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"This……"
"However, I'd like to add something: while the weapons used by the KMF are extremely limited against the Tiger II, our assault guns, in previous firing tests, fired six shells with the only HE shells we have available, and the result... cracked through the Tiger II's frontal armor..."
"Beat...beat it to pieces..."
"Of course, this result was very unexpected for us. After inspection, it turned out that the armor of this Tiger King had not been maintained for a long time, and it had taken about 20 rounds of our ammunition. Later, we used the MVS sword, which is about to be widely deployed, to cut a large piece of the armor that had broken off. It took more than five seconds to cut it open. On the battlefield, this is too long and too dangerous for the pilot."
"Well, that's enough about the protection... Speaking of maintenance, could you try to maintain the engine? It shouldn't be too difficult."
"Ah, gentlemen, you may need to be fully prepared for the engine problem. Our inspection revealed that the Tiger King's engine doesn't have a battery connector; instead, there's a strong, lingering smell, very much like gasoline..."
Everyone was devastated...
"Gasoline? Gasoline? How can a gasoline engine push something this heavy?!"
"Yes, our weapons have long since stopped using petroleum products for power..."
[Author's Note: I will address this vast and controversial issue of energy in the CG world in a future analysis chapter. I will not elaborate further in this chapter.]
"So, do you seem to have any ideas, Doctor?" The prince suddenly asked, a hint of curiosity in his voice.
"Please let me finish speaking." The doctor suddenly removed the photo of the Tiger II and put up a destroyed T-34. "This is a Soviet 'Bison' destroyed by the Expeditionary Force. According to our measurements, it weighs 32 tons, is 8.10 meters long, 3 meters wide, and 2.74 meters high. It occupies only a little over half the area of the Tiger II, but its firepower, armor, and mobility are still a headache for us."
"As for the 'Great Horned Rhinoceros,' we haven't obtained any complete tank wreckage, so it's hard to make a judgment. But I'm certain that this Soviet tank's specifications are no worse than the Tiger II in terms of tonnage, firepower, and armor. Otherwise, they wouldn't have been able to win the war against Nazi Germany. Most importantly, after inspection, we found that the Bison's engine, as well as the engine that was luckily ejected from a destroyed 'Great Horned Rhinoceros,' was also powered by fuel, not electricity. So I estimate that the enemy in District 45 has already surpassed our electric motors in terms of fuel power."
"Tch, don't joke around, Doctor." The crowd scoffed. "We know you know a lot, but that's not a license to fool us, okay?"
"It's just..."
The meeting room was filled with chaotic whispers, making the PhD student look embarrassed.
"Ah, alright, alright, I know you're all wondering, so shall we skip this part for now?"
"So, what are you trying to say?" The eldest prince suddenly became interested.
"Let's skip the power aspect for now. What I'm thinking is that we need to focus on improving our weaponry. After all, the enemy in District 45 has already surpassed our previous thinking to a certain extent. We need to bring out heavy firepower and heavy armor to counter the Soviet and American tanks. I'm sure that relying solely on our current KMF equipment, with the machine guns and recoilless rifles currently in service, is simply like breaking those newly manufactured steel knights into pieces and scattering them like gold nuggets in District 45."
"what?……"
The meeting room erupted into another heated discussion, and Odysseus, not wanting to say much, could only wait for everyone to reach a consensus...
……
“What you just said is very challenging, Doctor.”
"Huh? Lord Lloyd?" Flock looked at the "old backbone" who was slowly getting up from his seat in the conference room.
"There are indeed many points in the questions you just raised that prove the enemy is very powerful, right? But you may have overlooked one thing from the beginning, which is a key word in the American's answer."
"...The first keyword, 'scarcity'?"
"Lancelot is the most authoritative and combat-ready KMF in Britannia that I created. But how many times has Lancelot been able to independently storm enemy camps and achieve his ultimate goal? In your memory?"
"Uh... I don't think so... In the Kyushu incident, there was Zero... the Black Rebellion, Avalon and Lady Cecil..."
“Not every KMF in Britannia is called Lancelot, and not every pilot is called Suzaku Kururugi, aha?!” Lloyd exclaimed with a snicker as sweet as pudding, calling out his human mecha part from Area 11.
