.

"Here! All six of us have completed startup checks~"

Morin paused. "Ludwig... Six against eight. Are you confident?"

The tube was silent for half a second before Ludwig laughed.

"What kind of question is that? Since when does the Teutonic Order back down?"

"Let me be clear, I'm not arguing with you."

Morin leaned against the tube, speaking seriously. "You said it yourself earlier: thick-skinned, meaty, alchemically enhanced... Our 50mm guns are struggling to scratch them. Your 77mm shaped-charge AP shells..."

"If they don't penetrate, then I, the 'inventor,' take full responsibility! Even if I have to draw my sword, I'll hack those 'fat boys' to pieces!"

"Let's not be so aggressive."

Morin softened his tone.

"Do not underestimate the enemy under any circumstances... Your Teutonic Order ancestors got their asses kicked here in Rus once before. Lake Peipus, on the ice, completely wiped out. Remember?"

The tube went dead silent.

It took three or four seconds before Ludwig's voice drifted back, laced with complex emotion.

"I mean... bringing that up right before we deploy, isn't that a bit bad luck?"

"Just giving you a preventative shot."

"We charged the ice on horses back then! I'm piloting a twenty-ton Armored Knight now, and we're not fighting on ice!"

"Then you have even less reason to lose."

A long sigh echoed from the tube, and Ludwig's voice returned to its usual seriousness.

"Don't worry... I won't underestimate the enemy. I never do."

"Good."

Morin nodded, continuing, "Remember one thing: you are not going out there to display chivalry. You are going to rip those eight tin cans apart! Dismantle them however it's easiest; it doesn't matter if it looks ugly!"

"Understood."

Morin closed the valve, turned, and jerked his chin toward Lieutenant Colonel Andreasia.

"Lieutenant Colonel, enter the airdrop flight path."

"Yes, sir!"

Under the helmsman's control, the massive L15 slowly began to turn.

The twelve single-mount 150mm guns temporarily ceased firing on the east bank staging areas and began rotating their turrets to adjust their heading. The airship's altitude also dropped from five hundred meters to around three hundred.

This was the standard operational altitude for airdropping Armored Knights. Too high, and the "Feather Fall Unit's" duration wouldn't last; too low, and the impact before the spell fully engaged would cause critical failures.

In the cargo bay, the six "Siegfried Mark I - Modified" mechs were locked into their drop racks.

Ludwig's machine was at the very front. Distinct from the standard paint job of the other five, his unit bore a black diagonal slash across the right shoulder armor.

This was the squadron commander marking for the Teutonic Order.

Strictly speaking, a proper squadron required nine Armored Knights. However, the Order's headquarters likely couldn't be bothered to argue organizational structure with the Instruction Brigade and simply approved the paint job.

"All units, report status."

"Unit Two, nominal."

"Unit Three, nominal."

...

"Good."

Ludwig fully engaged the "Symbiotic Control State" while continuing, "Don't scatter immediately after landing! Converge, observe the situation, and cover each other! Do you understand? I don't want anyone facing two 'Linebreakers' alone the moment they hit the ground."

"Yes, My Lord!"

The red light on the cargo bay ceiling flashed on.

"Prepare for airdrop!"

Hydraulics pushed the bay doors open on both sides. The Dnieper River, three hundred meters below, instantly flooded their vision: muddy water, whitecaps, and small boats struggling on the surface.

The roar of the wind filled the cargo bay as the maintenance technicians retreated to safe positions. ℴℴ𝘮

Then, the red light turned green.

"Unit One, launch!"

As the drop rack unlocked, the nearly twenty-ton steel body plummeted straight down from the sky. Through the observation viewport, the ground expanded at an incredibly unreasonable speed.

Ludwig had experienced this sensation several times. From initial discomfort, he was gradually becoming "addicted" to it.

When the altitude dropped to a certain point, the Armored Knight's built-in "Feather Fall Unit" activated automatically.

A low hum echoed in the cockpit as the magitech core engaged. A pale blue light surged from the outer shell, enveloping the entire Armored Knight.

The plummeting momentum was violently arrested. The twenty-ton steel giant, trailing a blue tail of light, descended steadily from a hundred meters in the air.

Behind him, Unit Two, Unit Three... all six "Siegfried Mark I - Modified" mechs detached in sequence. Six blue tails of light fanned out side-by-side in the sky downstream of Rzhyshchiv.

In the National Army trenches below, a soldier loading a stripper clip into his rifle looked up, his hands freezing mid-motion.

"Oh my god..."

The soldier next to him turned and cursed, "Stop fucking daydreaming and reload!", but then he looked up too, and also froze.

Along this sector of the frontline, many soldiers on both sides were momentarily stunned by the sight. After all, they had genuinely never seen Armored Knights dropping from the sky...

The first "Siegfried Mark I - Modified" landed quickly.

The broad metal feet slammed into the soft mud behind the riverbank. The shockwave blew away the topsoil in a dozen-meter radius, sending a cloud of dust into the air.

Followed by the second, the third.

Six dust clouds bloomed in a line behind the riverbank. From within the dust, six five-meter-tall steel silhouettes gradually took shape.

The Armored Knight with the black diagonal slash on its right shoulder raised its head, holding its 77mm assault gun horizontally in front of it, the muzzle pointed downward.

