Chapter 572: Instruction Brigade: I Have Initiated!

The tent fell silent instantly.

The National Army coordination officer watched the standoff with crossed arms, saying nothing. Several Saxon staff officers simultaneously lowered their heads.

However, the two Cossack chieftains, who had been completely "checked out" of the proceedings, suddenly found this interesting, watching the drama unfold with amusement.

Ludendorff's expression shifted. Accurately speaking, it was a complex mix of embarrassment, like someone having their hand forced in public.

"Lieutenant Colonel Hubertus, I am not demonstrating cowardice!" He tried his best to keep his tone even. "I am making a rational assessment based on the latest changes in the enemy situation—"

"Army Headquarters has already approved this operational plan."

Lieutenant Colonel Hubertus cut him off, producing a copied telegram. "And it is co-signed by General Hindenburg and General Alekseyev..."

"At this moment, the Instruction Brigade has successfully maneuvered to the enemy's flank. Everything is proceeding according to plan."

Ludendorff stared at the document in Hubertus's hand, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Perhaps someone like Morin, with his complex background and a fistful of military merits, wasn't afraid of military inquisitors.

But for generals like Ludendorff... no matter how valiant he was at the Liege Fortress, the deterrent power of the military inquisition system was very real.

Within the Saxon Imperial Army hierarchy, once the word "cowardice" was written into a report, the consequences went far beyond mere dismissal.

Before this, the military inquisitor assigned to the Rzhyshchiv Battlegroup hadn't seemed too bad to Ludendorff...

He usually just stood in the corner during meetings, taking notes, never proactively interfering with command.

He never expected the man to strike now.

If it were any other military inquisitor, Ludendorff had plenty of ways to sideline them and prevent them from interfering with his decisions.

But this Lieutenant Colonel Hubertus was different...

Because the surname following his given name was "von Wettin."

The silence in the tent lasted for about ten seconds. Ludendorff clenched his fists, then released them, his palms slick with sweat.

His mind raced. Was this sudden challenge from Lieutenant Colonel Hubertus—a peripheral member of the royal family out to gild his resume—based on his own judgment, or was he acting on someone else's orders?

But those questions didn't matter anymore, because he had no way out.

"...Very well."

Ludendorff's voice was squeezed through his teeth, carrying the stiffness of a man forced onto the stage. He turned to the comms officer and ordered, "Command all units: execute missions according to the operational plan... 0630 hours, artillery begins preparatory bombardment... 0700 hours exactly, first wave commences crossing."

Once the order was issued, the tent sprang to life. Staff officers began contacting various units; messengers bolted out the door.

Only Ludendorff stood in place for an extra two seconds before turning to the map.

He looked at the blue arrow marked "Instruction Brigade" winding its way from the south, only one thought remaining in his head...

Morin, oh Morin, you've really screwed me over.

The Instruction Brigade had to deliver results. Otherwise, this offensive would be a disaster, and his military career—perhaps even his life—would end with it.

0630 hours.

From the artillery positions behind Rzhyshchiv, a furious roar shattered the morning silence.

Followed by a second, a third... and then a thunderous, earth-shaking volley.

The Artillery Instruction Regiment, supplemental artillery from the Eighth Army, and the older guns of the Rzhyshchiv garrison... hundreds of artillery pieces opened fire simultaneously.

Shells shrieked through the air over the Dnieper River, slamming into the White Army positions on the east bank, throwing up geysers of dirt and splintered rock.

In the sky, the L15 armored airship completed its final attitude adjustments. The 150mm heavy guns finalized their heading and elevation adjustments, locking onto several key fire points on the east bank, and commenced precision suppressive fire.

The soldiers in the White Army forward positions buried their heads into the bottoms of their trenches, curling into balls and covering their ears. Dirt rained down from above; wooden supports groaned terrifyingly.

Someone was shouting something, but their voice was entirely swallowed by the deafening explosions.

This well-supplied preparatory bombardment lasted a full thirty minutes. At exactly 0700 hours, the first wave commenced their crossing.

The first troops leaping from their cover were numerous assault companies of the National Army. Most of these men were veterans of the International Brigade or core survivors of critical battles earlier in the civil war.

Clutching scavenged rafts and makeshift crossing gear, they charged to the riverbank. Under the covering fire of friendly forces, they launched a direct forced crossing.

The Saxon bridging units also charged out from under their camouflage nets under the cover of artillery fire. Standard pontoons were carried to the water's edge, and engineers began assembling the pontoon bridges amidst a hail of shrapnel.

The sparse White Army forward recon units on the east bank were already retreating under the bombardment.

