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"KMF, infantry, aim at the tracks. Since it's so fearless and charging at us, let's make it kneel on the ground. Don't we have time to play with it?"
A short while later, as the artillery fire drew closer, the broken tracks fell to the ground with a thud, like dried salted fish. The last survivor stood frozen in place, with his fellow survivors behind him, some even emitting black smoke.
"British artillery fire is coming!"
Just as everyone lay down for a moment, a different sound came from the front of the position—unlike the high-explosive bombs that brought violence and death, a towering white smoke wall blocked everyone's view.
They lay anxiously on the edge of the trench, aiming ahead, until the smoke cleared and the wide-open hatch of the tank came into view, at which point they breathed a sigh of relief.
"They've retreated! They've retreated! Hahahaha!" Looking at the empty wilderness and the tanks abandoned by the British army, scattered everywhere like rocks on the shore, the Britannian soldiers shouted excitedly.
"This is General Trosa. Please respond." At this moment, the commander of the defense line received a message from his superiors: "All personnel, please remain in place and arrive at the unit that will take over your mission in one hour, along with the reinforcements for your unit."
"Haha, good! Soldiers, tidy yourselves up, clean up the battlefield, and then tell the newcomers how those fake imperial bastards made us lose!"
Chapter 309, Section 397: Starting from the Trench
The plan by this alien Union Jack, "wearing a false title," to drive the Britannian army back to the Elbe River has become a foregone conclusion.
On the one hand, these men wearing iron hats were indeed much more "docile" and easier to deal with than the Soviet army. On the other hand, the return on the deal entrusted by Elizabeth and Marshal Auchindoun was indeed quite valuable.
Five entire army groups were deployed, and more than half of them were immediately sent to the front lines on the Western Front—although the British were no longer launching offensives, American and British warplanes still haunted the skies like ghosts, either mingling with the KMFs that came to intercept them, or brutally intimidating the soldiers marching in formation on the road with their weapons on them, like lambs and calves in a pasture hearing thunder.
Perhaps, after years of living in comfort and stability, suddenly stepping into a dire and chaotic environment can cause one's mind to become scattered and wavering.
But perhaps every excellent hunting dog will involuntarily tremble with fear the first time it hears a gunshot.
……
"Oh, what do these lines on the ground look like? The channels for diverting molten iron in a steel mill, right? Come on, today those damned generals will sit in the back and wait to be refined into corpse fluid from us."
Many new recruits followed the veterans of the expeditionary force into the trenches, cowering and whispering in fear. Every shell that landed around them only pressed their heads and helmets, which they were clutching tightly with their hands, further against the ground on their hunched backs. Once upon a time, trenches and foxholes had become historical memories in documentaries, symbols of stopping in defense and being afraid to attack.
Their leaders were indeed in the rear, but most of them were urgently learning battlefield skills from the veteran officers in District 45—the first lesson being artillery warfare in the deadly battles with the British.
Everything changed so fast. All the previous elites and experience were wiped clean by the unprecedented hail of bullets, and everyone had to start from scratch.
Just as the rookies were barely managing to stop crying thanks to the veterans' comfort, General Trosa appeared out of nowhere and walked into the trench where they were huddled together. She was indeed a well-known star in the expeditionary force, but the new recruits remembered her beauty more first.
"Welcome to District 45, a place you could never dream of, a place you could never reach. It is a vast and rich land, with enough attraction to make you take up arms and travel to every corner of it—there are the unusual offspring of the traitor Washington left in this world, as well as the British imposters who come here to bully us under our name, and of course, if you have the chance, you will also see exceptionally reckless and burly Russians in the East."
Trosa's hair couldn't cover the gauze and tape around her neck. Still not fully recovered, she spoke loudly, supported by another officer and leaning on her cane, slowly walking past one curious yet innocent face after another.
The British artillery shells that were firing at them kept spouting fountains of mud and flames all around them. While they were busy praying to survive the night and obsessively cleaning themselves of the mud, Trosa and her accompanying officers never stopped for a moment.
Like a grandfather and grandson lost in a stroll in the rain, they chatted and laughed, occasionally twisting their necks to shake off the sand accumulated on their caps, without ever raising their hands to wipe their eyebrows or clean their ears.
