Chapter 570: The Russian "Glorious Tradition"

After confirming the contents of the telegram, the fingers of the operator in the radio reconnaissance detachment were trembling.

The squad leader clutched the telegram paper tightly, taking two deep breaths to steady himself.

"Send it back... Hurry! Transmit it back to Brigade HQ!"

Another operator immediately adjusted frequencies and output power, encrypting and transmitting the intercepted message using Saxon Army protocols.

Soon, in the Instruction Brigade's communications tent, the duty signaleer received the encrypted transmission from the forward recon detachment and immediately rushed it to the cryptography section.

The cryptographers deciphered it word by word using their codebooks. Once the complete message was laid bare on paper, the officer in charge grabbed it, shot out of his chair, and sprinted toward Morin's office tent.

Morin was mid-sip on a cup of actual coffee when the officer burst in.

He didn't even get to swallow his second gulp.

"General! Urgent telegram from the East Bank Recon Detachment! Intercepted a top-secret order from Southern Army Headquarters to the Left Flank Armies!"

The moment Morin took the paper and unfolded it, his expression changed.

After reading the entire telegram from start to finish, Morin slammed the paper onto his desk and burst into uproarious laughter... Chuckling wasn't enough; he pumped his fists and bounced a couple of times in his tent.

"Hahahaha! Thank the heavens!"

He waved the crumpled telegram paper wildly, hopped in place twice more, then sat back down, only to bounce right back up the moment his ass touched the chair.

"Hehehehehe..."

Rundstedt, Manstein, and the others exchanged bewildered looks.

They had never seen their general like this... While Morin certainly wasn't a "stiff" commander, dancing around like this seemed a bit much for a Major General.

"General... are you alright?" Manstein asked cautiously.

Morin turned around, the smile still plastered across his face.

"Alright? Oh, I'm more than alright! Read it yourselves!"

He shoved the telegram paper toward them. The three officers crowded around and read it quickly. While their reactions weren't as exaggerated as Morin's, their expressions shifted dramatically.

Manstein spoke with evident disbelief. "Wait, this... this was transmitted in the clear? I thought we captured their codebooks?"

"Hah! They're Russians, who knows?"

Morin laughed, shaking his head. Having finally reined in his excitement, he wiped a tear of mirth from his eye with the back of his hand.

He truly hadn't expected the Russians of this world to repeat the same historical blunder of "zero radio discipline"... or rather, an absolute absence of any radio discipline whatsoever, transmitting top-secret orders in the clear across an active battlefield.

A lack of radio discipline... This was practically the trademark flaw of the Russian Army during World War I.

Before the Battle of Tannenberg, communications between the two Russian armies were sent almost entirely in the clear, intercepted directly by the Germans, leading to that catastrophic defeat.

And now, the Russians of this world... or rather, the White Army, which inherited the bulk of the old Imperial Army's forces, were clearly repeating history.

Morin didn't know whether to attribute it to historical inevitability or national character...

But beyond the radio discipline issue, what truly thrilled Morin was the strategic situation revealed by the telegram.

Denikin was pulling troops from his left flank to concentrate them for a frontal crossing. This meant the Southern Army's flank—the exact vector the Instruction Brigade planned to hit—was being further weakened.

Initially, Morin had a moment of doubt: Could this be fake intel deliberately fed to us by the White Army?

However, almost at the exact moment he finished reading the telegram, new information populated the system's [Intelligence] interface.

[Southern Army Commander-in-Chief Denikin has ordered the Left Flank Armies to detach main forces and integrate them into the river crossing assault sequence.]

[Denikin and the Southern Army Staff assess: Massive redeployment of Rzhyshchiv defenders toward Kyiv leaves defenses thin; current timing is optimal for a forced crossing.]

[Southern Army Staff evaluates: The map previously returned by the captured officer was a bluff by defenders intended to halt the offensive.]

The telegram perfectly corroborated the system intelligence. This wasn't a trap... it was a golden opportunity delivered on a silver platter.

Morin downed the rest of his coffee in one gulp. The moment he set the cup down, his expression snapped.

The giddy amusement vanished without a trace, replaced by the familiar, resolute demeanor of Morin making a major decision.

"Gentlemen, a golden opportunity has presented itself!"

Manstein and the others straightened their postures instantly, and Morin's voice dropped half an octave.

"Units participating in the flanking maneuver: execute emergency assembly and deployment according to Contingency Plan 2."

When Manstein and the others drafted the operational plan, they created multiple contingencies. Contingency Plan 2 was specifically designed for an early deployment before the scheduled date.

Hearing the order, Manstein and the others didn't hesitate for a second, immediately turning to dive into their respective tasks. Brigade messengers bolted from the tent, sprinting toward every unit.

