Chapter 554: An Enemy Worth Fighting

Kerensky was stunned by Alekseyev's sudden reaction.

He put down his teacup, spread his hands on the desk, and spoke in a soothing tone.

"Your Excellency, please sit down first so we can talk."

"There is nothing to talk about!"

Alekseyev had no intention of sitting back down. He shoved the document back at Kerensky so hard that it slid halfway off the desk's edge.

"The Austro-Hungarian Empire... how could you even consider letting the Austro-Hungarian army set foot on Rus soil?"

The Chief of General Staff's voice was much louder than usual. Normally, he would never lose his composure like this in front of Kerensky.

"Prime Minister Kerensky, do I need to remind you what these people did during the First Crimean War?"

Kerensky did not take offense; he understood Alekseyev too well.

This Chief of General Staff remained calm and rational most of the time. The issues that could make him lose his temper on the spot could be counted on one hand.

And the "Austro-Hungarian Empire" was clearly one of them.

As the Chief of General Staff of the old Imperial Army, Alekseyev naturally harbored zero goodwill toward the Austro-Hungarian Empire.

In truth, relations between the two countries before the First Crimean War had been relatively harmonious. Their ancestors had joined forces against the Ottoman Empire, and the Greater Rus Empire had even helped the Austro-Hungarians suppress the Hungarian Revolution.

But the problem was that, in certain respects, the Austro-Hungarian Empire had acted completely dishonorably.

"Your Excellency—"

"We helped them suppress the Hungarian rebellion! Our soldiers secured half of Franz Joseph's empire for him!"

Alekseyev slammed his hand on the desk, rattling the tea set.

"And the result? When the Crimean War broke out, how did they repay us?"

"They massed an army of four hundred thousand on the Galician border and forced us to withdraw from the Danube... that is their so-called 'friendship'!"

Kerensky sat completely still, waiting for him to finish.

As a politician who began his career as a lawyer, his patience in moments like this was purely professional.

Alekseyev paced back and forth in front of the desk, took a few heavy breaths, and turned back around.

"And it wasn't just that one time... In 1908, when we were bogged down fighting the Ottomans to the death in Crimea, those opportunists in Vienna took advantage of our crisis and swallowed Bosnia whole!"

"They didn't utter a word beforehand, and afterward, they put on a facade of 'it's a fait accompli, let everyone take a step back'!"

Alekseyev was referring to the 1908 annexation of Bosnia and Herzegovina by the Austro-Hungarian Empire, seizing the opportunity while the Greater Rus Empire was mired in the Second Crimean War.

This event, known as the "Bosnian Crisis," not only intensified the friction between the Austro-Hungarian Empire and the Kingdom of Greater Serbia—accelerating the Balkan Peninsula's transformation into a veritable "powder keg"—but it also severely inflamed tensions between the Austro-Hungarian Empire and the Greater Rus Empire.

Driven by these historical factors, an old Imperial soldier like Alekseyev could never stomach the idea of the Austro-Hungarian army fighting on Rus territory, not even as allies.

"Your Excellency Chief of General Staff," Kerensky finally interjected. "My grasp of history is not so poor that I require you to tutor me."

"You know?" Alekseyev whipped his head back, the fury in his eyes undiminished. "If you know, how could you place this document in front of me?"

He pointed at the document hanging halfway off the desk.

"Allowing a hundred thousand Austro-Hungarian troops to enter Rus territory? You call these reinforcements? This is inviting wolves into our home!"

Kerensky took a deep breath.

"I can understand your anger, but—"

"No, you cannot understand."

Alekseyev cut him off, though his voice dropped slightly this time. "You never served in the old Imperial Army. You do not understand what the word 'Crimea' means to men like us."

He finally stopped pacing, standing by the window with his back to Kerensky.

"That war... is not just a chapter in a history book. My teachers, my seniors... many of them died in that war."

"If the Austro-Hungarian Empire had stood up and supported us then, the outcome of the war might have been entirely different!"

The office fell silent. Kerensky did not rush to reply; he could sense Alekseyev's emotions slowly receding from their peak.

He waited about ten more seconds before speaking again.