"Similarly, not every tank from the United States, the Soviet Union, and the recently deceased Germany is called Tiger II or 'Giant Rhinoceros'. We don't need to make a big fuss about these few white elephants. To put it bluntly, we can just use the methods that Britannia's enemies used to deal with Lancelot to deal with these things."
"But……"
"And you forgot, the maintenance of these tanks is terrible. The Middle Eastern Federation and the EU have already used their land cruisers to confront us head-on. They are not well-suited for flexible head-on combat. So, is it necessary for us to abandon the KMF, which is currently the most suitable, in order to create a bunch of cumbersome fat pigs? The mechanical limbs of the KMF can be disassembled and repaired or replaced at any time. Tanks? I can't think of anything other than tracks. If the cannons and armor can be disassembled and played with like that, then these things are definitely more useful as decorations."
"but now……"
"So, in general, for our enemies, the Bison is more than enough to be fired at long range with recoilless cannons. As for the Tiger King and the Rhinoceros, we can maneuver to their flanks and attack them before they can even aim at the KMFs. After all, I have no doubt that the KMF pilots aren't all useless. There are thousands of Britannia's warriors, but only a few of those 'Iron Turtle's' that are all show and no substance. They won't have a chance to cause much trouble on the battlefield."
"So, Doctor, do you really think that if we follow your suggestion and create new weapons modeled after the Tiger King, we can break out of this predicament?" Lloyd's words were like a bucket of ice water, chilling the restless crowd to the bone...
……
The meeting ended in a dazed and confused atmosphere...
The two generals walked side by side down the corridor, muttering to themselves.
"So I want to know, what do you think...?"
"Like you, we're really struggling to face those tanks with just the KMF right now. This time, the enemy's tanks are not only completely different inside and out, but we also can't adapt to their fighting methods. If we don't change our approach, we'll probably just be throwing our lives away..."
"Yes, but thankfully, the armor-piercing rounds for the assault guns are finally almost ready to be deployed, so..."
"How about we design some tanks and test them out?"
"It's possible, but there are quite a few stubborn old fogies up here."
"Hmm, Dr. Lloyd, is that right?"
"Although much of what he said makes sense, it's just that..."
"Just what?"
"I find it really strange how he managed to pinpoint the weaknesses of those stupid turtles like the Tiger II and Rhinoceros so accurately, while simultaneously controlling his impulses to avoid addressing the issue of 'KMF tanks being unable to destroy tanks in Area 45, while those tanks can easily toy with KMF tanks like idiots'..."
"Well, maybe this is what 'dignity' is..."
Chapter 113, Section 171: A Familiar Yet Unfamiliar Night
The land around Berlin was quiet, with only sporadic gunfire and explosions echoing in the distance. Unless you listened carefully, nothing would pull you out of your dreams in the early hours of the morning.
Not everyone needs to sleep, and not everyone can sleep. Now, in a place that doesn't seem special, in an open field overgrown with weeds, a figure is stirring.
"Slurp... Hmm!" It was a young woman. She lay firmly on the ground, took off her water bottle, which smelled a bit like vodka, took a sip, and then turned her eyes back to the Mosin-Nagant sniper rifle in front of her.
"That's awesome! Not having enough alcohol to drink is actually pretty good, adding more vodka to water is a good idea... Hey?"
Suddenly something cold poked her spine; judging by its shape...
"Ahem." On the right, another female soldier, lying on the ground, coughed lightly. She had just pulled out her pistol and pressed the muzzle against the drunken girl...
"Okay, okay... I understand... I won't say anything more, I won't say anything more..."
The blonde female soldier who had pointed the gun at her then slapped the gun on her head before putting it away.
……
That's right, it was Catherine who was drinking, and Ilya who was silently reprimanding people; they had been standing guard here for several hours.
Did they finally meet up with Lieutenant Lemilia? No, the Eighth Guards Army retreated southeast of Berlin, while they were currently northeast of Berlin.
……
About five or six days ago, when that massive swarm of planes descended upon German airspace like a locust plague, the two of them immediately ran and dodged amidst the chaotic chaos of the air disaster. Then, amidst the flames, the night wind, and the loss of communication, they became separated from the lieutenant and his men.
In the end, they became separated from the main force of the entire Eighth Guards Army.