Their mission was early warning and observation; no one expected them to halt the assault of an entire battlegroup. Furthermore, the orders from Southern Army Command had reached all frontline positions before dawn.

As the first section of the light pontoon bridge connected to the river surface, the water was already teeming with rafts and small boats paddling furiously forward, a dense mass of heads moving in the morning light.

Occasional sporadic artillery fire from White Army long-range guns in the rear merely kicked up a few water spouts.

A raft capsized, dumping three soldiers into the river, but the men nearby didn't even pause, paddling even harder toward the opposite bank.

The frontal crossing operation of the Rzhyshchiv Battlegroup had officially begun.

When the news reached Southern Army Headquarters, Denikin was downing his first cup of potion after waking up to clear his head.

"General! Massive river crossing operation detected in the Rzhyshchiv sector!" the duty officer sprinted in. "The Rebels on the opposite bank have commenced a forced crossing under artillery cover. Forward reports indicate a scale of at least two to three divisions!"

Denikin slammed the cup down heavily on his desk. A few drops of the warm potion splashed out, but he didn't notice.

"Good! It's here!"

He shot to his feet, punching the air. He had waited so many days, and it had finally arrived.

Chief of Staff Semyon quickly appeared at the door holding a stack of reports. Clearly, he had woken up earlier and started working.

"It's confirmed."

Semyon unfolded the latest frontline report and said to Denikin, "The enemy forces opposite Rzhyshchiv are conducting a massive crossing. The first wave has partially landed on the east bank, but the pontoon bridges are not yet fully constructed."

Denikin snatched the report, skimmed it, and quickly walked with Semyon to the nearby command room, striding straight to the operational map.

"Notify all frontline units again: adhere strictly to the issued contingency plans. Do not launch a large-scale counterattack yet! Let a portion of the Rebels cross first!"

He gestured over the map with his hand, like a seasoned hunter waiting for his prey to step fully into the trap.

"Wait until their main force is deployed on the river... wait until the pontoon bridges are packed with men and vehicles... then we strike!"

The staff officers quickly recorded his orders, but a trace of worry surfaced on Chief of Staff Semyon's face.

"General, there is one matter I believe requires your attention..."

"Speak."

"There is still no sign of enemy armored vehicles in the reports from the forward observation posts."

Denikin looked back at his Chief of Staff, the excitement fading from his face.

"Up to this point, the only forces crossing are infantry and a small number of horses."

Semyon flipped through the reports in his hand to confirm, continuing, "The enemy's long-range artillery is intense, and the armored airship is providing suppressive fire... But our retreating perimeter units report that the suppression is entirely from long-range artillery and airship fire."

"There is absolutely no sign of armored vehicles on the ground..."

Denikin's right eye twitched violently. This information was indeed unsettling.

During the battles a few days prior, aside from the armored airship in the sky, what left the deepest impression was the Saxons' armored vehicles.

It was those Saxon half-tracks that employed the tactic of suddenly charging out and striking forces mid-crossing, inflicting catastrophic damage on the crossing Southern Army.

But now... the enemy was crossing the river themselves, but hadn't brought their armored units?

Several staff officers also noticed this anomaly. After whispering among themselves, one tentatively offered an idea.

"Could it be that the armored vehicles are trailing behind? Waiting for the infantry to establish a bridgehead before crossing?"

"Possible," another added. "Armored vehicles require heavy pontoon bridges to cross. Their engineers might need more time to construct them..."

"Or they might have been transferred to Kyiv," another staff officer guessed. "After all, there have been continuous reports of the Rebels reinforcing Kyiv over the past few days..."

Semyon didn't join the speculation. He just stared at the map, his fingers repeatedly rubbing the markers representing the Saxon armored units.

The missing armored vehicles...

Damn it, he felt something was wrong.

"General," Semyon finally spoke. "I suggest placing Wrangel's First Reserve Army on high alert and preparing them for immediate support operations."

Denikin nodded. He was already considering this.

"Comms officer."

"Here."

"Contact Wrangel. Tell them to remain vigilant and coordinate. The First Reserve Army must be ready to deploy into combat at a moment's notice!"

The comms officer saluted, turned, and hurried off.

Denikin turned to the other officers present, sweeping his gaze over them.

"Whether they have armored vehicles or not, regardless of how they plan to use them... we still have an untouched reserve army. Combined with our frontal forces... that's nearly two hundred thousand men."

"Two hundred thousand against less than a hundred thousand. The advantage is ours!"

"Since the Rebels dare to force a crossing, we will ensure none return!"

"Yes, General!"

The White Army officers in the command room stood straight, responding in unison.

Chief of Staff Semyon also nodded, but his lowered hand gripped his pencil tightly, the unease in his heart refusing to dissipate quickly.