"Please, take a seat."

This time, Alekseyev did not refuse. He pulled out the chair and sat back down, though his posture remained rigid.

Kerensky picked up the slipped document and set it aside, dropping the subject.

"I didn't say we must accept this proposal," Kerensky's tone softened significantly. "I am seeking your opinion."

"I made my opinion perfectly clear just now."

"I heard everything you said."

Alekseyev looked up at Kerensky.

Although the young Prime Minister struck Alekseyev as inexperienced in many ways, he had to concede one point... Kerensky never lost his head when facing fierce opposition.

This composure sometimes made him appear slick, but at this critical juncture, it proved invaluable.

"Your Excellency," Kerensky clasped his hands on the desk. "I showed you this document not to force you to accept it, nor to inform you of a finalized decision."

"If I had already made a decision, I would not have called you over this early in the morning."

Alekseyev stayed silent, implicitly waiting for him to continue.

"The Saxons merely raised this possibility. They have not entered concrete negotiations."

Kerensky paused, then continued, "Vienna has only expressed their intent for now. It doesn't mean a hundred thousand men will magically appear on our border tomorrow."

"Expressed their intent?" Alekseyev sneered. "Since when does the Austro-Hungarian Empire do favors for free? What do they want? Do they want to carve a piece off us, too?"

"The Saxons haven't fully disclosed those details yet."

"Then there are conditions," Alekseyev asserted. "And those conditions will certainly not be light."

Kerensky nodded, not refuting the point.

"The people in Vienna never make a losing deal. I know that better than you do."

Alekseyev leaned back in his chair. After venting, his fury had largely subsided, and rationality reclaimed the upper hand.

"Prime Minister, what I am about to say might overstep my bounds, but I must say it."

Kerensky lifted his chin. "Please, speak."

Alekseyev's voice returned to its usual steady cadence.

"What is our Provisional Government's greatest asset right now? Not the army, not our weapons... but the support of the people."

"Why does everyone support us? Why are so many Western Rus citizens willing to pick up rifles and join the National Army?"

"Because we represent a new, independent Western Rus. On this point, we differ fundamentally from Kolchak's warlord faction."

"If we let the Austro-Hungarian army in... no matter what banner they fly, in the eyes of the common folk, we are inviting in another invader."

"The fathers and grandfathers of these people... many are Galician immigrants and refugees who were oppressed by the Austro-Hungarian Empire. How do you expect them to feel?"

Kerensky remained silent for a moment before answering, "Your Excellency, I understand these truths even better than you do."

Alekseyev pressed, "Then why do this?"

"Because I am looking for every possible way out," Kerensky's tone suddenly grew weary. "Even if all these paths ultimately lead nowhere, I need to know they exist."

He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his temples.

Seeing the young Prime Minister like this, Alekseyev's anger waned further.

Though he didn't particularly agree with some of Kerensky's maneuvers, he had to admit that anyone with weaker psychological fortitude would have thrown in the towel long ago.

"My stance remains unchanged," Alekseyev stated his position one last time. "The Austro-Hungarian army cannot enter Rus soil. That is the bottom line."

"I understand," Kerensky nodded.

The room fell silent for a few seconds.

Then Kerensky spoke again.

"Then... I would like to ask you a question."

Alekseyev looked up at him.

"If we abandon this Austro-Hungarian path... what do we do?"

"The White Bandit Army's total strength vastly exceeds ours... Towards Kyiv alone, Kappel's Center Army boasts two hundred thousand men, and Denikin's Southern Army glares at us like a starving tiger... How do we stop them?"

This time, Alekseyev fell silent, because this was the exact problem tormenting him.

Up until 3:00 AM last night, he and the operational staff had been racking their brains, desperately trying to figure out where they could scrape together more mobile forces.

"I do not deny the disparity in troop numbers," Alekseyev finally said, his voice much flatter.

"So what is your countermeasure?"

Alekseyev's hand unconsciously gripped the fabric over his knee.

Of course he had a countermeasure. The concept of "massing forces to annihilate Denikin's troops" he devised last night was the optimal solution he could engineer.

But the prerequisite was... having enough troops.