"Tsk, look how unreasonable the British are in this world. Everyone is looking forward to a new tomorrow with great enthusiasm, and I am here to visit you all with great enthusiasm. Without saying a word, they throw shells and mud at our heads. Look how scared our pampered young brothers and sisters are."
After hearing this, some soldiers from ordinary backgrounds were too embarrassed to admit it.
The sounds of children crying in the trenches began to decrease, and it became somewhat quiet. Of course, there were still unfortunate children who were hit by shells, and their heart-wrenching screams would suddenly erupt every now and then.
"Cheer up, soldiers. Artillery fire from anywhere in the world is commonplace." Trosa's tone remained calm, encouraging, and slightly teasing, as she made way for the medics carrying the stretchers.
"You are lucky to have arrived here six months after the start of the battle in Sector 45. Look at your heads." While they were slumped in their pits, several squadrons of British Mighty Warrior fighters attempted to attack the artillery positions behind them, but were stopped by the Air Force's KMFs.
"If it weren't for your ancestors' bloody battles and life-or-death struggles, enemy warplanes could be flying in with impunity right now and giving you a haircut with their propellers." Trosa stood there looking up at the sky, her raised right hand as if adjusting her hat, or perhaps saluting the pilots in the air.
"Here I want to tell you a reality: instead of begging for the emperor's and gods' blessings, it's better to hone yourselves and become the sword and shield of the expeditionary force together with your comrades. This is the first lesson I want to teach you—trust! The reason I dare to stand here is because of the merits of these true 'divine soldiers' above you."
"You might ask why I didn't bring your superiors along to experience what it's like to be under fire: it all comes down to 'trust.' They're discussing with other officers how to get those imposters in the opposite trenches to surrender with minimal cost."
"You think you're just being cowardly? No, soldiers, everyone on the battlefield has their own mission, whether similar or different. Don't doubt your comrades or your superiors, and don't do anything out of line on this battlefield. After all, I guarantee with my integrity that any bastard who acts recklessly and waits to die in District 45, regardless of his background, won't even get a fresh coffin."
“Alright, let’s talk about the guys on the other side, the ones who are just dawdling over work for the fake Britannia.” Trosa touched her mouth. “Yeah, on the surface we look no different, but they’re in District 45, and they’ve become the least human of all.”
"They might be carrying old bolt-action rifles, bayonets at the ready, aiming at your intestines, your neck, ripping out all your internal organs, and taking pleasure in it, because they're afraid of what it would be like to lose to us. So you see them acting all respectable, but today, the moment they open fire, they've all been exposed..."
Just then, a sharp gust of wind swept overhead, and a Meteor fighter jet flew close to the soldiers' trenches before disappearing.
The strange noise and sight silenced everyone, who all crouched on the edge of the trench, watching the KMFs who were pursuing them and the vortex at the tip of the meteor's wingtip—they had long heard that the name "Phoenix" in District 45 was even more powerful than the "Minotaur" that had previously caused so much trouble. Those two slender arcs seemed like a noose, and their hearts, which had just calmed down, were once again on edge.
"Oh...tsk, that was loud." When everyone turned around, they found that Trosa's cap had been blown off by the storm whipped up by the phoenix, and her hair was inevitably a mess, like a frostbitten sycamore tree.
Strangely, the general merely picked at his ear, borrowed a dagger from a soldier beside him, calmly combed through his hair with the back of the blade, and then borrowed a pair of goggles to make a dim and shabby little mirror.
“Look, I just don’t like the British in this world.” But no matter how she combed it, Trosa’s hair was still a mess, as if she had just crawled out of a bomb crater. “I thought they were just trying to help me get rid of the dust and mud, but who knew that the hairdryer was powerful enough to push a sailboat across the Atlantic.”
"So you want to be captured by these so-called British? Well, maybe their POW camps have showers, but would you dare use their hairdryers? They'll blow your comb and scalp off, and when we rescue you, you'll all be bald. How embarrassing would that be?"
Finally, some optimistic laughter broke out in the trenches. Trosa took out her binoculars and looked at Vincent and Gloucester chasing the phoenix in the sky. She then gave a task to the officer accompanying her.