Soon, the shrill blasts of whistles and shouted orders echoed across the Instruction Brigade camp. Under Morin's instruction, the Brigade Communications Battalion relayed the situation to the Battlegroup Command, informing them the Instruction Brigade would depart early to seize this tactical window.

Having arranged everything, Morin stood outside his tent, watching the entire encampment transition from silence to full operational tempo in a phenomenally short time.

Truck engines roared to life sequentially, followed by the metallic clatter of tracked vehicles crushing the earth. Soldiers poured from their tents, sprinting toward their assigned vehicles and equipment according to procedures they had drilled countless times.

The Instruction Brigade's reaction speed was forged personally by Morin, tempered through exhaustive training and combat, and now etched into the soldiers' very bones.

Half an hour later, with the exception of the Artillery Instruction Regiment remaining in Rzhyshchiv for fire support, and the armored airship standing by with its Armored Knights, the Instruction Brigade convoy rolled out of the camp in a long line.

The L15 armored airship had already launched. Alongside the four scrambled fighter planes, they sealed the airspace around Rzhyshchiv airtight.

The convoy initially drove west for about four kilometers before turning south at a crossroad.

From an outside perspective, the first half of this route overlapped almost perfectly with the path taken by the forces constantly redeploying toward Kyiv over the past few days.

Even if someone happened to spot this convoy, they would likely just assume the Rzhyshchiv garrison command had lost their minds and sent their most elite unit to reinforce Kyiv...

As the convoy turned south, a Fokker E.I fighter plane swooped low over them, maintaining a position about two kilometers ahead of the vanguard recon detachment.

Although aircraft in this era couldn't communicate with the ground in real-time, having an aviation squadron plane fly ahead of the convoy had become a tradition of sorts within the Instruction Brigade.

Even aces like Richthofen didn't know the exact reason. Whispers among the troops suggested that General Morin's "Eye of the Sky" could lock onto certain individuals in the brigade, so when a plane flew ahead, the General's "Eye of the Sky" also looked ahead.

The officers naturally dismissed such rumors as "nonsense," but there was no stopping the enlisted men from spreading them.

Especially with Morin's legendary combat record backing it up, the tale of the "Eye of the Sky" didn't seem so far-fetched.

About an hour and a half into the march, the vanguard recon detachment reached the designated crossing point: a bend in the Dnieper River.

The water at the bend was unnaturally calm in the morning light. Bushes and low trees extended along the banks, hiding the unremarkable cove within the folds of the terrain.

The recon detachment's half-tracks parked in the tree line two hundred meters from the riverbank. Soldiers hopped out and fanned out for concealment. Two scouts and an engineer officer crawled to the edge of the riverbank, observing the opposite shore through binoculars.

There was nothing on the opposite bank.

No trenches, no barbed wire, none of the telltale signs of enemy positions. They couldn't even spot any traces of human activity... just a vast expanse of untrampled riverbank grass and a birch forest faintly visible in the distance.

In the experience of engineers preparing a river crossing, a river bend "slows down the overall flow," but "chaotizes the internal current distribution."

This characteristic was critical for military bridging operations. While the reduced average flow rate theoretically favored pontoon construction, the scouring on the concave bank and siltation on the convex bank resulted in uneven riverbed depths.

Coupled with complex localized currents, these factors presented immense challenges in anchoring the pontoons and maintaining structural stability.

Therefore, selecting a river bend for a bridge required a specific analysis of its hydrology and riverbed; broad generalizations were useless.

This was why Morin, immediately upon considering the flanking plan, dispatched engineers to conduct on-site surveys of multiple southern locations. At the time, Manstein had been puzzled by his intent.

Ultimately, the engineers selected this river bend. Its hydrological conditions were the most suitable within the permitted parameters...

The engineer officer lowered his binoculars, quickly jotting down water level markers and bank gradients in his notebook before retreating to the vehicles.

"Crossing point confirmed. Conditions match prior surveys. No enemy presence on the opposite bank."

Soon after, the Eighth Army bridging unit trailing the recon detachment, along with the Brigade Combat Engineer Battalion, arrived and immediately commenced pontoon construction.

The engineers' movements were incredibly practiced. A survey team entered the water first to sound the bottom, confirm the riverbed structure and depth, and mark anchor points.

Simultaneously, others began unloading standard pontoons, articulated bridge decking, and anchor cables from the trucks.

This river bend boasted another unmatched advantage: alluvial sandbars created by the current, similar to those outside Kyiv.

One such sandbar was located roughly a third of the way across the channel. Although small—capable of holding a few dozen men at most—it drastically reduced the effective span required for the pontoon bridge.

The engineer officer immediately decided to use the sandbar as a relay node, constructing the pontoon bridge in two sections.

Currently, the Saxon Imperial Army's engineer corps could essentially be considered the leading experts in pontoon bridging among global militaries.

