August 23rd.
The sky had just broken dawn, and a thin layer of morning mist shrouded the fields outside Amiens City. Behind the Britannian Expeditionary Force's first defense line, a cavalry patrol unit was assembled and preparing to depart.
Horses snorted, and soldiers conversed in low voices, complaining about the bad taste of corned beef and the morning mist. A young cavalryman mounted his horse and, inadvertently glancing toward the distant open field, prepared to begin his most dangerous patrol of the day.
But that single glance instantly froze the relaxed expression on his face. He blinked hard, doubting if he was still half-asleep.
"Hey, John, look over there." He maneuvered his horse closer to his comrade, John, and patted his shoulder. "Does that ground look a bit strange?"
John, the comrade, looked in the direction he pointed, and the expression on his face also grew odd. About seven or eight hundred meters in front of their position, the previously flat ground seemed to have spontaneously developed several dark, winding scars. These scars stood out sharply in the morning light.
"Looks like some extra dirt piles?" John said, sounding unsure.
"Were those things there yesterday?"
"How should I know? Maybe the Saxons came over to take a dump in the middle of the night?"
The surrounding cavalrymen burst into laughter, but the unit's commanding officer, hearing the laughter and approaching, found nothing to smile about. He raised his binoculars and meticulously observed the distant area. When he finally saw the full picture of the 'scars,' a sense of foreboding flashed across his face.
They weren't dirt piles at all. They looked like freshly dug Trenches! And he could see through the binoculars that earth was continuously being thrown out from the very front of these Trenches. They were visibly extending toward their positions at an alarming rate!
After the news spread, the commander responsible for this sector immediately ordered a 'crisis reconnaissance.'
"Everyone mount up! Prepare for battle!" The cavalry officer, who received the order, shouted sternly: "Follow me to see what the Saxons are up to! Be cautious, and retreat immediately if the situation turns bad!"
Over ten cavalrymen immediately mounted their horses and spurred their mounts, leaping over their own Trenches and charging toward the strange area.
The horses' hooves kicked up earth, and they quickly closed in on the target. However, the closer they got, the stronger their sense of unease became. The Trenches were deeper and wider than they had imagined, and along the edges of the Trenches, they could even spot moving human figures.
Just as the commanding officer realized they couldn't advance any further and was about to order a retreat and report back, an unexpected event occurred.
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
A burst of crisp and dense gunfire erupted without warning from the Trenches ahead. The cavalryman at the front instantly had a bloom of blood explode from his chest. He fell straight from his horse without even a cry, collapsing onto the ground.
"Retreat! Retreat!" The officer shouted hoarsely, fiercely pulling the reins, trying to turn his horse around.
But it was already too late. More gunfire erupted from the Trench line. Bullets, like the grim reaper's scythe, accurately mowed down lives. The Britannian cavalry descended into chaos. They couldn't find the enemy; all they saw were clusters of muzzle flashes appearing in the Trenches.
They tried to return fire, but on the bumpy backs of their horses, they couldn't even aim their rifles. The warhorse of one cavalryman was hit by a bullet, collapsing with a wail, throwing its rider heavily. The head of another cavalryman was directly shattered by a bullet, splattering matter across his comrade's back. This was a complete, one-sided slaughter.
"Retreat! Retreat quickly!"
The few surviving cavalrymen were scared out of their wits, frantically turning and fleeing, retreating in disarray back to their own position. They left behind seven or eight corpses and a few horses that were still crying out in pain.
Inside the Trench, a Saxon soldier leisurely cycled his bolt, ejecting the hot casing. "They only have this much skill, and they dared to charge?" His comrades laughed softly, then immediately returned to their digging work. The spades rose and fell silently again, as if the brief exchange of fire had been nothing more than a minor interlude.
The news of the attack on the front line spread like wildfire to the Expeditionary Force Headquarters in Amiens City. Field Marshal John French was stunned when he heard the report.
"What did you say? The Saxons are digging Trenches in front of our position?"
"Yes, Your Excellency, Field Marshal." The officer reporting spoke with a tense expression: "Our patrol was ambushed and suffered heavy losses. According to the survivors' descriptions, the Saxons have already advanced to a position about 700 meters from our line, and… and they are still digging!"
John French quickly walked to the map, staring intently at the area north of Amiens. A slightly antiquated tactic flashed through his mind—trench approach. Like ancient armies besieging a strong fortress, they were using winding tunnels to slowly encroach on the defender's space, finally pushing the line right up to the walls.
"These Saxon barbarians," John French squeezed the words out through his teeth. He found it unbelievable that anyone would use such a primitive and seemingly foolish method to attack.
But he had to admit that the method seemed damned effective!
"They exposed their position, so why are they still continuing?" a staff officer asked, puzzled.