"Send word to the Knights of Agincourt, tell them to work harder. General Trosa is treating the new recruits to New Orleans roasted phoenix legs here today!"
……
"The phoenix is at the 3 o'clock position! Be careful and avoid it!"
Like the officers under Trosa, Angelie and Cishian were also bringing new recruits to practice combat skills, but who would have thought they would run into Meteor, this huge trouble.
Now, thanks to their numerical advantage, Meteor's two-plane formation has been broken up and can no longer support each other. However, the number of KMFs that are either injured or killed is almost too many to count on one hand. Other Spitfires and Mustangs are also rushing to their aid from the sky, turning the close combat into the most difficult aerial tug-of-war.
Helpless, Xixi could only try to restrain the meteor, keeping it on a flat course to buy Angelie time.
"You'd better hurry up, let me see how many more new lads I can bring home."
"Easier said than done..." Angelie finally managed to get a position directly above the enemy by rolling and spinning back and forth, and unleashed a barrage of shots at the center of the Meteor's body.
The meteor didn't immediately disintegrate, but its maneuverability gradually became sluggish. The two followed behind it, watching the defeated phoenix swoop down towards the ground. For a moment, the whistling sound of the turbine engine disappeared from the rapidly falling air.
"Hmm?" It suddenly pulled the nose up and wobbled—recalling the wisp of black smoke trailing under the fuselage just now, Xixi'an guessed that Angelie had probably punctured its fuel tank.
"But it shouldn't be leaking so fast, right? Maybe it was running out of fuel? It seems the phoenix isn't one that can fly for long..." Xixi'an muttered to herself, but then noticed that Angelie was panting heavily.
“You mean… cough…” she said between coughs, “If Lily were still alive, still alive as a normal soldier… cough… we wouldn’t be this tired, right…”
……
Seeing the fallen phoenix in the sky, the soldiers in the trenches were both surprised and delighted, but forgot to shout. Perhaps they hoped that the KMFs would finish it off and set it off with fireworks to celebrate. Angelina and Xixi refused. Just like with the parachuting pilots, their conscience chose to let the exhausted meteor die on its own.
At this moment, Trosa keenly sensed that the pilot in the cockpit did not seem to have any intention of giving up—the fighter's landing gear was slowly lowering, aiming at the British positions in the distant minefield, and the flaps were unfolding.
People on both sides of the battlefield held their breath, watching the meteor fall and bounce on the uneven ground.
Suddenly, the landing gear on the nose of the plane was shattered by an explosion from underground. Phoenix finally exhausted its last breath, broke through several landmines, and was buried in the rolling sand and dust.
……
Trosa quickly contacted Berlin and relayed the news to Elizabeth immediately.
"What did you say? A Phoenix crash-landed in front of enemy positions near you? Apart from one wing being blown off, the aircraft is in good condition?"
The princess hesitated for a long time before summoning the engineers around her and asking them a few questions about the details.
"Okay, listen up, General. I don't care what method you use, bring that Phoenix back to me. Understand?!"
Chapter 310, Section 398: The Shooting Star of Life
How to pull the phoenix out of the minefield became a problem—Trosa looked into the distance through her binoculars, scratching her head.
The two armies' defensive lines were less than a kilometer apart at their closest point, which was mostly open fields riddled with shell craters. Beyond this section was a minefield about ten meters long before reaching the place where Meteor had made an emergency landing. And coincidentally, the British had not deployed anti-tank guns in this direction—which was good news compared to other factors.
The meteor's weight was conservatively estimated at four tons, making it impossible to pull by manpower alone. Whether using vehicles or KMFs to tow it would provide sufficient pulling force or even the strength of the British counterattack were secondary considerations.
Either drive the tow truck into the minefield, or stretch out a long enough tow rope and send someone into the minefield to hook the tow hook onto the aircraft—after all, a shell landing next to a truck might not overturn it, and if the mine explodes, neither the towing team nor the aircraft will be able to return.
"It seems the most important thing right now is to clear the landmines." Through Trossa's binoculars, the British soldiers on the other side were also busy with this—young men wearing iron hats, holding mine-clearing tools, and occasionally grabbing entrenching tools to carefully dig at the soil in front of their chins.