Without cover, without guidance, all that remained were the steel behemoths constantly parachuting and attacking across the plains and villages. Could they possibly fight their way through with just their rifles to regroup? These weren't anti-tank rifles, nor were they Barretts; it was simply unrealistic.
Left with no other choice, they retreated to the north, where they were fortunate enough to find a unit from the Third Assault Army and stayed there temporarily.
Although Ilya remained outwardly composed, she still felt a touch of girlish excitement upon suddenly being in a new environment. Catherine, on the other hand, was different. During the days when she was busy driving the Germans back to their ancestral graves, she had been serving in this unit—meaning that the Eighth Guards Army was a "stranger" to her.
It was understandable that Ekaterina was instinctively excited, but she also had a little something to be unhappy about—after wandering around the old unit for several days, she hadn't seen anyone she knew and couldn't talk to anyone. Apart from trying to get close to the new comrades, she could only obediently follow Ilya and chatter to herself in a low voice.
……
"Are you cold?" Ilya actually spoke to her first, using words of concern!
"Ah...ah, I'm fine! Ha!" Ekaterina's lips curled into a sharp smile. "Do you need me to put my coat on? I think..."
"Then loosen your cloak a bit and press it down on my 'owl glasses'."
"Huh?" She awkwardly turned around, letting Ilya remove the thing under her—she had thought it was a rock.
Ilya held the "owl glasses" in front of her eyes like she was holding a telescope, and quietly looked ahead.
This "mirror" is completely black. Does it look familiar? That's right, it was snatched from those Britannian infantrymen in black. I don't know which curious comrade played with it for a while and then discovered that it could help people spot enemies at night without any lighting!
From the day of the airborne offensive, on the second and third nights, they were assigned to an infantry company, responsible for holding the position and resisting enemy nighttime raids and attacks. Their task, naturally, was to keep an eye on the enemy crew members who had lost their vehicles in the battle and escaped from the steel giants. As soon as one landed or tried to find a place to hide, they would take advantage of their inattention and fire a bullet, adding another entry to their logbook.
Sigh, I have to say these idiots are no match for the Nazi thugs. They never know how to sneak around; they just want to run away as soon as they get the chance. The night was dark, but the piles of wrecked bodies that had been turned into campfires were enough to illuminate the escapees. What's more, there were enemy soldiers, who looked like but weren't quite medics, wearing yellow vests, who actually dared to come and check if every one of their "left-behind" comrades had perished.
Who knows if they were medics? The Soviet Red Army didn't care about the Red Cross's get-out-of-jail-free card. After they shot down these bastards, when Ekaterina went to check on them, she touched them and found that these yellow vests were wearing these "owl goggles"—yes, night vision goggles.
I can't remember who gave her the nickname, but Ilya heard Ekaterina mention it quite a bit; they only learned about it on the second night. Such novel and effective tools were naturally necessary for the soldiers, and even more so for the two snipers, making them better able to stand guard during this period with their assistance.
By the fourth day, they could finally get some rest—the comrades on the southern front seemed to have launched a large-scale offensive, and these mad dogs who had sprung up from Berlin looked too busy to cause any more trouble here. So, they had two very quiet nights.
Just as Ilya sees through her night vision goggles, all you can see is the breeze rustling some tall weeds and the remains of the dolls left on the open ground turning into a rock that lives there day by day. There is no news at all—no enemy to fight, no intelligence to report back to the rear through the communication devices they capture from the enemy. No wonder Catherine couldn't help but want to find some wine.
However, they can indeed relax a bit, because their task tonight is not simply to lie there motionless like turtles.
The sky was gradually brightening; dawn was approaching.
At that moment, several kilometers behind Ekaterina and Ilya, a deafening roar of train whistles surged forth like a collapsing cliff!
The two exchanged a glance, then looked up at the sky. With the screech of the Firehawk, volley after volley of Katyusha rockets launched from the vehicle chassis soared over the heavens above them. Meteor showers streaked across the black sky like galloping horses, like a winter blizzard, roaring like wildfire across the distant earth.
One after another, fiery and explosive fireballs, even before the dawn, dyed the horizon red.
"Alright, the attack is about to begin, we should prepare to retreat."
"Good! Hehe! Just wait for the other comrades to tear those lackeys to shreds! RUA! For Comrade Stalin!—"
Chapter 114, Section 172: A Terrible Game of Chess
"Let's cut this part to here..."