A cheer erupted from the trenches.

"Lord Knights! The Saxon Lord Knights!"

Simultaneously, the White Army pilots inside the cockpits of the "Linebreaker" Armored Knights were startled by the mechs falling from the sky.

Their first reaction was that the Saxon armored airship had suffered a malfunction and accidentally dropped them.

"They... they threw their Armored Knights out of the airship?"

The pilot of Unit Three grinned, his voice trembling with incredulous excitement: "The Saxon airship is malfunctioning! The cables snapped! They're crashing! They're crashing—!"

But as the blue magical light enveloped the falling Armored Knights, the second half of his sentence caught in his throat.

They watched as six Saxon Armored Knights, trailing blue light, floated down unhurriedly from the sky, as if putting on a show.

The cockpits fell so silent that only the hum of the Armored Knight cores could be heard.

"..."

Several seconds passed before the pilot of Unit One spoke.

"What the fuck with these Saxon Armored Knights?"

No one answered him.

For the pilots of the eight "Linebreakers," the morning was already bad enough.

Just moments ago, several of them had been hit by something on the riverbank. The velocity of those shells was absurdly fast.

The poor mobility of the "Linebreaker" was a universally acknowledged fact, but the pilots still had reflexes.

In the past, when dealing with enemy artillery during the civil war, they could generally pinpoint the source from the muzzle flash the moment it fired, then pivot to take the hit on their thickest frontal armor.

This time, they didn't have time to do anything.

A white flash erupted from behind the opposite ridge, followed by a deafening CLANG outside the cockpit that rattled their skulls. The interval between the two was practically non-existent.

The pilot of Unit Three wiped his neck afterward; it was slick with cold sweat.

Therefore, when they finally trudged out from the bottom of the Dnieper River step by step and stepped onto the mud of the west bank, the first thing the eight "Linebreakers" did was simultaneously unlimber the massive shields affixed to their backs and plant them in front.

These shields were over four meters tall, constructed from multiple layers of alchemically reinforced steel plates riveted together. They resembled elongated tower shields, their edges adorned with Orthodox-style relief patterns.

Eight shields slammed into the riverbank simultaneously, overlapping to form a wall of steel.

In a freshly dug vehicle revetment on the Rzhyshchiv defense line, a "Fire Support Vehicle" pulled in, preparing to act as a temporary pillbox.

The gunner pressed his eye to the sight, staring at the scene on the riverbank, speechless for a long moment.

"..."

Through the lens, the torsos and limbs of the previously visible "Linebreakers" were now entirely obscured by those massive shields. Only the very top of their rounded head structures peeked over the upper edge.

"What kind of Armored Knights are these?" the gunner finally blurted out. "They look like iron turtles..."

The commander beside him popped his upper half out of the roof hatch, observing through his binoculars.

"We hold our fire. Conserve ammo and look for weak points."

"Why? Maybe we can punch through the shields—"

"The 'Lord Knights' have dropped." The commander shifted his binoculars down and to the left.

The gunner immediately pulled back from the sight, craning his neck to look over his shoulder.

The dust hadn't fully settled, but six five-meter-tall steel silhouettes were marching forward through the haze.

"So don't steal their glory." The commander lowered his binoculars. "Leave what our 50s can't scratch to the Lord Knights. The weapons in their hands pack a punch!"

"Sigh, when will we get those 'armor-piercing weapons'?" the gunner couldn't help but sigh.

"Patience, we'll get them all. Just trust the General!"

Although at this moment, the Teutonic Knights had become the hope of everyone in the ground trenches, Ludwig wasn't feeling relaxed.

His machine walked at the front, the eight erected shields growing clearer in his view.

Strictly speaking, he had dealt with plenty of Armored Knights from other nations in his life.

Be it the "orthodox" Britannian Armored Knights, the Gallic ones, or those of other nations...

But he had truly never faced the Russian Paladin Orders before. So, he decided to give his opponents the utmost respect.

"All units, attention," he keyed the comms. "Do not close in. Maintain a distance of over four hundred meters."

"My Lord, are we really not charging this time?"

"Of course not!" Ludwig snapped. "We aren't carrying these assault guns just for show~"

Saying that, he raised the assault gun in his Armored Knight's hands. The ring indicating the muzzle vector in his vision settled over the center of the shield of the leftmost "Linebreaker."

"Squad, attention! Shaped-charge AP shells, probing fire!"

The six "Siegfried Mark I - Modified" mechs raised their 77mm assault guns simultaneously.

This action did not go unnoticed by the enemy.

The eight "Linebreakers" halted almost simultaneously. Then, all eight pilots reacted identically: they threw the entire mech's center of gravity forward, driving the bottom edge of their shields deep into the mud, and hunkered down behind them in a low, stable crouch.

This was an action they had drilled countless times on the training grounds of the Paladin Orders, and on the battlefields of the Second Crimean War.

Anti-bombardment stance.

During the First and Second Crimean Wars, these "Linebreakers" of the Paladin Orders relied on this passive, damage-absorbing stance to weather barrages of field artillery, then advanced step by step, crushing enemy positions into mud amidst their despair.

"Hold the line!"

The pilot of Unit One yelled into the comms stone. "Their guns aren't large caliber! Weather the first volley, then press in for melee!"