Several other men followed behind the mine-clearing engineers, each carrying a water gun that snaked out of the trench, splashing water on the Meteor's fuselage. Among the faces crouching along the trench edge, some had white cloth strips with red crosses wrapped around their arms.
“This is interesting…” Trosa understood that the British military would not give up on rescuing the pilots on the meteor in the short term, so they could try a safer plan.
The two familiar faces of the sergeants who had climbed Rügen Island together, Sindra and Kan Hu, came to volunteer again.
They planned to advance stealthily using only infantry—the open field was riddled with craters of varying depths, which they could use for cover. Shallow trenches could be dug between the craters for crawling, allowing them to reach the British minefield. They would then clear the mines while continuing to dig until they reached Phoenix. A cable would be attached to an aircraft, with a high-powered winch connected to it, towing Phoenix out of the minefield for easier disposal.
If there were no other ideas, this seemed like a viable solution. Trosa granted permission, and the group withdrew from the front line while simultaneously calling in indirect fire from the rear, occasionally firing scatter shots near the action team to create a smokescreen of dust.
Before long, the sun had set and it was completely dark. The matter was still far from over. Elizabeth, who was a hundred miles away, became anxious and quickly dispatched a Earl named Hohenzollern to fly over and urge him on.
Before they even disembarked, British 3-inch mortars fired a short burst at their positions, with sporadic light and heavy machine gun fire also appearing. Under these circumstances, Trosa had only left her infantry on the front lines, engaging in a firefight with their limited assault rifles and rocket launchers?!
"What are you standing there for, General?"
Syndra was guarding the winch, while Kan Hu's team was still a short distance from the minefield; the British were also close to the Meteor. Red-stained bandages and syringes could be seen outside the cockpit, probably thrown out by the pilots—as for how they got to the pilots, there was a makeshift zipline connected to the plane from the trench by a grappling hook.
“We can’t alert them.” Trosa said seriously. “Overly aggressive actions would expose our intentions to the British. If they get provoked, their pilots might volunteer to ‘fire at me’… We can’t afford to take risks for riches, sir. Or are you new to District 45 and don’t know much about the enemy?”
"Understanding the enemy and acting decisively are two completely different things! Come on, I just thought of a solution." Hohenzollern clapped his hands. "Bring in some vertical takeoff and landing aircraft. The KMF comes with its own steel cables, and there are also VTOL Nightbats for airlifting the KMF. They can lift five or six tons without a problem. Even troop transport aircraft would work..."
Before she could finish speaking, Trosa turned her head and gave her a knowing look.
“Your plan is ready over there.” She turned and pointed to a spot out of the British soldiers’ sight; the things the Earl had mentioned were already set up. “It’s unexpected that we’ve come up with the same plan, but…”
"Leaving aside the fact that Phoenix might have stepped on a few landmines during its emergency landing, whether its structure was damaged, or whether it would fall apart when hoisted, at the very least, securing the hook to the aircraft takes time, and the aircraft has to remain stationary during that time... Are you sure you're not just setting up an anti-aircraft target for those imposters on the other side? What if the plane isn't hoisted back, and your own kids' ride crashes and lands right on Phoenix..."
"A large-scale air force operation was launched to suppress..."
“OK, our intentions have been exposed again, their artillery is online.” Trosa patted him on the shoulder. “Calm down, I’m not saying this risky method won’t work. This is our trump card for a surprise attack after the infiltration team’s failure.”
……
At this moment, amidst the hail of bullets, the group noticed that behind the British soldiers who were clearing mines, a stretcher bearer slowly approached the plane, and another private was holding a torch high, seemingly to deliver a message.
"Can you hear me? Britannian soldiers over there? Our pilot has just been seriously wounded by a stray bullet. We request a three-minute ceasefire to give our medics some time to treat him!"
"They're lying!" Hohenzollern clapped his hands again. "Keep firing! These little tricks won't fool us!"
"No, if it's true..."
"Why are you still hesitating?" Hohenzollern and Trosa were getting impatient. After a moment's hesitation, the latter sent Syndra to the side to observe.
"First, tell them that if they allow us to place our searchlights on the open ground, we'll grant them a five-minute ceasefire." Then quietly tell Syndra, "Sergeant, keep an eye on the enemy pilots. If they're hit by stray bullets and the situation is urgent, they won't have the strength to climb out of the cockpit on their own."
