Just as the three commanders were at a loss over the silent city, an Outrider responsible for the perimeter vigilance quietly crept back.
"Captain!" the Outrider reported to Léo, "We found quite a few residents who had fled Charleroi on the small road to the east. It looks like they are seeking refuge with relatives in the countryside."
"Did you find out anything?" Léo's spirits lifted.
"We asked." The Outrider's expression became a bit strange. "But… what they said was inconsistent."
"What do you mean, inconsistent? Be clear!" Marchand urged impatiently in a lowered voice.
"It's like this, Captain." The Outrider collected his thoughts and began to report in detail. "We stopped a family of citizens who looked very frightened. They said Saxon soldiers were everywhere in the city, at least several hundred, perhaps even a thousand. They also said their guns were terrifyingly powerful. When they engaged the garrison in the city yesterday, the firing sounded like thunder, pinning down the garrison completely."
"Then we asked a merchant who seemed relatively calm. He said he didn't see many Saxons, maybe only one or two companies, mainly guarding the bridgeheads by the river. Those soldiers warned them that a battle would soon break out in the city and told them to leave quickly."
Hearing this, the three Captains exchanged glances. The discrepancy between the two accounts was too wide.
"Is there anything else?" Léo pressed.
"Yes!" This time, the Outrider's expression became even more serious. "We also encountered a limping old man. He said he used to be a soldier and told us with absolute certainty that there were definitely more than a few hundred Saxons in the city—likely an entire division!"
"A division?!" Captain Lafontaine cried out in astonishment. "What makes him say that?"
"He said… he heard the sound of Heavy Machine Guns." The Outrider swallowed, clearly unsure whether the old man's claim was true. "He said he heard fierce gunfire in the city yesterday. He had never heard such dense gunfire in his life. It was definitely not the sound of rifles, but the sound of many, many Heavy Machine Guns firing at the same time! Only a large unit at the division level could be equipped with that many Heavy Machine Guns."
At this, the atmosphere on the slope completely froze. A Saxon division in Charleroi City?
The thought sent a chill down the spines of the three experienced Cavalry Captains. If a full Saxon division was truly hidden in the city, the situation would be entirely different.
"Can we believe this old man? Could he be old and hard of hearing, and simply mistaken?" Captain Lafontaine was still skeptical.
"I don't know…" Captain Marchand shook his head, then continued: "But the only thing certain is that the enemy's firepower in the city is fierce… Every civilian who fled mentioned this point."
Captain Léo remained silent. He raised his binoculars, scanning every corner of the urban area over and over. In his eyes, the silent city resembled a lurking behemoth, its jaws open, waiting for prey to walk into the trap.
The feeling of unease in his heart grew stronger.
"We can't wait any longer." Léo lowered his binoculars and made a decision. "The situation is unclear now; we cannot rashly enter the city. Marchand, immediately send a capable Dispatch Rider back to report the situation here to the Regimental Commander and Division Headquarters. Tell them the civilians' accounts verbatim."
"Then, tell them my suggestion—the Division Headquarters should send more troops here to launch a probing attack on Charleroi to uncover the enemy's true strength."
"I agree," Marchand nodded.
"Let's go with your plan, Léo," Lafontaine affirmed.
The order was issued, and a Dispatch Rider spurred his horse, galloping like the wind toward the Division Headquarters in the rear.
Léo and the other two cavalry officers lay prone on the slope again. Léo felt his palms were already slick with sweat. He didn't know what kind of enemy they were facing. The pressure from this unknown was more terrifying than any known danger.
Before long, the Dispatch Rider they had sent out galloped back, but he was not alone. A larger cloud of dust rose behind him. Accompanied by the neat and powerful sound of hooves, a formidable cavalry unit appeared on the horizon.
In the sunlight, the traditional blue cavalry uniforms, the flamboyant plumes on their crested helmets, and the gleaming reflections from the brightly polished steel Cuirasses on their chests… It was the Cuirassiers!
Léo and the other two officers were somewhat surprised. The Cuirassiers were the elite assault force of the Gallic cavalry, the iron hammer used to launch decisive charges at critical moments—at least, that was their role until now. The combat units subordinate to the Third Cavalry Division included two Cuirassier Regiments, each one composed of hand-picked warriors riding meticulously selected fine warhorses.
Following the three Cuirassier Squadrons was a company of soldiers, who were not on horseback but riding bicycles. This was a company from the newly formed Bicycle Battalion from the last two years. Their mission was to use the speed advantage of bicycles to quickly follow up and provide infantry support for the cavalry unit.
