"Earthworks?" one General asked with some confusion.
"Exactly," General Mackensen's tone was unequivocal. "Since the open ground in front of the enemy's positions lacks cover, we will take matters into our own hands and create cover for our soldiers!"
"We will dig a parallel Attack Trench, and from this trench, we will dig several Communication Trenches forward, extending right up to the enemy's position!"
"We will pave a safe assault route for our attacking troops, right under the enemy's nose!"
Conducting such large-scale earthworks just over a kilometer from the enemy? The Saxon Army had never done such a thing.
"General, won't this be dangerous? The enemy's artillery and night patrols…" A Corps Commander couldn't help but raise an objection.
"Dangerous?" Mackensen scoffed. "Is it less dangerous to order our soldiers to charge hundreds of meters across open ground in daylight, under the enemy's machine guns and artillery?"
The Corps Commander was silenced immediately.
"All work procedures must strictly follow the Imperial Army Earthwork Operations Manual recently issued by the General Staff!" General Mackensen added.
Hearing the name of the manual, many eyes instinctively glanced toward Morin in the corner. Because everyone knew that the theoretical foundation and most of the content of this booklet, which the General Staff had printed and distributed to the units before the war, originated from this young Captain. It was the first 'output' Morin had achieved during the period he was assembling and training the Instruction Assault Battalion.
"Captain Morin!" Mackensen called his name again.
"Yes, General!" Morin immediately stood up.
"Starting now, your Instruction Assault Battalion will be broken up and allocated by company and platoon to the various main assault divisions! Your mission is to act as technical advisory groups, assisting and instructing them in completing this unprecedented night earthwork operation."
"Once all the work is complete, and before the attack commences, your Instruction Assault Battalion will reassemble and remain on standby as the reserve force."
Morin instantly understood General Mackensen's intention. This was not merely to complete the current earthwork; it was also to seize this opportunity to promote the advanced tactics and engineering skills mastered by the Instruction Assault Battalion across the entire Army Group!
"Yes, General! Guaranteed mission success!" Morin naturally supported this mission with both hands. In his view, this was the true significance of the Instruction Assault Battalion, this 'Seed Force'—not to fight a few glorious battles or show off a few times. It was to ensure that more units mastered these new skills and tactics that could effectively reduce casualties and enhance combat effectiveness.
General Mackensen nodded, then looked at the other Generals.
"Gentlemen, any further questions?"
Silence filled the tent. No one raised any further objections.
"Excellent! Then, the meeting is adjourned! Immediately return to your units and prepare to receive the final attack time, which will be transmitted to all units shortly!"
"Yes!" The Generals responded in unison, then turned and prepared to leave the command tent to return to their respective units.
The tent quickly emptied out as the Generals left, rushing back to deploy the unprecedented large-scale night engineering works.
However, several of the Division Commanders responsible for the main frontal assault specifically walked over to Morin before leaving.
"Captain Morin, I've heard much about you." A General who looked to be in his fifties, with a meticulously groomed mustache, extended his hand toward Morin. "I am Ludwig von Arnim, Commander of the 5th Infantry Division."
"Hello, General!" Morin was surprised and delighted, quickly shaking his hand.
"Captain, for this earthwork operation, our division is entirely relying on you." General Arnim's face carried a sincere smile, devoid of any pretense. "Although our division studied the booklet issued by the General Staff, we lack practical combat experience. Many areas are still unclear… I must ask your subordinates to guide us."
"General, you are too kind. This is the duty of our Instruction Assault Battalion." Morin replied modestly.
"Haha, good. I like young men who are neither arrogant nor obsequious like you." General Arnim patted Morin's shoulder, smiling: "I will ensure my entire division fully cooperates with you! Anything to ensure our soldiers shed less blood on the battlefield is fine by me!"
Following this, several other Division Commanders also gathered around, expressing the same request to Morin. They now realized that the success of this offensive largely depended on the smooth completion of the earthwork tonight. And the Instruction Assault Battalion was undoubtedly the most experienced unit in the entire Army Group in this area.
Morin naturally agreed to every request, maintaining a humble attitude and sincere tone, which greatly impressed these Generals who usually held themselves in high esteem.
After seeing off the enthusiastic Division Commanders, Morin prepared to leave the tent and return to his base.
"Friedrich." General Mackensen's voice suddenly sounded behind him.
Morin turned around and saw General Mackensen slowly walking toward him.