Even if they didn't completely bridge the hundred-thousand-man gap between them and the enemy, they needed at least another fifty to sixty thousand men. Only then could they mass a large enough fist to strike Denikin without risking the collapse of defensive lines in other sectors.

But where would these fifty or sixty thousand men come from?

"Prime Minister," Alekseyev's tone turned bitter. "I am not being unreasonable... I simply believe that accepting Austro-Hungarian reinforcements will cost us far more than you imagine."

"We must make a choice between short-term military gains and long-term political costs."

Kerensky clasped his hands, rubbing his thumbs together.

"And if we lose this war?"

His question was blunt. If Kolchak pushed into Kyiv and the Provisional Government ceased to exist, what meaning would "long-term political costs" have?

Alekseyev gritted his teeth; logically, he couldn't refute it.

Dead men don't need to worry about public sentiment.

But emotionally, from the perspective of a soldier who had served in the old Imperial Army for most of his life...

Allowing the Austro-Hungarian flag to fly over Rus soil was harder to swallow than defeat itself.

However, voicing such thoughts would seem overly emotional.

Alekseyev exhaled, suppressing his feelings before continuing. "The Britannians are pumping blood into Kolchak, and the Saxons are assisting us... This is already complicated enough. If we add the Austro-Hungarian Empire into the mix..."

"This civil war will completely devolve into a proxy war for the great powers. In the end, no matter who wins, the Rus people will be the losers."

Having said that, Alekseyev fell silent. He had spoken his piece.

Kerensky remained quiet for a long while. The only sound in the office was the clatter of carriage wheels rolling over the cobblestones out on the street.

"Your Excellency," Kerensky finally spoke again. "I have considered all you've said."

"And?"

"That is why I said—this proposal is still in the discussion phase, not finalized."

Kerensky slowed his pace.

"But I need everyone to understand one thing. If we cannot find another way to fill this troop shortfall... when the time comes, this might be the only option left on my desk."

"When that time comes, I will still seek your opinion..."

Before Kerensky could finish, Alekseyev stood up.

"If it truly comes to that, I will resign."

Kerensky glanced up at him, then stood, walking around the desk to face Alekseyev.

"Your Excellency, I do not wish to reach that point."

"Neither do I."

The two men locked eyes for several seconds before Kerensky extended his hand.

"Therefore, please help me find an alternative solution."

Alekseyev looked at the hand, hesitated briefly, and shook it.

"I will do my best."

He released his grip and picked up his military cap from the chair, preparing to leave.

As he reached the door, Kerensky's voice rang out behind him.

"By the way... there is one more thing."

Alekseyev turned around.

Kerensky stood there, hands in his pockets, his expression shifting into something subtle.

"We've spent all this time discussing finding reinforcements from the outside... but perhaps we should change our approach."

"What do you mean?"

"Perhaps we don't need to look outside." Kerensky picked up another document from the desk. "Perhaps... within our own borders, we still have a force we can mobilize."

Alekseyev frowned, waiting for him to continue.

"Your Excellency Chief of General Staff, do you think we could rearm Petliura's men?"

Petliura.

Hearing that name stopped Alekseyev in his tracks.

He turned around and stared at Kerensky for a long moment.

"Symon Petliura?"

"Yes." Kerensky's expression was calm.

Alekseyev slowly walked back to the desk but didn't sit down.

"How many men does he still have?"

"According to our intelligence... scattered across various regions, we could probably scrape together thirty to forty thousand organized men."

"If we re-mobilize and reorganize them, adding the nationalists and paramilitary groups willing to follow him... fifty to sixty thousand is not impossible."

Fifty to sixty thousand.

Although it couldn't compare to the Austro-Hungarian Empire's hundred thousand, it was still a substantial force.

The problem was, in Alekseyev's eyes, this was equally a poor choice.

"Petliura's goal is to establish an independent Ukrainian state," Alekseyev laid it out clearly. "That directly conflicts with the interests of our Provisional Government."

"Weren't his men disarmed by our National Army previously? Rearming them now... is tantamount to rearing a tiger that will eventually bite us."