Soon, this reinforcement arrived near the cornfield. A Colonel with a stocky build and a thick, upturned mustache, riding a magnificent black warhorse, came before Léo and the others. His Cuirass was more ornate than those of the ordinary soldiers, engraved with his family crest.
"Colonel Molière, Commander of the 4th Cuirassier Regiment." The newcomer swept his eyes over them from his elevated position, his tone clearly carrying a hint of arrogance.
However, Léo and the other two were long accustomed to the personalities of these 'cavalry elites.' Furthermore, since the other party's rank was several levels higher than theirs, they quickly snapped to attention and saluted.
"Sir!"
Colonel Molière nodded, acknowledging the salute. He took a command order from the saddlebag at his side and said while reading it: "Division Headquarters has received your report. They consider the situation you reconnoitered to be very important… And before setting off last night, General Lanrezac's order was to ascertain the enemy situation in Charleroi as quickly as possible."
"Therefore, the Division Commander orders me to lead three squadrons of the 4th Cuirassier Regiment, supported by your three Dragoon Squadrons, to launch a Combat Reconnaissance of Charleroi's South City!"
"Combat Reconnaissance?" Captain Marchand hesitated. "Colonel, those civilians said the enemy's firepower in the city is very fierce…"
"Civilians?" Colonel Molière let out a scoff of laughter, this time entirely unconcealed. "Can the words of a bunch of cowards scared senseless by gunfire be taken seriously? A division? Over ten Heavy Machine Guns? That's utterly preposterous!"
"The Saxons don't have wings. Marching is a scientific and systematic endeavor. Therefore, there is at most one Saxon vanguard battalion in the city. They simply used a few machine guns to frighten those Flanders idiots."
His words were filled with contempt for the enemy and absolute confidence in his own military might.
"Hear my command!" Colonel Molière gave Léo and the others no chance to refute, immediately issuing instructions: "We will conduct a Combat Reconnaissance from the southeast side of the city. You three Dragoon Squadrons will, in the interim, launch a feint attack from the perimeter of the city's southeast side and the right flank along the river, attracting the enemy's attention."
"I will lead my Cuirassiers to charge directly at the enemy's exposed fire points from the open ground on the left flank, smashing through their defense line in one blow! The Bicycle Company will follow us, responsible for mopping up residual enemies and entering the city to occupy the bridgehead!"
This plan was simple, crude, and fully embodied the style of a traditional cavalry commander—crushing everything with sheer, absolute impact.
Léo's heart sank. He felt this plan was too risky. Launching a charge with valuable Cuirassiers when the enemy situation was unknown was nothing short of gambling.
"Colonel, shouldn't we be a bit more cautious? At least let the Horse Artillery Battalion move up and conduct a fire saturation on suspicious areas first?" Léo couldn't help but suggest.
Colonel Molière cast a cold glance at him. "Captain, are you questioning my orders? Or are you scared by those farmers' stories?"
"No, Colonel, I just…"
"Then execute the order!" Colonel Molière interrupted him harshly. "Remember, we are Gallic cavalry! Our mission is to charge and achieve victory! Not to hide behind like timid rabbits!"
"Furthermore, time is extremely urgent now. If we allow the Saxons to control the bridges and let their main force cross the river, that will be the real crisis!"
With that, he ignored Léo, turned his horse around, and rejoined his own unit.
"Comrades! Prepare for battle! Let the Saxons taste the might of our Cuirasses!" Molière drew his saber and shouted loudly.
"For Gaul!" the Cuirassiers shouted in unison, their momentum shaking the ground.
Léo exchanged helpless glances with the other two Squadron Commanders, both seeing the same worry in the other's eyes. But military orders were absolute, and they could only obey.
He led his squadron to deploy on the right flank of the cavalry attack formation. He felt his heart pounding fiercely in his chest again, but this time it was not from excitement… but from nervousness.
Suddenly, a feeling of being watched came over Captain Léo, making the hair on the back of his neck prickle. He instinctively looked up at the quiet buildings on the distant edge of the city, as if countless pairs of eyes were coldly observing them from behind those dark windows.
"Maybe… I'm just too nervous?" he muttered to himself, trying to use this reason to convince himself. He reined in his horse and looked back.
Behind the Dragoons were three squadrons of Cuirassiers. The polished Cuirasses on their bodies, weighing 10 kilograms, reflected a cold metallic sheen in the not-too-bright sunlight. The cavalrymen rode in silence, their tall warhorses snorting, their hooves hitting the dirt road with a dull, rhythmic sound. Everything seemed orderly, but the feeling of being observed was like an invisible viper coiling around his neck, nearly suffocating him.
(End of this Chapter)
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