Because the Army fielded an increasing number of vehicles, the pontoon bridges built by the engineers faced immense stress. To counter this, the Army engineers developed their bridging capabilities rapidly.

Not only did they possess specialized pontoons for different weight classes, but they also offered various structural options scaling from low to high capacity.

The presence of the alluvial sandbars in this bend made the crossing operation immensely easier.

By the time the vanguard company of the Motorized Infantry Instruction Regiment reached the riverbank, the first pontoon bridge had already crossed the sandbar and was extending the final few dozen meters toward the opposite shore.

Klaus hopped down from the lead truck, strode to the riverbank for a quick look at the progress, then turned back and bellowed at his regimental officers.

"Dismount! Check equipment! Cross on foot once the bridge is complete! Personnel and vehicles will cross separately! Vehicles wait for the second bridge."

The soldiers swiftly hopped out of the trucks, gathering in small groups to check their weapons and ammo.

Further back in the convoy, Morin's command vehicle parked on a slight elevation.

He leaned out of the vehicle, raised his binoculars for a few seconds, then lowered them. The system map already displayed the entire crossing area in perfect clarity.

There were absolutely no enemy forces in the vicinity. Even in the Southern Army's original deployment, they never considered the enemy would detour this far.

The Fokker E.I flying overhead continued circling to the south. Its "vision" steadily pushed back the fog of war, revealing nothing but empty terrain further out.

"Safe for now..." Morin muttered softly, settling back into his seat.

Logic dictated everything was fine, but his ingrained military intuition wouldn't let him relax completely during a unit's most vulnerable moment.

A force mid-crossing is always the perfect target.

The White Army opposite Rzhyshchiv had demonstrated that perfectly a few days prior.

Around noon, the first pontoon bridge was completed.

Klaus led the vanguard battalion of the Infantry Instruction Regiment across. The soldiers moved in squads, maintaining a five-meter spacing at a brisk pace.

The pontoon bridge undulated slightly beneath their feet. When someone stepped on a joint, the decking would suddenly dip, kicking up splashes that wet their trouser legs.

But no one stopped for such trivialities.

The Instruction Brigade soldiers were long accustomed to this "discomfort." During training, they had crossed rivers under far worse conditions.

Once across, the vanguard battalion immediately fanned out, establishing a rudimentary defensive perimeter to cover the follow-up forces.

Simultaneously, the construction of the second, heavy-duty pontoon bridge proceeded at full speed.

This bridge had higher specifications. The standard heavy pontoons had a load capacity of fifteen tons, sufficient for half-tracks and fully loaded military trucks to cross safely.

Around 3:00 PM, the second pontoon bridge was finished.

Vehicles began crossing.

Morin's command vehicle was in the first batch. Crossing the bridge, he could feel the elastic deformation of the decking. The pontoons sank deeper under the weight, the water level nearly flush with the planks.

But the overall structure remained stable, showing no signs of failure.

Once the first batch of vehicles, including the command vehicle, arrived safely on the opposite bank, the rest followed in an orderly fashion.

Throughout the afternoon, the Instruction Brigade's river crossing proceeded methodically.

By 6:00 PM, all combat units participating in the flanking maneuver had completed the crossing.

The last to cross were a few ammo trucks from the logistics detachment, the canvas covers on their rears casting long shadows in the setting sun.

Standing at his command post on the east bank, Morin watched the final truck roll off the bridge and onto the shore, finally exhaling the breath he had been holding all day.

With the crossing complete, the Eighth Army's bridging unit would remain here to secure the pontoon bridge.

Because in the contingency plan drafted by Manstein and the others for a failed offensive, the troops would retreat back to the west bank via this route.

During the crossing, Morin had stared tensely at the system map in his command vehicle, terrified that a red enemy marker would suddenly pop out of the fog of war dispelled by the fighter plane—which had already completed a mid-air shift change.

Fortunately, that never happened, not even when the final logistics units crossed.

At this point, Morin's suspended heart finally settled. With the plan executed up to this stage, the most perilous moment had passed.

Now that his "armored cavalry" had stealthily arrived on the east bank... the ones facing danger next were the enemies ahead.

"Comms officer!"

"Here."

"Send a telegram to the Rzhyshchiv Battlegroup Command: The Instruction Brigade has fully crossed the river and is advancing toward the designated zone as planned."

Throughout October 5th, the Instruction Brigade pushed north for approximately fifteen kilometers at a sluggish pace that made everyone uncomfortable.

"General, based on the Instruction Brigade's normal marching speed, we could cover this distance in two hours..."

"What's the rush? We're already on the grill, a little more time won't hurt~"

Huddled in the command vehicle, Morin looked at Rundstedt. "Based on the intercepted telegram, there should be a few White Army infantry regiments left behind. If we advance too fast and engage them, the moment shots are fired, we lose the element of surprise."

