The moment he stepped into the communication trench, it felt like entering another world.
The sky overhead was compressed into a long, narrow gray ribbon, flanked by earth walls over two meters high, completely isolating the scenery outside.
Beneath his feet were neatly laid wooden boards that creaked with every step.
As Morin walked forward, he carefully observed the structure of this trench.
He found that the fortifications built by the First Army Group here were entirely up to the standards of permanent fortifications, even higher than the requirements in the "Imperial Army Earthwork Operations Manual" compiled by the instruction unit.
It wasn't just simple excavation. Key locations on the inner walls of the trenches were reinforced with thick sandbags or even concrete, stacked neatly with distinct edges and corners.
Telephone wires and telegraph wires fixed to the walls were bundled separately by category, meticulously secured with wooden clips. OCD sufferers from any world would say "comfortable" upon seeing this.
This was the nature of Saxons in this world—even in trenches that could be destroyed by artillery fire at any time, everything had to be arranged in perfect order...
Morin walked along the communication trench for about ten minutes, occasionally passing by coming and going soldiers.
When they saw the shoulder boards representing a Lieutenant Colonel and the special collar patches belonging to the Imperial Guard on Morin's shoulders, they would immediately stop, stand at attention, and salute him.
Morin returned their salutes one by one, occasionally stopping to chat with the soldiers to inquire about recent combat situations.
The information from the mouths of these frontline soldiers was sometimes closer to the truth than that of the rear headquarters.
During these exchanges, information was indeed constantly refreshing in the system's [Intelligence] and [Information] tabs.
After walking quite a distance along the communication trench bearing the sign "Unter den Linden," the view ahead suddenly opened up.
He finally arrived at the first firing trench.
The scene here was much more tragic than the two parallel trenches and communication trenches in the rear.
Shrapnel that hadn't been cleared in time was scattered on the ground. There were many traces of artillery bombardment on the walls on both sides. In some places, sandbags were blown open, revealing the black mud inside.
But even so, the basic structure of the entire position remained intact, and damaged areas were being quickly repaired by engineers.
The ground of the firing trench was also paved with wooden walkways called "duckboards."
Beneath the wooden boards were carefully dug drainage channels.
This design could maximize the dryness inside the trench, avoiding soldiers soaking in muddy water for a long time, which could cause trench foot and other diseases.
After all, the soil quality in this area was not very good. According to the soldiers, you could often dig into muddy water after just a few shovels...
On the firing wall, every few meters there was a firing port constructed of sandbags. At about the soldiers' chest level, an extra platform was dug out, piled with ammunition and grenades.
Some obvious heavy machine gun emplacements were specifically reinforced with concrete, forming solid fire bunkers.
Even the tripods of some heavy machine guns were obviously modified, seemingly specially used for anti-aircraft fire.
After communicating with other soldiers, Morin also learned that many heavy machine guns in the trenches were currently used simultaneously to deal with airborne units—namely, the Britannians' Highland Mages.
It was said that at the beginning of the stalemate, some mages would fly into the air to guide the Magic Crystal Cannons or attempt to attack the Saxon trenches with spells.
However, as the number of anti-aircraft heavy machine guns increased, and indeed some mages were shot down from the air, the Britannian mages hadn't appeared in the air recently.
At the same time, Morin also noticed some dedicated bunkers prepared for Armored Knights.
In these bunkers distributed along various sections of the trench, " Siegfried Type 1s" were half-kneeling on the ground.
The Teutonic Knights and technicians were resting aside or maintaining the Armored Knights.
Obviously, here in the First Army Group, the coordination between the Teutonic Knights' Armored Knights and infantry was even closer than before.
The arrival of Morin and the four Plate Armor Supermen quickly attracted the attention of the commander stationed in this section of the trench.
A company commander wearing the rank of Captain on his shoulders trotted out of a foxhole quickly.
"Sir! You are?"
Upon seeing Morin, this company commander first saluted, then asked puzzledly.