And the White Army Chief of Staff's unease was soon validated...

Less than five minutes later, hurried footsteps suddenly echoed outside the command room. The comms officer who had just left practically kicked the door open and rushed back in.

Seeing the man's panicked, sweat-drenched face, Semyon's expression instantly fell.

Denikin turned around, frowning. Already suppressing his anger, he immediately scolded the man.

"Stand up straight!"

The comms officer hastily scrambled to a halt.

"You are a senior officer of the Army Headquarters! If even you are this panicked, how are the troops below supposed to fight with peace of mind?!"

"Reporting, General, my apologies."

The comms officer caught his breath and stood at attention.

"But there is a true emergency!"

"The 17th Infantry Regiment has sent an urgent call for reinforcements... They are under fierce attack! Requesting immediate support!"

The color instantly drained from Denikin's face.

"The 17th Infantry Regiment?"

"Yes! The 17th Infantry Regiment of the left flank screening force!"

Denikin rushed to the operational map, his finger pinpointing the 17th Infantry Regiment's location.

It was the outermost of the three infantry regiments deployed in a triangular formation on the army's left flank. It was also one of the screening forces left behind to cover the main body's rear when they contracted their flank forces two days ago.

"When did it start? From which direction is the attack coming?"

"Unclear. The telegram only stated they are facing a coordinated assault by massive numbers of vehicles and infantry. The firepower is incredibly fierce..." The comms officer swallowed hard. "And then we lost all contact with them completely."

"Try contacting them again!" Denikin slammed the desk. "We must find out what's happening on the left flank... Right, order the units still converging on the front to dispatch recon squads to ascertain the situation!"

The comms officer turned to run, but before he reached the door, another officer from the comms section rushed in, nearly colliding with him.

"General!"

Unable to even apologize, this officer reported another piece of terrible news to Denikin in a trembling voice.

"Contact with the 17th Regiment has been completely severed... Simultaneously, we have temporarily lost contact with the 23rd and 31st Regiments!"

The command room fell deadly silent.

All three regiments of the triangular left flank deployment had lost contact.

Denikin stood motionless before the map, only his breathing growing increasingly heavy.

Although these three regiments had consistently been understrength among the left flank units, together they still numbered nearly nine thousand men.

Their equipment was a bit sub-par, but they still possessed over a dozen field guns and dozens of heavy machine guns. Logically speaking, even if hit by a surprise attack, they shouldn't all lose contact in such a short time.

Unless... the scale and speed of the attack far exceeded their ability to respond.

"Chief of Staff." Denikin looked at Semyon beside him.

The latter stepped up. The two looked almost simultaneously at the highly endangered area on the map.

"General."

Semyon's Adam's apple bobbed.

"I think... we now know where that missing Saxon armored unit went."

The knuckles of Denikin's hand gripping the edge of the map turned white.

"Where did they cross the river?" His voice could barely contain his fury. "Is our southern reconnaissance completely blind?!"

No one could answer.

Because everyone's attention had been drawn to the frontal crossing operation at Rzhyshchiv.

And long before that, the intensity of flank reconnaissance had been drastically reduced due to the contraction of forces.

Denikin looked up at the blank area on the operational map extending from the south... There were no blue markers there, nor any pre-planned defensive measures.

Because no one ever imagined the enemy would take such a massive detour... cross the river at some unknown location, and drive a knife straight into their soft underbelly.

But that was exactly what they did.

...

Meanwhile, on the White Army Southern Army's left flank, the 17th Infantry Regiment's camp... or rather, its former camp.

The defensive line, which was somewhat intact twenty minutes ago, ceased to exist.

Morin popped out of the roof hatch of his half-track command vehicle, scanning the breached makeshift positions ahead with his binoculars. The enemy 17th Infantry Regiment's camp was burning.

The Instruction Brigade's first wave of assault came far too fast.

Klaus and a squadron of Thunder Warriors, accompanied by the 1st Battalion of the Motorized Infantry Instruction Regiment and the 1st Battalion of the Armored Instruction Regiment acting as the main assault force, crept up to the perimeter of the enemy 17th Regiment just as dawn broke.

At that time, some White Army soldiers were just waking up and eating breakfast; others were still asleep in their blankets.

Sentries in the outpost positions spotted the dust rising on the distant horizon first, but by the time they realized something was wrong and finally sent out a warning signal, the Instruction Brigade's half-tracks had already closed the distance to less than four hundred meters.

What followed was a steamrolling devoid of any suspense.

The nine Thunder Warriors clad in "Mj?lnir" armor charged into the White Army positions with terrifying momentum even before the half-tracks arrived, executing a direct decapitation strike against the enemy regimental headquarters.

