Lin Yu was far from the first to discover the Lanforthians’ impending assault, as they prepared to force a crossing of the Mang River.
The Reserve 104th Regiment had long since stationed scouts on the river’s right bank to observe enemy movements, and these scouts had already broadcast the news of the Lanforthian army’s impending forced crossing.
Yet, the major, peering through his binoculars, remained blissfully ignorant.
The Lanforthian army had shrewdly chosen a ford four kilometers downstream from the bridge as their crossing point.
Here, the river’s depth barely reached the waist, rendering it entirely navigable on foot with sufficient caution.
Gritting their teeth, plunging into the water with rifles hoisted high above their heads, it was a perilous but not insurmountable task—a challenge the Lanforthian grunts were now undertaking with grim determination.
The railway bridge was, without question, critical to the logistics of a modern army.
Without a ceaseless flow of ammunition and provisions delivered by rail, an attacking force of this magnitude could never hope to be sustained by mere vehicles, human porters, and pack animals.
The sheer volume of artillery shells required to maintain such an offensive would devour over half of the available transport capacity.
What, then, of the myriad other necessities?
Would infantry ammunition not be conveyed?
What about their rations?
Essential medical supplies, or the materials to mend roads and bridges?
Modern warfare, at its core, was defined by a single, all-encompassing word: “Logistics.”
Should this audacious Lanforthian unit, daring to force a crossing of the Mang River, find itself mired in a stalemate, their inevitable destiny would be utter annihilation.
While soldiers could indeed force their way across a river, ammunition possessed no such magical ability to swim to the opposite bank.
The moment their carried ordnance was depleted, these men would be left with the stark choice of launching a bayonet charge.
To initiate an assault on the right bank positions under such conditions would prove even more foolhardy than the ill-fated attack on the left bank on the battle’s opening day, which had lacked any artillery cover.
Following several days of arduous digging and strategic development, the right bank fortifications had fully materialized.
They stood entirely intact, untouched by any artillery bombardment.
Dispatching a surprise force to launch a flanking ambush in this fashion would utterly fail to seize the right bank positions in a single swift stroke, even with their artillery capable of directly pounding the right bank in support.
The right bank positions now bore no resemblance to the rudimentary, waist-deep drainage ditches of the left bank.
These fortifications boasted a full complement of shellproof bunkers, communication trenches, and formidable firing points.
Indeed, with the addition of barbed wire, they would be virtually indistinguishable from the defensive line Commander Yang’s original unit had held before their crushing defeat.
The soldiers of the Reserve 104th Regiment brimmed with confidence in their ability to hold this position.
They swiftly moved to their firing points, resting rifle muzzles on sandbags, and stood vigilant, anticipating the Lanforthian light infantry’s “special suicide mission” as they braved the river crossing.
As Lin Yu watched the distant, writhing figures on the riverbank, a sudden memory surfaced of enemy soldiers from her past life, those who had traversed great rivers in rubber boats only to arrive at their very positions.
‘A river crossing attack, unsupported by a bridge, would inevitably end like this,’ she mused.
‘It would become mere fodder for others’ conversations, transforming a “special military operation” into nothing more than a “special delivery mission.”‘
‘Still… death descends equally upon every grunt, whether Lanforthian private or Diacla private second class.’
‘Only, I must witness so much death again, witness so much blood.’
“It’s just a bridge, isn’t it?” she muttered, her voice barely audible.
“What’s the point of fighting to the death, leaving so many bodies strewn about?”
“They promised it wouldn’t be trench warfare after breaking through the lines, yet here they are, launching assaults everywhere with colossal casualties and meager gains.”
“Isn’t this precisely the same?”
Standing several kilometers away on the Mang River’s right bank, Lin Yu found herself mourning for the myriad lives destined for oblivion.
[War. War never changes.]
Concluding with such a hackneyed line, Lin Yu offered them a silent wish of good fortune.
Her blessing was not for the Lanforthian “devils,” but rather for the Diacla soldiers holding the right bank positions.
These were the initial units to retreat from the left bank, having recently concluded their rest and replenishment within the logistical zone.
They had rotated into the right bank positions when the forces previously stationed there were redeployed to defend the left bank.
This should have been a period of tranquil garrison duty, yet they were now to endure a ferocious Lanforthian assault.
Tonight, a peaceful night’s sleep would undoubtedly elude them.
Lin Yu drew her gaze back, turning to approach the interview team, who were now a flurry of activity.
“Major Liu,” she inquired, “the interviews and filming are concluded, aren’t they?
Am I free to leave now?”
“Of course, of course, as you wish,” Major Liu responded, his voice laced with palpable tension.
Even as he spoke to Lin Yu, he turned, frantically gesturing for several individuals to swiftly pack their belongings and transfer to another truck in their convoy.
Noticing Yang Xi, who had been left idling for over ten minutes, now approaching them, Lin Yu took a couple of steps, drawing him forward to stand before Major Liu.