Only the two of them remained in the tent, and the atmosphere was no longer as formal as before. General Mackensen stopped in front of Morin, sizing him up for a moment before speaking: "You vanished as soon as you returned to the homeland, never bothering to visit this old man." The tone carried a familiar, gentle complaint from an elder to a junior.
Morin scratched his head sheepishly, offering an excuse: "General, you wrong me! Since returning to the homeland, I haven't had a moment's rest! I've been rushing to catch up on my studies at the War Academy and managing every aspect of assembling this Instruction Assault Battalion. I've been running ragged; I simply couldn't spare the time."
"Alright, what do I not know about you?" Mackensen waved his hand, a slight smile breaking through his otherwise stern face. "That Instruction Assault Battalion you put together is excellent. Your performance at Charleroi has made quite a name for the unit!"
"The General Staff actually holds a very high opinion of this unit, though some bureaucratic issues have prevented a full-scale expansion from beginning."
Morin was delighted to receive personal praise from the old General.
"However," Mackensen's tone changed, his smile receding, and his voice turning serious, "do not become overly proud or complacent. The war has just begun. Be careful!"
"Yes, General, I will remember that." Morin immediately stood at attention and replied.
"Go then," Mackensen waved his hand. "Go back and prepare well. Tonight's mission is vital."
Bidding farewell to General Mackensen, Morin quickly walked out of the tent, heading toward the stable to retrieve his warhorse.
The Army Group Command Post was busier at night than during the day. Countless Dispatch Riders and staff personnel rushed in and out. The sounds of hooves and vehicle engines echoed continuously.
Morin arrived at the stable and immediately saw the Dispatch Rider who had guided him earlier in the afternoon. The man was holding a brush, meticulously grooming his warhorse, his movements gentle and focused, as if tending to a precious work of art.
Seeing Morin approach, the Dispatch Rider immediately stopped his work, straightened up, and rendered a perfect military salute to Morin.
Morin nodded in return, then led his own horse over and quickly mounted it. Just as he was about to spur his horse to leave, he hesitated and, on a whim, asked a question:
"Soldier, do you… like to paint?"
The Dispatch Rider was clearly taken aback, his face registering surprise and confusion. He stared blankly at Morin on horseback, momentarily unable to respond.
"W-why? How did you know, Captain?" the Dispatch Rider stammered.
Morin smiled, pointing to the man's sleeve. "I noticed it this afternoon… your uniform and cuffs are stained with traces of paint. It's not obvious, but if you look closely, you can still see it."
The Dispatch Rider instinctively looked down at his cuff. Indeed, in an inconspicuous corner, a few spots of dried blue-green paint remained. He scratched his head, feeling somewhat embarrassed.
"It's… it's just a personal hobby," the Dispatch Rider said softly. "I like to paint things in my free time to pass the time."
"Just a hobby?" Morin pressed. "Have you never thought of attending a proper art academy?"
At this question, the Dispatch Rider's eyes dimmed, and a look of bitterness and regret appeared on his face. "I thought about it… My biggest dream was to study at the Vienna Academy of Art! But… I applied twice and was rejected both times." His voice was filled with disappointment and resentment.
Morin quietly looked at him, looking at this young man who, in another world, had completely changed the course of his life and the history of the entire world after being rejected twice. In that moment, a thought suddenly surged through Morin's mind.
"Listen to me, Soldier!" He leaned down, moving closer to the Dispatch Rider, and spoke in an extremely serious tone: "If—and I mean if—we are both fortunate enough to survive this damned war, you come find me! I will find a way to get the most powerful person in the Empire to write you a letter of recommendation so you can study at Vienna, or any other art academy you wish to attend."
The Dispatch Rider was completely stunned. He stared at Morin on horseback, his mouth agape, his mind blank. He could not comprehend why this Captain, who had just attended a meeting full of Generals, would suddenly say such a thing and make such an incredible promise to an unknown soldier like him.
"W-why?" he asked instinctively. "Captain, we are strangers. Why would you help me?"
Morin straightened up, seating himself firmly back in the saddle. He looked at the Dispatch Rider's face, both familiar and unfamiliar, and gave him a knowing smile.
"No reason in particular… I just have a hunch that you might have more talent for painting than you do for soldiering."
With that, he gave the man no further chance to question him. He lightly squeezed his horse's flanks, and the warhorse neighed, carrying him away like a black bolt of lightning into the night.
The Dispatch Rider remained standing alone in front of the stable, staring blankly in the direction Morin had left, unable to regain his composure for a long time.
(End of this Chapter)