What was unfolding inside the Reichstag building in Berlin before dawn?
Inside the command center, information dissemination continued smoothly. Only on one side, two communications soldiers sat around a computer, with Duke Sassler and Lieutenant General Wood standing behind them, and staff officers nearby, relaying orders to the computer screen.
So what are they discussing, like drawing up a blueprint? Look at what's on the screen: in a series of chaotic, shaky shots, Britannia's KMFs and tanks are ablaze, a scene of utter disarray, like an earthquake. And in several videos, you can clearly see traces of green steel—Soviet Air Force fighter jets and Soviet tanks recklessly crashing across the plains.
These are all the battlefield videos that survived when the 4th Newfoundland Brigade was nearly annihilated by the Soviet army's land and air attack. They are from the KMF cameras that can still be extracted—not a single video shows a calm and collected demeanor, and not a single video was not extracted amidst the chaos and disaster.
……
"Well, what do those two generals need? It doesn't really matter, since they urgently need it, let's help them out first."
His Excellency the Duke stared at the flickering screen, lost in thought. Hadn't he just heard that Area 11 had just finished discussing the terrifyingly heavy tank they brought back? And then two generals seemed to have considerable doubts about the meeting's outcome, so they—not entirely against the rules—came to communicate with the Duke of Area 45, wanting to provide them with some footage of engagements with Soviet vehicles, especially recent field battle videos.
The Duke certainly didn't know, nor did he intend to inquire, about their purpose, but seeing that their attitude didn't seem to be for use as propaganda material, he naturally agreed.
I can't imagine how surprised the two generals were to see such a scene of annihilation—losing a brigade isn't a terrible thing in itself, but the fact that it happened so quickly has left the Duke still somewhat bewildered.
……
Then, at that moment, everyone in the room seemed to hear the faint sound of a train whistle in the distance, accompanied by the slight surging of a flood—everyone's first reaction was not "What happened?", but "Where are the Soviet troops fighting again?"
"Sir! There's a situation!" the soldier in charge of the radio shouted. "North of Berlin, a small town we're stationed in has been bombarded by the enemy!"
"Which town? Which unit is stationed there? Why wasn't this reported?"
"Excuse me, sir! The enemy's bombardment over the radio is too loud! My ears are about to be pierced by nails!"
"What!--"
……
"Report to Berlin! We are under shelling! Respond if you hear me! We are under shelling!"
No one knew which small town on the outskirts of Berlin—all of which had been nearly destroyed in the war—let alone this little pile of bricks and tiles, which had been completely swallowed up by billowing smoke and thunder!
In the sky, rows of southward-flying geese streaked across the heavens, their bright, shrewd tails slowly illuminating the early winter dawn at 52 degrees north latitude. Neat and orderly, yet intricately chaotic, they drifted in the air, seemingly oblivious to anything that could cause them alarm.
But when that terrifying howl, like the earth-shattering horn of barbarian cavalry charging down the hillside, spread across the land like a net, the deadly vulture revealed its claws, and the tiger's jaws opened their sharp teeth—and only then did you, poor thing, realize that the scythe of death from hell was already too close to you!
"hidden!--"
Before they could even exhale all the air from their chests, rows of terrifying Katyusha rockets bared their predatory fangs, their enthusiastic smiles, like those of the Siberian people, and sang the final notes of their death symphony as they rained down on the poor little town like a storm of arrows.
From the inside out? From left to right? Neither! The passionate and unrestrained Katyusha wouldn't speak to the Soviet enemy with any rigid rules. Like ink splashed by a child, bullets exploded haphazardly throughout the town, the sounds of vehicles catching fire, desperate screams, and the violent crushing of houses by a hot road roller—it was like a pot of boiling, malevolent blood, like a ravaged cave, festering, torn apart, forced to howl across the land!
“Calling Berlin! Cough cough... Please respond if you hear me!…”
"Hey! Louder! Louder!"
"I've already shouted it at the top of my lungs! Cough cough cough!—"
No wonder the Britannian commander in the town couldn't report anything no matter how hard he tried. The rocket artillery had almost turned the town upside down, and the radio had just been blown to bits. How could he possibly cry out over the airwaves?