“His interview is finished too, isn’t it?” she asked.
“I’ll take him along with me, then?”
“No problem at all,” Major Liu affirmed.
“My work here is concluded; it’s time to make a run for it… oh, I mean, time to reposition.”
Liu Kaiqi, his nerves frayed, wrenched open the car door and slid into the front seat.
He then bellowed at the two reporters to scramble back.
“You two haven’t eaten, have you?!”
“Get back here, now!”
“Or I swear I’ll abandon you on the battlefield!”
Having finished his outburst, the Major swiveled back to Lin Yu and Yang Xi.
“Thank you both for your cooperation earlier,” he stated, “and may the Emperor be with you.”
He offered a crisp salute, then slammed the car door shut, his right hand clamping tightly onto the grab handle beside the convertible’s windshield.
Observing that the two reporters would take another half-minute to reach them, Lin Yu seized this fleeting moment to pose a question to Major Liu.
“Why are you so tense, Major?
The Lanforthians are merely vying for control of the bridge; they should currently be assaulting the right bank positions, which they won’t manage to seize anytime soon.”
“Right bank positions, you say?
See for yourself!”
He thrust the binoculars directly into Lin Yu’s hands, causing her a moment of hesitation as she debated whether to accept them.
Ultimately, she took them, for the other party had, after all, urged her to “see for herself.”
Raising the binoculars to her eyes, she instinctively adjusted the magnification, and the distant panorama steadily expanded into clear view.
Lin Yu clearly discerned the Lanforthian soldiers, their khaki uniforms and distinctive saucer-shaped helmets leaving no room for doubt.
Yet… their assault was directed neither at the bridge nor, more surprisingly, at the right bank positions.
Instead, they were advancing upon the hill—that modest peak situated on the right bank.
She vividly remembered the strategic layout: the command post at the foot of the hill, the artillery positions on the reverse slope, and the medical aid station established on the flat ground behind it.
“Huh?”
Dumbfounded, she slowly lowered the binoculars, and Lin Yu finally comprehended why the Major was executing such a swift repositioning, as if pursued by specters.
‘So, all this time, those desperate commando units crossing the river weren’t targeting the fortifications at all,’ she realized, ‘but rather the artillery positions and even the command post?’
Constrained by manpower, the Diacla army lacked the resources to excavate man-deep trenches along the entire Mang River bank.
Consequently, their defensive fortifications only encompassed a limited area, radiating one to two kilometers northeast and southwest from the central bridge.
The Lanforthians’ chosen crossing points, whether on the left or right bank, were completely devoid of defensive structures.
The Diacla army had merely stationed scattered scouts on the right bank, a precaution against any sudden enemy shift in tactics that might involve forcing a river crossing to encircle the bridge.
Currently, the scouts’ flares drifted across the sky, flawlessly performing their warning function.
Yet, the Lanforthians were not launching an assault on the right bank positions themselves.
Instead, they pressed directly towards the rear of the right bank positions, heedless of their isolated deep penetration and the tactical disadvantage of assaulting uphill.
They charged relentlessly upward from the base of the mountain.
“Beep beep—”
The Major’s driver stomped on the accelerator—or rather, a “magic stone pedal” (TL Note: A humorous reference to a futuristic or magical accelerator, playing on the Chinese term ‘youmen’ for accelerator and ‘moshimen’ for magic stone gate), sending the car hurtling into the distance.
The accompanying truck followed in its wake, rapidly repositioning rearward.
He didn’t even spare a thought for retrieving the binoculars, vanishing from sight in a cloud of dust within a mere handful of seconds.
Lin Yu, conversely, remained rooted to the spot, clutching the binoculars the Major had abandoned, her gaze fixed, awaiting the unfolding of events.
No, not merely awaiting the unfolding of events, but rather acutely foreseeing their inevitable development.
The Lanforthians had deployed a light infantry unit, numbering several hundred, to cross the river and launch a surprise attack on the Diacla army’s rear.
What, then, was the combat capability of the Diacla forces stationed in the rear?
They were the heavily battered rotation units—those who had just fought to the death against the Lanforthians on the left bank and had subsequently withdrawn to the rear for rest and replenishment!
While crossing the river would undeniably drain their strength, the river itself would not unleash artillery shells or bullets.
The Lanforthian soldiers, having forced their way across the Mang River, would emerge unwounded; at worst, their trousers would be drenched and their shirts half-damp, causing a chill as the wind caught them during their charge—a minor inconvenience for robust young grunts.
But what of those rotation units, fresh from bloody combat, either wounded or utterly exhausted?
Could they, without the benefit of fortifications, possibly withstand a downhill charge from Lanforthian soldiers who had already gained the hilltop?
“Hey, hey, Yang Xi,” she whispered, nudging the man beside her, “we… we seem to be losing, don’t we?”