Munitions Empire

The soldiers didn't take artillery fire of this magnitude too seriously, but the officers could discern something else from the scale of the bombardment.

An officer gently tapped his fingers on the edge of the table and, during a brief lull in the bombardment, looked at his colleague and said, "That's not a small scale, at least 50 muzzle-loading field cannons!"

"My count is about the same, roughly 50 cannons. It seems the enemy has assembled the artillery of at least 5 legions..." another officer spoke up in agreement with his comrade's assessment.

"Is it worth returning fire?" the first officer turned to the artillery commander beside him and asked.

The artillery commander nodded slightly and ordered the signal flag orderlies standing not far away, "Have the regimental artillery open fire! Serve the enemy an appetizer!"

"You really are stingy." Another officer mocked the artillery commander, "The enemy has shown half their cannons, and you still hesitate to use the C80?"

"They aren't worthy!" The artillery commander scoffed disdainfully and contemptuously countered his comrades' taunts, "Even having the regimental artillery take action is bullying them, let alone the C80. I'm afraid the C80's blasts are so loud, they'll scare the bastards away!"

"Hahaha!" A group of officers burst out laughing, and amidst their laughter, the regimental artillery from two battalions deployed behind the lines, with 10 C64 breech-loading field guns on recoil mounts, roared in response.

"Boom!" On the battlefield, the air blast from the cannon muzzle blew sand and dust into the air, which spread across the entire artillery position.

The trajectory of these recoil guns actually wasn't that great; technically, they fell into the category of guns with flat trajectories like cannons.

However, Tang Mo's C64 artillery used breechloading, with good airtightness, long range, accurate firing, and most importantly — they used shrapnel shells!

Compared to solid shot, the explosive power of shrapnel shells was truly terrifying. Ten cannons roaring in unison held their own in momentum against the Shireck muzzle-loading cannons firing another round.

For a time, the battlefield thundered with cannon fire, followed by dust rising and smoke columns lifting from the Shireck artillery positions.

The shrapnel shells fell, exploded on impact with the ground, setting off the percussion fuses, and blew up across Shireck's artillery positions.

These shells tossed mud into the air, destroyed cannons, and claimed the lives of many unfortunate Shireck artillerymen.

Immediately after a simultaneous volley, the advantage of Tang Mo's artillerymen's rapid loading became evident. While the fifty Shireck muzzle-loading field guns were still cleaning their barrels, Tang Mo's cannons fired again.

Smokeless powder allowed Tang Mo's artillerymen to save a lot of time cleaning their barrels, and the new shells also made loading very convenient.

Overall, the weapons of both sides already constituted a generational gap; under such circumstances, Shireck was naturally at a great disadvantage.

While Shireck's artillerymen braved intense enemy fire to prepare for their third volley, the fifth round of Great Tang Group's shells fell on their heads.

A shell set off the gunpowder stored next to a cannon, and the explosion instantly blew away all surrounding artillerymen and two cannons that were ready to fire.

The wheels of the two loaded cannons had been blown off, and the guns themselves tipped over onto the field, looking defeated and forlorn.

Around, soldiers who had taken cover stood up in pairs and groups, brushed the dust off themselves, and shook their heads to recover their hearing.

Under the officers' urging, the artillerymen, now somewhat numb and accustomed to fear, returned to their guns, lit fuses, and fired the third volley for their side.

This time the gunfire from Shireck's side was noticeably sparser. Perhaps 20 cannons fired, with shells still landing on the abandoned fields...

"Are there any casualties? Anyone injured?" Inside the trench, a medic with a white armband on his arm, carrying a medical bag, and holding onto his left-wheel handgun at his waist, passed by one utterly bored soldier after another. He drew out his words, seemingly just as bored.

There was no helping it; since the start of the conflict, it seemed like the Great Tang Group's security forces hadn't had a single casualty. As the fight progressed to this point, everyone felt a bit bored.

Up to now, only 2 machine gun positions had been revealed on Tang Mo's side, and at most, only 10 75mm field cannons had participated in the counterattack. And yet, the enemy already showed signs of collapse.

How could everyone not feel awkward? When they left the barracks for the defensive positions, they were all determined to fight a bloody battle for Great Tang Group. But once the fight started, they realized it wasn't as challenging as training back home...

The combat tactics taught by the instructors were far more advanced than the combat proficiency demonstrated by the enemy: Imaginary enemies in exercises had machine guns and cannons; the actual opponents were idiots who didn't even know how to lie down properly...

The disparity was too great. It was like a group of warriors who had mastered dragon-slaying techniques ventured out to rescue the princess, only to find that the kidnapper was just a little porcupine...

"Any injured here? Even a twisted ankle will do!" As the medic shouted, he couldn't help but let out a laugh himself.