Kerensky placed the document back on the desk, pressing his fingers lightly against it.

"Allow me to explain my reasoning. Petliura's forces were indeed suppressed by us, but the primary reason wasn't our military victory, but rather because the White Bandit Army became our common enemy."

"His men were chased for hundreds of kilometers by Denikin's army, suffering heavy casualties... They only abandoned their arms upon our 'suggestion' after retreating into our control zone."

Alekseyev nodded. He knew all this. Essentially, Petliura and his men hadn't been annihilated; they had merely been "demilitarized."

"So your point is... rather than leaving them in the rear as a destabilizing factor, it's better to arm them and send them to the front lines?"

Kerensky nodded, finally revealing a smile.

"Roughly. But we can't just hand out rifles and send them forward. We must reach an agreement with Petliura—his troops must accept the unified command of the National Army's General Staff and participate in the war against the White Bandits as 'allies'."

"In exchange... we acknowledge their limited autonomy in certain regions after the war."

Alekseyev listened and fell silent.

This plan was far more palatable than the Austro-Hungarian option.

Petliura's men were a domestic force at the end of the day. At the very least, it wouldn't spark a public backlash over "inviting wolves into the house." Although it came with its own share of problems... they were at least manageable.

"Has he agreed?"

"We haven't discussed it yet." Kerensky shook his head. "I wanted your opinion first... If the Chief of General Staff disagrees, there's no point in me talking to him."

Alekseyev braced his hands on the edge of the desk, staring down as his mind raced.

Petliura's men... their organization definitely couldn't match the National Army. Even if rearmed, it would be difficult for them to undertake major assault missions in the short term.

But if they merely manned secondary defensive lines, freeing up National Army units from those positions... that was effectively an indirect boost to his own mobile reserves.

Fifty to sixty thousand men. Even if only half were combat-ready, thirty thousand was enough to transform the concept of "annihilating Denikin's forces" from a paper theory into a viable plan.

"And the risks?" Alekseyev looked up.

"The political risks are much smaller than the Austro-Hungarian option."

Kerensky explained, hitting his stride in his area of expertise.

According to him, Petliura's men were a domestic force on Rus soil. No matter how one looked at it, it was an "internal integration" of old Imperial factions, not foreign intervention.

Meanwhile, postwar promises could be kept vague... The phrase "limited autonomy" was incredibly elastic. Once the war was won, the specifics of its implementation could be renegotiated.

Hearing Kerensky's explanation, Alekseyev gave him a serious look.

Typical lawyer-turned-politician... Hearing such words from him felt completely natural.

"Don't you think doing this is rather... unscrupulous?"

Kerensky shrugged. "General, between being honorable and surviving, I choose survival... And I can assure you, as long as we win this war, granting Petliura a degree of autonomy will not harm the Provisional Government's fundamental interests."

"But if we lose... honor or dishonor just becomes a joke for dead men."

Alekseyev straightened up and walked to the window.

A squad of National Army infantry was marching past on the street below, likely just returning from a shift change. The soldiers dragged their exhausted feet, though they barely managed to keep formation.

"I have one more concern."

"Speak."

"Can Petliura's men be trusted? If we put them on the battlefield and the situation turns grim, will they just cut and run? Or even turn around and negotiate with the White Army?"

Kerensky pondered for a moment, admitting the possibility existed, but noted two factors that could keep them in check.

First, the hatred between Petliura's men and Denikin was very real, placing them in an adversarial stance against the White Army as a whole.

Furthermore, even if he wanted to negotiate with Kolchak, Kolchak might not accept him.

The "Supreme Ruler of All Rus" pushed for a "unified and indivisible Greater Rus". In their eyes, Petliura's nationalist platform was even more intolerable than the Provisional Government's.

Besides that, since the Provisional Government was "rearming" them, the supply of weapons and ammunition would remain tightly gripped by the National Army.

If they disobeyed orders, severing their supply lines would leave them unable to hold out for more than a few days on their existing stockpile.

Alekseyev ran Kerensky's points through his mind.

It wasn't a perfect plan, but it was lightyears better than letting the Austro-Hungarian army step in.

"I need to go back and think this through carefully."

