"The world is watching the warriors of Albion. ”

Standing at the bow of the landing dinghy in the most standard military posture, Rear Admiral Parkinson expressed his ambition. The commander of the advance army, dressed in a full "Venetian red" military uniform, hung all his medals - in praise of the mother goddess, the general did not take part in many battles, and the types of medals of Albion were not as numerous as those of the principality army, otherwise he would have hung them on his trousers all the time, and the painter who squatted on the beach and sketched did not have to worry about carefully outlining each medal.

Not far away, with riflemen in tricorne and grenadiers in bishop's hats, grenadiers of the Guards Regiment lined up on the beach, accompanied by rumbling artillery and military music, and the long red queue stretched inland......

"No one can stop this army, the world is at our feet. ”

Major General John Lambert was equally proud and proud, he also wore a conspicuous officer's dress and wore all the medals, and in order to highlight the position of commander, Major General Lambert took the position slightly back.

"Soon we will be able to have lunch in Riga. ”

"Yes, and ......"

Parkinson pulled out his pocket watch and looked at the two small needles.

"3 hours and 28 minutes, enough for us to end this battle and hope that there will be fresh caviar in the Riga fortress. ”

"And, of course, vodka. ”

Lambert complimented, and the school officials on the side were busy laughing a few times.

They had no doubt that a bright future would come, and after surviving the most dangerous beach-rushing landings without encountering any counterattack, the Major General's statement about the strength of the Principality's army had entered the hearts of every Albion soldier.

“...... How can a cowardly and incompetent long-haired bastard outperform my brave and fearless warriors in a battle that highlights the will of the soldiers? Even with only 700 advance troops, they can kill the long-haired mongrels in the battle with one hundred, leaving no armor behind......"

There is no suspense in the ending, and the victory and glory belong to Albian.

At the same time, similar thoughts appeared in the minds of others, and Matthias Heitenor, 1st Class Sergeant, who was lying in the distant woods, muttered in his heart as he put a swaggering face into the reticles, and quickly crossed the values of wind speed, wind direction, and ballistic deviation in his head, and then he put his finger on the trigger and began to force it......

Syllable!

The bullet did not fly out of the chamber. Major General Parkinson still made a tirade with pride. Matthias held his head and looked at his companion, his boss and mentor, Major Hans Koenig, with tears in his eyes.

"Sergeant, what do you want to do?"

The Major's face was full of anger, and his hand that had just been rewarded with a shudder was hanging in the air. Always ready to come back again.

"I'm sorry sir. I just subconsciously ......"

Another slap in the face.

"Shut up! Mind your fingers!"

Watching Matthias retract back full of grievances, the major sighed softly and continued to monitor the movements of the Redcoats with the artillery mirror.

There was at least 700 meters of distance between them and the group of generals. At this distance, although the bullet still has sufficient killing kinetic energy, it is difficult to ensure accuracy. What's more, Matthias uses a semi-automatic sniper rifle, although it uses a specially manufactured high-precision competition-grade heavy barrel, uses a special high-precision sniper bullet, and is equipped with a 4x scope, which is a significant increase in accuracy at a high cost. However, due to the inherent defects of semi-automatic rifles, it is still unknown whether they can hit the first shot at this distance.

If they miss, the humans will greet them warmly, from flying beasts to heavy artillery, and although the major is brave, he does not like to take such unnecessary risks.

What's more, their job is not to snipe that oversized target, at least not here......

"Clean up. ”

Looking away from the artillery mirror, the major ordered:

"Let's go back to the fortress. ”

Two hours later, Private Zaitsev of the Principality's New Army was awakened, and as soon as he opened his eyes, the officer's fierce face was pasted.

"Get moving, you slackers, damned animals, what are you doing lying around, waiting for me to whip you?! Hurry up and get ready, the hairless monkey is coming!"

A roar of rage exploded in the private's bewildered head, and he was picked up, pushed hard against the side wall of the trench, and then kicked in the ass.

The pain prompted the sluggish brain to get back to work, clean the barrel of the gun, pour in gunpowder and bullets, compact, and turn on the trigger — all of which he had done, and after doing so, Zaitsev crouched in his rifle and into the side wall of the trench, listening to the whistling and exploding of the shells like other soldiers stationed on the outskirts.

The roar continued and seemed to be endless, and even if they couldn't see it with their own eyes, the soldiers could imagine what hell it was like outside. Unlike other units, the soldiers of the Forces nouvelles have witnessed and felt the power of intensive artillery fire on the exercise ground, and they have long passed the stage of being frightened by the shelling to pee their pants. They knew perfectly well that they could not pose a lethal threat to them unless the shells hit the trenches directly. Squatting and still like this is the best option.

It was precisely because of their "experience" in this area that they had just jumped out of the freight car filled with the smell of livestock last night, and before they had time to catch their breath, they were driven to the front line.

The generals' idea was simple, the garrison of the fortress and the new army were also rookie troops, but the new army was better equipped and knew how to deal with the shelling, so it was more reassuring for them to garrison important areas, at least there would be no collapse of the troops in the first round of shelling.

It should be said that the generals were right in their thinking, and during the half-hour-long shelling, not a single soldier of the Forces nouvelles ran around, and with a panicked face, they crouched at the bottom of the trench and waited for the end of the shelling.

It was about half an hour, but Zaitsev and his companions felt like a century had passed. Not long after the last shell exploded, a whistle rang out with a roar of "ready for battle".

Without a moment's delay, the dust-stained soldiers stood on ladders, benches, and stacked ammunition boxes, poked their heads out of the trenches, and raised their guns to aim at the red wall hundreds of meters away.

There was a rapid drum beat, and an officer in a fancy uniform drew his saber with the tip pointed in the direction of Zaitsev and roared.

Offensive.

Zaitsev guessed that he meant this, and after that shout, the flutists and drummers began their playing, and to the beat of the March of the Grenadiers, the phalanx of the Albians slowly marched towards the first trench, the bayonets of the forest glistening in the sun.

It's weird.

A question crossed Zaitsev's mind: although the bayonet was very dazzling, the Albiang officer was even more dazzling. They had clean uniforms, polished every medal, and then put them all on their bodies, and stood in the front row with their command knives, turning themselves into oversized targets......

Maybe they came to the parade instead of the war, and the private could only tell himself

"Everyone, aim!"

The sergeant drew his pistol and shouted a command. Pushing distractions out of his mind, the young Orion of the Ural Mountains put an Albiang officer into the door of his gun and put his finger on the trigger.

His head suddenly burst with a large number of fragments of memory: many years ago, the story of an old hunter, a child and a wolf.

"Shoot!!"

Zaitsev pulled the trigger, and the officer jerked backwards.

There was no cheering, no celebration, he stepped back as fast as he could, began to clear the chamber of the gun, loaded the gunpowder and bullets, compacted, and when the third row of scrambles pushed down, he immediately stepped forward and cut a hole in the head of another officer. Stand back again......

Suddenly attacked, the red phalanx paused, and then continued to move at the same pace. At this distance, the musket hit rate was almost negligible, and even with thousands of rifles firing at the same time, the unlucky ones who were shot did not exceed double digits. The procession continued to march with the military music, unwaveringly. The people of Albion silently suffered the loss, approaching the trench with a chillingly neat pace.

Soon...... In a few minutes at most, they will be at the distance where they can exert their most power, drowning out the enemy with the first salvo that has been preserved, and then launching a white-knuckle charge to completely crush the cowards hiding in the trenches.

The officers of Albion smiled triumphantly, they had already seen the dawn of victory.

At this moment, an explosion occurred at the feet of the red-clothed soldiers. (To be continued......)