Rundstedt thought about it and conceded the logic. He increasingly felt Morin possessed a bizarre kind of "patience."

And this "patience" contrasted sharply with his urgency upon receiving the telegram.

After all, in his view, any other Saxon commander who had maneuvered their troops into such an optimal jump-off position would likely be unable to restrain themselves from attacking immediately...

By dusk, the forward recon detachment reported that several camps formerly occupied by the White Army were now empty. Further out lay the enemy's flank defensive line.

The Instruction Brigade advanced into this area and halted for their final rest and refit.

They were now less than twenty kilometers from the rear flank of the Southern Army's main force deployed along the river.

Given the Instruction Brigade's mobility, this distance meant that departing tomorrow morning, they could sink the knife in before noon.

As night fell, the Instruction Brigade's battalion camps sank into an eerie silence.

No noise, no superfluous lights. Soldiers whispered in their tents or simply slept.

But everyone could feel the unique pre-battle tension in the air thickening by the minute.

At 9:00 PM, all military commanders at the battalion level and above received orders to report to Brigade HQ for an operational conference.

Fifteen minutes later, Morin's large command tent was packed.

Battalion commanders, commanders of brigade direct-reporting units... plus the brigade staff, all gathered here.

At the back of the tent hung a large-scale map covered in markings. On a table nearby sat dozens of brown paper file folders stacked neatly.

Morin didn't waste words, immediately distributing the folders to the officers.

"These are your battalion 'mission packages.' Open them."

The rustle of tearing paper filled the tent.

The attending officers quickly discovered that each folder contained their specific combat objectives—axis of advance, target zones, time nodes, coordination signals, comms frequencies, and contingency plans, all marked on individual tactical maps with red and blue pencils.

Over the past few days, Manstein and the others, with Morin's input, had finalized the operational tasks for every battalion-level tactical unit.

Morin now stood before the map, pointer in hand, tapping the paper.

He rapidly walked everyone through the overarching flow, noting that Armored Knight forces would also be airdropped in.

"The specific timing and method of their deployment are not in your mission packages. I will command them directly... so don't worry about it."

Morin swept his gaze over the room.

"Just remember one thing... when you see friendly Armored Knights falling from the sky on the battlefield, don't panic. Keep executing your mission."

Several battalion commanders exchanged looks, but no one asked questions.

Over the next forty minutes, Morin ran through the entire offensive operation on the map from start to finish.

When each battalion would arrive at what location, how to handle encountered resistance, how fire support coordination between units linked up, contingency plans for unforeseen circumstances... everything was covered.

The longer the officers listened, the quieter they became. The plan was detailed to an almost psychopathic degree.

They had rarely encountered such precision in their previous combat experience.

Under his control, each battalion was like a different type of cold weapon, coordinating seamlessly to eradicate the enemy ahead one by one.

In the eyes of every attendee, Morin was no longer merely their superior. He seemed like an artist of war, personally painting the canvas of a "campaign."

Standing at the very back, Major Klose and Second Lieutenant Mahn witnessed Morin's pre-battle deployment process for the first time.

Second Lieutenant Mahn unconsciously gripped his pen tighter. Though he was merely an inquisitor with no role in operational command, he could intensely feel the breathing rhythm of everyone in the tent syncing with the movement of Morin's pointer.

Major Klose's reaction was much more restrained, but his fingers unconsciously stroked the unopened pack of cigarettes in his pocket.

Forty minutes later, the briefing concluded.

Morin rested his pointer on the table edge, leaning on his hands as his gaze swept over every officer present.

There was no impassioned pre-battle speech, no grand rhetoric about "Empire," "Honor," or "Duty."

He simply spoke to them with absolute calm: "I believe all of you here know exactly why you joined the Instruction Brigade. I believe you also understand the traditions and honor of this unit... And now, it is time for you to continue spreading the Instruction Brigade's fearsome reputation."

"Gentlemen... tomorrow, let us shock the world... let all our enemies tremble at the mere mention of the Instruction Brigade!"

That same night, east bank of the Dnieper River, Southern Army Headquarters.

Chief of Staff Semyon entered Denikin's office holding two reports.

"General, frontline reports... The cross-river harassment actions from the opposite bank have decreased drastically since yesterday."

Denikin looked up from his map.

"The Saxons are pulling back?"

"It appears so... Previously, their small units would swim across and harass our sentry posts every night. It's been suddenly quiet for two days."

Semyon paused, then handed over the second report.

"Simultaneously, our newly dispatched recon squads report that the Rzhyshchiv west bank garrison shows signs of massing forces... Furthermore, activity resembling river crossing preparations has been observed near the riverbank."

Denikin took the report, his brow gradually furrowing.

After a moment of silence, he set the report on the desk, his hand pressing down on the map sent over a few days ago—the three red markers and the date now glaringly obvious.

"Could the information on that map... actually be real?"