Alekseyev turned and headed for the door.

"Give me two days... no, one day. Let me consult with the operational staff and see how we can slot Petliura's forces into the overarching operational plan."

"Good," Kerensky nodded. "I await your plan."

Alekseyev opened the door, pausing before stepping out.

"That Austro-Hungarian proposal—"

"I will tell the Saxons to shelve it for now."

Alekseyev didn't look back; he simply nodded and left, his footsteps fading down the corridor.

Kerensky sat alone behind his desk. He locked the document regarding the Austro-Hungarian Empire in his drawer. In truth, he had never intended to agree to the deal from the start.

It served more as an anchoring tactic in negotiations—presenting an option Alekseyev would find absolutely unacceptable, and then unveiling the proposal he actually wanted him to accept.

Rearming Petliura.

Truth be told, the Ukrainian nationalist was quite capable.

During the chaotic period following the collapse of the old Empire, Petliura relied on his exceptional organizational skills to raise a sizable armed force in western Ukraine.

The issue was that Petliura wanted an independent Ukrainian state, which directly conflicted with the Provisional Government's goal of a unified "Western Rus Federation."

Thus, over a year ago, a severe political crisis erupted between them.

The outcome was that the Provisional Government, through negotiations and armed suppression, forced Petliura to accept a "non-independence" arrangement. Concurrently, they drastically downsized his regular armed forces, leaving him with only a "Self-Defense Regiment" roughly equivalent to a local militia.

To "rearm" Petliura meant essentially recalling those scattered veterans, coupled with mobilizing peasants in western Ukraine. Scraping together fifty to eighty thousand men in a short time frame was entirely viable.

But what was the cost?

The cost was that the Provisional Government had to grant Petliura greater autonomy, perhaps even recognizing some form of "quasi-independence" after the war.

For Kerensky, this was a political trade-off that required meticulous calculation.

But at least, it was better than letting the Austro-Hungarian Empire set foot on Rus soil.

That same afternoon.

East bank of the Dnieper River, White Army Southwestern Front Headquarters.

Inside a requisitioned landlord's manor, several staff officers in old-style uniforms gathered around a long table in the center of the hall.

A large-scale operational map covering all of western Rus was spread across the table, peppered with red and blue flags.

When Aleksei Alekseevich Brusilov walked into the hall, everyone stood up.

The sixty-three-year-old veteran waved his hand, signaling them to sit.

"I've read the Southern Army's report."

He walked to the map table, leaning on the edge and looking down at the blue flag marking Rzhyshchiv.

"What interests me most isn't the outcome... Losing two battalions, frankly, is a scratch for Denikin. But the process of the engagement warrants attention."

Brusilov picked up a transcribed and compiled after-action report from the east bank, flipping to a highlighted paragraph.

"Armored vehicles approached in multiple columns, rapidly deploying into a lateral combat line... Infantry dismounted at approximately two hundred meters... bounded forward with alternating cover... breached the positions in a short timeframe..."

Brusilov set the report down, sweeping his gaze over the room. "Gentlemen, we have encountered an opponent worth fighting."

Hearing this, Colonel Mirkin, the Deputy Chief of Staff for Operations, spoke first.

"General, judging by the report forwarded from Denikin, the tactics employed by this Saxon unit... align with some of the Saxon Imperial Army tactics we've previously gathered."

"Not just align," Brusilov straightened up. "They are an upgrade."

He walked to the other side of the map, where intelligence briefings on the continental war gathered from various channels hung.

Though Rus was fractured during this Great European War and didn't participate heavily, their current conflict remained fundamentally a civil war.

But Brusilov still had his people collect as many combat reports from the continental theater as possible, whether from the Saxon Empire or those provided by the Holy Britannian Empire via Kolchak's channels.

Brusilov realized that this far-reaching war would drastically alter the nature and landscape of warfare. They had to keep pace with the Western European nations to avoid falling hopelessly behind militarily.

Consequently, Brusilov and his staff were generally aware of the "Stormtrooper" tactics currently heavily employed by the Saxon Imperial Army, and were also privy to the Instruction Brigade's many absurdly impressive combat records.