"Imperial Guard Instruction Assault Unit, Friedrich Morin." Morin introduced himself briefly.
"Commander of the instruction unit?"
The company commander was obviously taken aback. He didn't expect the famous commander of the instruction unit to personally come to the very front line.
While the expression on his face immediately became respectful, he also had a trace of worry.
"Your Excellency Lieutenant Colonel, it's not safe here! The opposite Britannians have been very restless these days, firing a few shots or organizing small-scale attacks from time to time... You should go to the second or third parallel trench behind, it's safer there."
Morin waved his hand and said, "I came specifically to understand the situation here... Don't worry, I know what I'm doing."
Without saying a word, he stepped onto the firing platform, leaned close to a firing port, and looked out through the gap between sandbags.
Outside was a no-man's land whose ends couldn't be seen, the ground full of craters and blown-up barbed wire.
Further ahead seemed to be the Britannians' position. Looking closely, one could see a continuous defense line made of sandbags.
"Captain, how far is our position from the opposite trench?" Morin asked without turning his head.
"Report Your Excellency Lieutenant Colonel, our section is the central salient of the entire defense zone, so the distance is particularly close... The closest point is only 120 meters, and the farthest point does not exceed 200 meters."
One hundred and twenty meters—
Morin calculated in his heart. This distance was simply a perfect assault position for the instruction unit equipped with a large number of automatic weapons.
Just as he was about to ask something else, a sharp whistling sound suddenly descended from the sky!
"Artillery! Take cover!"
The company commander reacted extremely fast... but Morin's reaction was faster.
He grabbed the captain's arm and jerked him toward the nearest foxhole, while the four Plate Armor Supermen also immediately hid in the surrounding foxholes.
Almost at the instant they dove in, an artillery shell landed in the trench not far away, emitting a deafening roar.
"High-impact magic crystal shell?" Morin roughly judged the attack type based on the sound of the explosion and the commotion it caused.
At the same time, a dotted line was marked on the system map, pointing deep into the fog of war opposite.
The whole earth was trembling, and mud and gravel hit the entrance of the foxhole like rain.
The trench instantly fell into chaos. Soldiers cursed one after another, rolling and crawling to hide in their respective shelters.
"Boom! Boom! Boom!"
More shells fell one after another, the sounds of explosions linking together, as if the whole world was falling apart in this fierce artillery fire.
However, many officers and non-commissioned officers soon began to yell, ordering everyone to withdraw to the second parallel trench.
Morin and the Plate Armor Supermen, led by this company commander, also slipped back through the communication trench.
And were finally brought into an underground command post dug out in the second parallel trench, which was also the company headquarters of the company stationed in this section.
At the same time, the Britannian position opposite was also in the tense atmosphere before an attack.
Densely packed khaki figures crowded into the narrow departure trenches, bayonets reflecting cold light under the gloomy sky.
They were the "North American Legion" just transferred from across the ocean, composed of young adults from the North American colonies.
These young people, in order to free their families from the status of second-class citizens and obtain the first-class citizenship of true "Britannians"...
Responded to the Queen's call and came to this unfamiliar land, ready to trade their blood and lives for an illusory future.
Several officers gathered together, nervously looking at the watches on their wrists.
According to the original plan, the field guns and magic crystal cannons in the rear would provide fifteen minutes of fire preparation for this raid.
In the trench, several non-commissioned officers carrying tin buckets moved through the crowded soldiers.
"Letters! Wills! Throw them all in!"
Soldiers silently took out written letters from their pockets, or some small valuable items like loose change and pocket watches, and threw them into the buckets.
Letters and wills would be sent back to their hometowns by the rear field post office after the battle ended.
And those valuable items would be distributed to comrades who survived the battle.
However, when there were still five minutes left before the scheduled end of the artillery fire, the shelling suddenly stopped.
"What's going on? What the hell are those bastards in the artillery doing?" A young second lieutenant asked anxiously.