The half-tracks then charged into the camp, providing cover for the armored infantry.

Soon after, the trailing infantry battalions rushed in, while the armored infantry began fanning out in all directions.

The horrifically superior individual firepower ensured that any White Army soldiers attempting to organize resistance paid a devastating price.

The entire process took less than fifteen minutes.

The communications tent of the 17th Infantry Regiment was taken out by a direct hit from a mortar shell shortly after the battle began. That was the last time they successfully transmitted a telegram.

The resistance from the remaining two infantry regiments was even feebler than the 17th's.

Perhaps the realization that allied forces were breached in such a short time made the commanders of these two regiments realize the invading enemy was utterly unstoppable.

Or perhaps the nine "monsters" in heavy armor, shrugging off the attacks of surrounding White Army soldiers as they smashed through directly to the regimental headquarters in one breath, simply terrified them out of their wits.

Regardless, when Morin's command detachment drove onto the enemy positions, what they saw were massive numbers of White Army soldiers lining up to toss their weapons onto the ground.

The two White Army regimental commanders were still somewhat dazed. They even wanted to ask the Instruction Brigade to hold a relatively formal surrender ceremony for them...

Hearing this request, Morin merely stood atop his command vehicle looking down at them, expressionlessly shaking his head. He then delivered a sentence that left the two White Army commanders with incredibly complex expressions.

"I'm sorry, but I don't have time to accept your surrender... Have your men hand over all weapons and ammunition, and then you are dismissed."

By 8:00 AM, the first phase objective outlined in Morin's mission package—annihilating the White Army's left flank screening force—had been completely achieved.

Throughout the process, the unreasonable breakthrough capabilities of the "Thunder Warriors" against conventional infantry units ensured the battle concluded without suspense.

The casualty exchange ratio was skewed to an almost surreal degree...

But Morin had no time to rejoice over the numbers reported to him. For the Instruction Brigade, this was merely the opening act of the current battle.

"Tell all units not to linger. Continue the assault according to your 'mission packages'!"

"This is just the appetizer! The main course is waiting up ahead!"

...

White Army Southern Army Headquarters.

Nearly two hours had passed since receiving the 17th Regiment's distress telegram.

Denikin's command desk was covered in newly delivered telegrams, each worse than the last.

Within two short hours, all three regiments of the left flank screening force had lost contact. What this meant right now went without saying.

Chief of Staff Semyon stood before the map, his face equally ashen.

"General... the enemy's speed of advance far exceeds estimates. This is undeniably the style of that armored unit..."

Denikin didn't answer. His hands rested on the edge of the desk, his shoulders trembling slightly—a manifestation of his suppressed, explosive fury.

He had been stabbed in the side, and he was only realizing it now.

That Saxon commander across the river had sent a map, postured for a river crossing, and drawn everyone's attention to the front... while he personally led his armored forces on an impossibly long flanking maneuver, plunging in from a direction no one had anticipated.

"Where is Wrangel?!" Denikin suddenly spun around, his voice a near-roar. "Have we contacted the Reserve Army?!"

"Contact established!" The Army comms officer wiped sweat from his forehead. "The First Reserve Army reports they are currently assembling forces, but their vanguard is at least three hours of march time away from the enemy's possible location..."

"Three hours?!"

Denikin grabbed a pencil from his desk and hurled it to the floor.

Three hours... How far could those enemy armored vehicles advance in three hours? Fifty kilometers? Sixty kilometers?

At this moment, reports from the frontal battle arrived... The river crossing offensive at Rzhyshchiv was continuing. The first wave of Rebels had established a bridgehead on the east bank, and pontoon bridges were being rapidly constructed.

The frontline divisions were awaiting orders to counterattack.

But now... how could they counterattack?

If he diverted frontal forces to plug the hole in his flank, the Rebels at Rzhyshchiv would seize the opportunity to expand their bridgehead.

If he proceeded with the original plan to launch a frontal counterattack, his vulnerable flank could be snapped in two at any moment.

Beside him, Chief of Staff Semyon pressed his free hand against his temple, feeling something churning violently in his chest.

He remembered the words he had spoken to Denikin earlier—

"...haven't spotted any armored vehicles on the opposite bank."

"Hopefully, I'm just overthinking it."

He wasn't overthinking it. He had never been overthinking it.

At this moment, Denikin finally understood why the Saxon commander across the river had dared to deliver the map of the crossing points directly to him.

The enemy wasn't being arrogant or provocative...

From start to finish, that map had only one purpose—to ensure the Southern Army locked all its attention on the front, completely blind to any other direction.

And he, a veteran general who had galloped across battlefields for years, had walked right into the enemy's trap.