……
The gunfire ceased, and searchlights were placed in the open field. The dazzling light shone into the eyes of the British soldiers and the wreckage of the plane, allowing Kan Hu and his team to continue their infiltration with peace of mind, quietly clearing away the landmines and getting closer and closer to the meteor.
“They’re definitely up to something in the shadows right now.” Hohenzollern was still unsettled, even though, according to Sindra’s report, the pilot had indeed been laboriously carried and dragged from the cockpit to a stretcher by British medical personnel. “I’ve memorized Article Two of the Expeditionary Force Regulations, how could you…”
“The reason we ‘don’t trust the mercy of District 45’ is because we ‘don’t underestimate the cruelty of District 45.’” Trosa’s tone was calm, but her anxiety was still evident in her gestures. “Your Excellency, you’ve been fighting the EU all this time, haven’t you said you’ve been indiscriminately killing disarmed soldiers?”
"So you mean, in Sector 45, their pilots haven't attacked KMF pilots who ejected? At least not deliberately chasing after their parachutes? In a place where pilots' lives are as fleeting as fireflies, like shooting stars in the blink of an eye?"
“You and I both understand that if the war were to escalate to that point, it would be more terrifying than hell on earth, a war of genocide… Even if we had despised the people of Area 11 in the past, we wouldn’t just lock them all, whether soldiers or civilians, in a room and release carbon monoxide and other gases to ‘rest in peace’ for no reason, would we?”
"Wait? So we're sending the Germans back to Area 11?" Hohenzollern paused, recalling hearing something similar in Berlin before.
“We recently captured a Soviet colonel who has ample evidence to prove what a mysterious and terrifying country the US, USSR, Britain, and France swept away before we arrived.” Trosa’s face was quite solemn. “Perhaps I should tell you about the German guards they executed, Your Excellency? If we act rashly, we will hear the declaration of ‘no prisoners, kill on sight’ from the opposite position.”
……
"OK! Done!"
Kan Hu reported that the hook had been secured, and the soldiers operating the winches immediately went full throttle. The British soldiers, watching the meteor swaying and sliding away on the ground, leaving only one wing in place, realized something was wrong. Instantly, the tranquil battlefield erupted like an earthquake and landslide, completely shattering into pieces.
"Full squad, move out! Capture Phoenix!" Trosa gave the order almost simultaneously with Hohenzollern. KMFs, helicopters, everything that could cross the craters and reach the fighter jets was deployed without hesitation. Casualties were no longer a concern.
Kan Hu and his men were also running around the battlefield with Meteor, fearing that the tow hook might suddenly break. At that moment, he smelled a fresh gasoline odor—he remembered that when the medics got the pilot back to the trench, a British soldier had poured a bowl of "water" on the fuselage.
At that moment, a bundle of TNT that had been secretly attached to the fuselage by British engineers went off.
"Damn it!" Everyone inside and outside the trenches watched as the meteor suddenly "flew" up with a dazzling flash of fire. Syndra was so anxious that she called out the sergeant's name over the radio.
"Don't worry about me! The plane is the priority!" The soldiers by the winch heard the signal and continued operating—they felt something at the other end of the rope, pulled it closer and saw that the remaining wing of the Meteor, along with the engine, had covered the trench.
"Bring back as much as you can to Berlin! All troops, listen to my command, break through the defenses, and advance towards Lüneburg!"
Chapter 311, Section 399: The Uninvited Comet
"This is not a desperate counterattack, this is called pressing the attack after a victory." The British defenses collapsed, and Hohenzollern, following the princess's order, led his 18th Army and General Windsor's Edward III Army toward Lüneburg.
The habit of calling the British imposters has quickly taken hold even after only a week in the country. As for the reasons behind this, besides the fact that they are Britannians conquering District 45 with a sense of "legitimacy," many of them also know that "America," a major adversary here, is descended from Washington, the "great traitor" of this world.
Putting aside the criticism that Britain "can't quell the chaos in the Americas, but can hold onto its food in the British Isles," it means that even though Americans in this world don't fly the Union Jack or the Lion and Snake flag, they still have British Isles blood.