And this was enough to put Brusilov on high alert.

His words clearly indicated that Stormtrooper tactics first appeared in Western Front battles, utilizing an elite infantry unit as a spearhead to infiltrate and breach enemy trenches under covering fire.

But this battle at Rzhyshchiv... the infantry charged in while riding inside armored vehicles. The armored vehicles themselves served as transports, fire platforms, and protective barriers.

Therefore, this wasn't simply 'Stormtroopers with a few vehicles added in'; this was an entirely new paradigm of warfare.

The old general paused for a moment before continuing, "Fortunately, the Rebels lack sufficient troop numbers."

Brusilov traced a line down the entire front from north to south with his finger.

"At best, Alekseyev's forces are barely enough to hold the line. His mobile forces available for field battles are even fewer... The Saxons' two armies are primarily coordinating with him on defense; they lack genuine offensive mobile forces as well."

"No matter how elite this Instruction Brigade is, their numbers are limited. They might sway a localized battle, but they cannot shift the balance of power across the entire front."

The staff officers nodded in agreement, but Brusilov's next sentence immediately wiped the relaxed expressions from their faces.

"However, if my old partner finds a way to concentrate this assault force... the situation changes."

"Who is Alekseyev? The most brilliant Chief of Staff of the old Empire, far superior to me in grand strategic orchestration... If you hand him a blade sharp enough, he knows exactly how to wield it."

"The fundamental reason he hasn't launched a proper counter-offensive until now is his lack of a force capable of tearing open a breach at a critical moment... Now, that force has arrived."

Brusilov paused here.

The hall was quiet for a while before Colonel Mirkin hesitated, then asked, "General, regarding our next steps... do we need to adjust our offensive plans across the units? Suspend offensives in some sectors to concentrate on eliminating this Instruction Brigade first?"

Brusilov shook his head.

"Now is not the time to overhaul our front-wide deployments."

"Our understanding of this Instruction Brigade is far too shallow. Exactly how many armored vehicles do they have? What is their firepower configuration? Where are the breaking points of their supply lines? We don't know any of this."

"Making sweeping adjustments blindly without understanding the opponent will only expose our intentions."

Brusilov's finger dropped back onto the map.

"The most crucial point is that we possess a massive numerical advantage, we are on the offensive, and the initiative rests with us!"

"There's no need to scrap our plans. We simply require all units to remain vigilant against these new tactics while executing the original directives."

"Even if the Saxon armored vehicles are formidable, can they be in multiple places at once?"

"Denikin mentioned launching forced crossings at ten points simultaneously... Though crude, his thinking is in the right direction."

The staff officers listened, some jotting notes quickly in their notebooks.

At this point, another elderly staff officer spoke up.

"General, there is one more thing to report."

"Speak."

"We transmitted the latest frontline situation to St. Petersburg last night, and received a reply this morning."

Brusilov turned his head.

"What did the Supreme Ruler say?"

"His Excellency Kolchak acknowledged the report... and shared the relevant information with the liaisons from the Holy Britannian Empire."

"The Britannians?"

"Yes, and..."

The staff officer hesitated for a second before continuing, "The Britannians seem highly intrigued by the Saxon Instruction Brigade. They indicated they might dispatch a military observer mission to the front lines soon."

Brusilov raised an eyebrow.

"To the front lines?"

"Yes."

"Interesting." Brusilov chuckled. "The Britannians want to be observers on our front lines... I don't have spare troops to act as 'bodyguards' for these 'VIPs'."

The officers in the room couldn't help but laugh.

After the laughter subsided, Brusilov added a remark.

"However... if the Britannians want to come and see, let them."

He turned around, casting a final glance at Rzhyshchiv on the map.

"Once this Instruction Brigade exposes more of its capabilities, whether it's us or the Britannians... we'll likely figure out a way to counter them."

"After all, no matter how sharp a blade is, once you figure out its patterns, it's just another piece of metal."

Rzhyshchiv, northwest corner of the town.

With the help of the Instruction Brigade's combat engineer company, the garrison made a series of modifications to their defensive positions.