"I don't understand either. Perhaps they simply don't care!" John French shook his head, a coldness in his voice. "Perhaps they intend to hold a knife right to our throats, right under our very noses!"
Everyone in the headquarters realized the gravity of the situation. If they allowed the Saxons to continue digging, in less than a day—no, perhaps in just a few hours—their Attack Trench would be established just one or two hundred meters from their own Trenches. At that point, the entire concept of open ground and a field of fire would become a joke.
"We can't wait any longer!" John French slammed his fist on the table: "Order the Magic Crystal Cannon units to immediately launch a saturation bombardment of the target area!"
He looked up at the Aide-de-Camp beside him, his eyes sharp. "Tell the Highland Mages and Magic Crystal Cannon Crews that I want those damned groundhogs, and their holes, completely wiped off the face of the earth!"
Inside Amiens City, a frenzy of activity immediately began in several cleared squares and open spaces. The thirty-six 'Griffin IV' siege Magic Crystal Cannons belonging to the Expeditionary Force Artillery Units had their tarps removed, revealing their menacing forms. These massive weapons were the 'masterpieces' of the Holy Britannian Empire's alchemy and engineering. Complex energy circuits were etched across the barrels, and the large muzzles were deep and black.
As Field Marshal John French's order was issued, the Magic Crystal Cannon Crews immediately became busy. They pried open the ammunition crates marked with the Highland Mage Corps' crest, carefully retrieving the most frequently used 'Shrapnel Magic Crystal Shells.'
Simultaneously, three Highland Mages in Mage Robes arrived in the center of the square. As they swiftly completed their casting, their bodies slowly ascended into the air, effortlessly passing over the rooftops of Amiens to gain altitude above the city.
When they reached the sky using the [Fly] spell and saw the scene north of the city, even these Highland Mages couldn't help but gasp. Overnight, the flat plain had been completely transformed. A parallel line of Trenches, stretching as far as the eye could see, cut across the distance. From this main Trench line, numerous Communication Trenches, winding like giant snakes in a 'Z' shape, extended forward. After advancing several hundred meters, these Communication Trenches converged into a second parallel Trench line. And now, from this second parallel line, new 'snake heads' were poking out, continuing to crawl toward the Britannian position.
Countless black dots were busy working in the Trenches, like a vast, industrious ant colony. The scene was grand and bizarre. But from the enemy's perspective, it was terrifying.
"What a bunch of mad barbarians," one Spellcaster murmured.
"No time for that, start the guidance," the leading Spellcaster's expression was serious. "We cannot let them get any closer."
The three Mages spread out, hovering in separate sections of airspace. Their mental power, like invisible tentacles, established a connection with the thirty-six Magic Crystal Cannons on the ground.
"First round, fire preparation! Area saturation! Shrapnel Magic Crystal Shells loaded!" The Gun Sergeants on the ground loudly gave the command. The artillerymen quickly pushed the heavy shells into the breeches, then adjusted the angle and azimuth of the cannons according to the guidance of the Highland Mages in the sky.
"Ready to fire!"
"Fire!"
"All crews, fire!"
"Boom—Boom—"
The muffled roar of the cannons rang out in succession across Amiens City, shaking the very ground. Thirty-six shells, trailing faint blue streaks, soared into the sky in a high-angle parabolic arc, crossing over the city and crashing down onto the Saxon work area outside the city.
"Artillery barrage! Take cover!"
Almost the moment the sound of the artillery shells reached the outside of the city, sharp whistles and the screams of Saxon officers and NCOs rang out across the Saxon positions. Simultaneously, the distinct shriek of the Magic Crystal Shells was heard in the air.
The soldiers, who had been diligently digging, immediately dropped their tools and threw themselves into the nearest anti-artillery bunker, or dove into the sections of the Trenches reinforced with wooden and sandbag overhead cover.
The very next second after they had taken cover, a blinding blue sphere of light erupted in the sky, then violently exploded. Tens of thousands of sharp shrapnel fragments, carrying devastating kinetic energy, swept through the entire work area like a storm. Earth was plowed up in swathes, and some remaining wooden stakes and tools were instantly shattered.
However, when the smoke and dust cleared, the anticipated scene of flying flesh and blood did not materialize. The vast majority of the steel balls and shrapnel were stopped by the thick earth and the sturdy overhead cover. The Saxon soldiers inside the Trenches, aside from a few who were hit for being a fraction of a second too slow, were largely unharmed.
The first round of artillery fire achieved almost no tangible results.
"What happened?" The Spellcaster in the air frowned. He could clearly see that after the bombardment, the Saxons were crawling out of their earth bunkers, dusting themselves off, picking up their spades, and continuing to dig.
Their calm demeanor made it seem as if the earth-shattering barrage had been nothing more than a harmless drizzle.
(End of this Chapter)