An older captain beside him shook his head, his face full of helplessness: "Who knows? Maybe they ran out of shells... Those big shots up top always think about saving the good stuff for the general offensive."
This older captain's judgment was not wrong. The rear artillery commander indeed planned exactly this.
After the war broke out, just like Saxony and Gaul, the Britannians also found that their pre-war stockpile of magic crystal shells was simply not enough...
Although the logistics department had urgently adjusted the production lines, it ultimately took time from shell production to delivery to the front line.
Especially for ammunition like magic crystal shells with complex manufacturing processes, even expanding production wasn't that easy in a short time.
So in order to save the already insufficient shells, during this period of fighting, artillerymen would reduce the fire preparation time of all probing attacks by two-thirds.
The attack launch time approached minute by minute, but the artillery fire never sounded again.
Officers looked at each other, their eyes full of despair and anger, but they had no choice.
"Prepare to attack!" The officers braced themselves and issued the order.
After receiving the order, the non-commissioned officers began to loudly urge the soldiers.
"Check your weapons! Fix bayonets!"
"Remember! Follow your squad leader and non-commissioned officer closely! Then you will survive!"
"John, stay in the trench. If anyone retreats, shoot him directly, understand?!"
"God save the Queen! God save Britannia!"
Amidst the constant roars, the soldiers of the North American Legion silently checked the Enfield rifles in their hands and then attached the bayonets.
Only a resigned numbness remained on their faces.
On the other side, the Saxon position.
The sudden silence also tightened everyone's nerves.
In the company command post, Morin and that Captain company commander looked at each other, and the latter quickly called a messenger: "Send two sharp guys to the forward observation post to check the situation!"
"Yes, sir!" The messenger immediately ran out.
A few minutes later, a soldier sent to the observation post ran back panting.
"Report sir! Confirmed artillery fire stopped!"
Hearing his words, this company commander immediately rushed to the door of the command post and roared at the company officers and soldiers on standby outside: "Return to the first firing trench! Immediately! Quick! Quick! Quick!"
His roar, along with those of other company officers on this defense line, broke the silence on the position.
The Saxon soldiers on standby in the second parallel trench, like a poked hornet's nest, instantly sprang into action.
Holding their rifles, they struggled along the narrow communication trenches, rushing towards the first firing trench.
This was also one of the experiences gained from trench warfare during this period—after the artillery fire stops, one must return to combat posts in the shortest time, because the enemy might appear in front of the position at any time.
However, when Morin followed the crowd rushing back to the first trench and stepped onto the firing platform to look outside, he found the entire no-man's land deathly silent.
Except for the new craters blown out by artillery shells and the scorched earth still smoking green smoke, there was nothing.
The opposite Britannian position was also quiet, not a single figure could be seen.
"What the hell?" Morin frowned, his heart full of doubts.
The Saxon soldiers beside him also held their breath, riflemen had already placed their fingers on the triggers, and heavy machine gunners were also slowly scanning the front.
The entire position fell into an extremely tense standoff.
Morin's brain spun rapidly.
This was illogical... completely illogical!
A ten-minute artillery bombardment neither achieved the purpose of destroying fortifications nor played the role of long-term suppression.
If it were a raid, the timing of the attack was completely wrong.
Launching a charge when the defenders were already fully in position, what's the difference between this and suicide?
He couldn't help wanting to ask that Captain if the Britannians always fought like this here?
However, before he had time to ask, a faint but extremely sharp sound drifted from the opposite side along the wind.
It was a whistle!
"It's the charge whistle! The Britannians are going to attack!" A sharp-eared non-commissioned officer shouted loudly.
Everyone's heart on the position leaped into their throats.
Morin abruptly focused his gaze on the front edge of the opposite position.
Then, he saw a scene he would never forget in his life.
Those Britannian soldiers wearing khaki uniforms, as if suddenly growing out of the ground, rushed out from their front-line trenches.
Holding rifles with fixed bayonets, they formed a loose formation, silently... or rather numbly, launched a charge towards the Saxon position.