Captain Hermann, commander of the combat engineer company, stood in front of a freshly dug vehicle revetment. With his left foot resting on a churned-up clod of dirt, he pinched a measuring tape in his hands.

"Is it deep enough?"

Inside the revetment, two mud-caked engineers were using shovels to dress the slope of the side walls.

One of them looked up and replied, "What do you think? The vehicle will disappear into this; you won't even see the barrel."

Hermann jumped in to check. They had indeed dug it too deep.

"Pack some dirt into the bottom. Make sure the gun section protrudes above ground level."

He gestured inside the pit and grumbled, "I didn't tell you to bury the whole damn vehicle. I told you to conceal the hull and expose the gun so it can shoot people..."

Scrambling out of the revetment, Hermann spotted Morin approaching with Major Weichs, Guderian, and Manstein.

He quickly brushed the dirt off his uniform but didn't salute—that was protocol for the Instruction Brigade on the front lines.

Morin nodded to him, stepping to the edge of the revetment to peer inside.

"Is this being built for the Sd.Kfz 101/2 fire-support vehicles?"

"Yes, General."

"Following your previous instructions, we're building one of these revetments every three hundred meters along the riverbank defensive line..." Hermann replied. "Once the vehicle drives in, only the barrel and gun shield will be exposed; the vast majority of the hull will be hidden below."

"Looking from the opposite bank, they'll essentially only see a tube and a shield."

Morin squatted down, observing the revetment's structure.

There was a ramp at the rear for vehicle access, the side walls were reinforced with simple log supports to prevent cave-ins, and a layer of gravel was laid at the bottom so it wouldn't turn into a quagmire when it rained.

At this point, Major Weichs, commander of the Armored Instruction Regiment, thought of something. "General, speaking of this... I've been meaning to discuss the traverse arc of the fire-support vehicles with you."

"Go ahead."

"Because of the gun mount design, the 50mm gun currently on the Sd.Kfz 101/2 only has 15 degrees of traverse to the left and right."

Weichs gestured the angles with both hands.

"It's not a major issue during an assault, since the entire vehicle is charging the enemy. A few degrees off, and you can just turn the hull to compensate."

"But it's completely different when parked in a defensive revetment. If a target steps out of the traverse arc, you basically can't engage it at all."

Morin nodded as he listened. It was indeed a problem.

During an attack, the vehicle was always moving, making the restricted traverse less noticeable.

But on defense, parked in a static position, this flaw was magnified. Due to structural reasons, the Sd.Kfz 101 hull was actually quite narrow. Morin himself had always mentally complained about the 50mm gun's "keyhole traverse."

"So what traverse arc do you think would be sufficient?" Morin asked.

"Could we widen the traverse to 25 or even 30 degrees to either side? That way, even while parked, we'd guarantee an adequate frontal firing arc."

Morin didn't answer immediately, mulling it over in his head.

The 50mm gun's mount design was the primary factor limiting the traverse. Widening it meant either altering the gun mount or modifying the hull's mounting structure.

However, those modifications couldn't be done overnight. For now, they'd just have to make do.

"I'll send a telegram to the rear later and have R&D look into solutions."

Morin gave his reply, then noticed Guderian beside him practically vibrating with eagerness, clearly itching to speak.

The young regimental operations officer had been listening in, and seeing Morin look his way, piggybacked off Weichs' topic.

"General, after yesterday's battle, I spoke with all the fire-support vehicle crews."

"What did they say?"

"They all feel this 50mm gun is incredibly effective. Fast rate of fire, high accuracy... Against stationary targets within four to five hundred meters, it rarely misses. The feedback from both the infantry and the crews is overwhelmingly positive."

"I feel a 'but' coming..." Morin said.

"Haha, yes, General," Guderian chuckled before continuing, "it's just that the caliber is still a bit small."

Hearing this, Morin shifted his gaze to the gun of a nearby fire-support vehicle currently on guard duty, as Guderian went on. "Yesterday, when hitting some of the fortified structures in the bridgehead, it took multiple 50mm high-explosive rounds to destroy them. If those structures were larger or thicker, it would take even more."

Guderian spoke faster and faster; he had clearly been pondering this all night.