"I might be suffering from insomnia, I haven't fallen asleep yet!" Amidst the sound of artillery, a soldier clutching his rifle quipped, eliciting even louder laughter from the surrounding soldiers.

"Shut up! Stop laughing! Be quiet! Be serious! We're in a battle!" The squad leader, holding a lever-action rifle and patrolling the trenches, scolded with a suppressed laugh.

"Someone's injured up front! We've got an injury here!" Finally, a solid shell slammed into the trench, kicking up a cloud of dust. Cries from the soldiers came from ahead, urgent and tense, "Medic! Medic!"

Hearing the call, the medic who had just been listlessly lounging immediately sprang to life, as if charged with electricity. With one hand on the medical kit, he charged forward.

He was thrilled, striding with great enthusiasm, and in no time he was next to the soldier who had called for a medic, joyfully shouting, "Where's the injured? Where are they?"

The soldier, dusting off his shoulder, squinted and pointed to the other side of the trench where a section had collapsed.

The medic hurried over, leaping over a round shell embedded in the mud, knelt down on one knee, anxiously examining the sitting soldier's body.

That soldier seemed embarrassed, noticeably awkward. By the time the medic asked for the third time, the soldier extended his hand to the medic, who had been struggling to find work, "Here... it's injured here."

The medic focused and finally found the wound: the soldier's knuckle on the back of his hand was scraped, a bit of skin torn off.

"No, it's not serious, right?" Apparently feeling that his comrade had made a big fuss over a minor injury, the soldier asked with some embarrassment.

"Lucky I came over..." The medic took out some hemostatic powder and a pre-cut bandage from his pocket, and as he wrapped the soldier's hand, he said while bowing his head.

"Ah? Is it that serious?" This so-called casualty was puzzled. When he worked as a cobbler, his hand would get injured occasionally, sometimes far worse than this. Back then, he never bothered with bandages or treatment, considering such minor injuries entirely unnecessary.

But from the medic's attitude, it seemed that this insignificant little wound was quite serious.

"Lucky I ran over... otherwise, it would have healed already." The medic wrapped the bandage around the soldier's hand, panting as he spoke.

"Pfft... Hahahaha!" A group of soldiers huddled in the trenches couldn't hold back any longer and burst into laughter. Their laughter was unrestrained, like a bunch of children laughing on a spring outing.

Finally, the sounds of artillery began to gradually subside. Shireck, having suffered unbearable losses, awkwardly ordered his artillery to retreat from combat.

The Great Tang Group fired nearly a hundred shells from ten cannons at a blisteringly fast pace, teaching Shireck's private army a lesson in humility.

After leaving behind over three hundred corpses and the wreckage of twenty-nine cannons, Shireck's troops retreated a kilometer backward before stopping to regroup.

This way, Shireck's forces were nearly decimated by a tenth, along with losing a third of their artillery...

And they still had no idea what their opponents looked like, what weapons they had, or what other trump cards they might possess.

What infuriated Gis the most was that his worst fears had materialized. The Great Tang Group had risen to power and was no longer an easy opponent from any angle.

Even where he felt the gap was smallest, in terms of artillery, Shireck was no longer a match for the Great Tang Group.

"My lord! We can't joke with our capital! Sending soldiers to die senselessly will only lead to more trouble," Baron Stela advised Gis apprehensively.

He didn't want his own troops to be sacrificed senselessly, especially since he had personally witnessed the enemy's firepower. He believed he shouldn't have staked his entire fortune on such a futile place.

"So what do we do then? Go apologize to Tang Mo, saying 'sorry, I took a wrong turn, didn't mean to disturb'?" Gis clenched his fists and glared at Baron Stela as he questioned. "Since you wanted a share of the action and even brought your troops, are you still hoping to return? Do you think Leite VII will let you off the hook?"

Mentioning this, Stela felt dizzy—he had indeed bet too early. If he had known how tough the Tang Group was, he certainly wouldn't have joined Shireck in this conflict.

With this thought, he sighed, a touch of resignation in his tone as he asked, "So, my lord, what do... we do now?"

"My men will charge first! If a regiment doesn't take it down, then it's your turn to attack! If you can't take it, then I'll send another regiment up! I refuse to believe that three regiments in succession can't break through Tang Mo's first line of defense!" Gis gritted his teeth as he spoke.

Hearing that his troops wouldn't be the first to charge, Baron Stela breathed a sigh of relief, thinking it over and concluding that there was no other choice. Thus, he stood up and said, "My lord, then I shall return to my regiment to prepare."

After Stela left the tent, Gis turned to Qiumuluo, who stood idly by, and hissed, "Aren't you going to watch him? Dimwit!"