"If we could bump the caliber up to something like a 77mm field gun, that becomes a one-shot problem! Furthermore, the 77mm HE shell has a larger kill radius and a wider suppression area—"

"I understand your point," Morin raised a hand to cut off his increasingly impassioned pitch. "77mm would definitely be better, but the question is, can the current half-track chassis handle it?"

"That..." Guderian stopped.

He was a tactical officer, not an engineer. While he harbored a deep interest in mechanical vehicles, this question genuinely fell outside his expertise.

However, Manstein, who had been standing to the side in silence, suddenly spoke up.

"Perhaps... we don't need to jam a 77mm gun onto the existing half-track chassis."

All three sets of eyes turned to him.

Manstein walked over to the half-finished vehicle revetment, stepping on the edge of the dirt pile and gesturing with his hands.

"I've been thinking about this since yesterday. What is the role of a fire-support vehicle? It is to provide direct-fire support for the infantry..."

"So, does it need to carry infantry? No."

"Since it doesn't need to carry troops, all the space in the rear compartment is freed up."

Morin's eyebrows twitched, and Manstein continued gesturing.

"If it's not transporting troops, the saved weight and space can be used exactly to mount a larger caliber gun... 77mm or even bigger."

"Simultaneously, without having to account for personnel transport, the hull's overall structure can be redesigned. Mobility and armor protection might actually improve."

"But what about the traverse limits?" Major Weichs pressed.

"Ignore the traverse."

Manstein turned back, looking at Weichs. "The mission of such a vehicle is to push forward alongside the infantry and fire straight at the enemy. Traverse isn't the most critical factor. As long as it can hit targets within its frontal arc during an attack, it's fine! Anything outside that arc gets handed off to other vehicles or the infantry."

"Its thickest frontal armor will always face the enemy during an attack, offering superior protection."

"You know what... you might be onto something..."

Morin looked at Manstein and nodded repeatedly.

Because the Armored Knights of this world essentially occupied the niche of "main battle tanks," Morin had never considered developing tanks.

Furthermore, he believed that early, underperforming tanks would be nothing more than "toys" for the Armored Knights.

But looking at it now, without the need to develop a complex turret, simply reinforcing the performance of the existing chassis meant he could produce assault guns at an incredibly rapid pace.

Their cost would be lower than both Armored Knights and proper tanks. Their biggest flaw, the "fixed traverse," wasn't really a problem on the current battlefield.

When advancing in coordination with infantry, they would inevitably face their heaviest frontal armor toward the enemy anyway.

Thinking of this, Morin felt it was time to chat with the development teams at Demag and the other companies again.

Previously, with his assistance, the companies formerly under Falkenstein United Industries, including Demag, had already amassed significant technological reserves in treads and power systems.

It was indeed time for those efforts to bear fruit.

This type of vehicle didn't need to be too fast or too agile...

Its mission was pure and simple: follow the infantry, and whenever they encountered a stubborn target, obliterate it with a single shot.

Fortified machine gun nests, pillboxes, or even enemy Armored Knights charging head-on... could all be greeted by a long-barreled gun.

Additionally, a fixed fighting compartment also helped improve artillery accuracy to some extent.

As long as the caliber was large enough, the armor thick enough, and the hull profile low enough... its battlefield survivability and combat efficiency wouldn't be poor at all.

Just as the four stood by the revetment discussing this, the hum of engines drifted down from above.

Two aircraft approached from the north, sweeping south along the course of the Dnieper River.

Morin glanced up. He could tell from the tactical numbers on their fuselages that it was the two-ship element of Richthofen and Immelmann.

The two Fokker E.I's weren't flying too high, roughly five hundred meters, conducting their daily reconnaissance patrol along the riverbank.

On the side of the nose of Immelmann's plane, there were two new, light-colored aircraft silhouette markings—his kill marks for downing the two White Army reconnaissance planes earlier.

Rumor had it that the looping disengagement maneuver he utilized during that dogfight had already been taught to the other pilots, who dubbed it the "Immelmann Turn."

Watching the two planes fly further and further away, other ideas began to sprout in Morin's mind.