Chapter 555: I’m Waiting for the Armored Airship, What Are You Waiting For?

After touring the frontlines and confirming the progress of vehicle revetments and infantry fortifications, the group returned to the temporary command post.

Morin stayed mostly silent on the way back, his mind churning over the concept of assault guns.

Guderian and Manstein's remarks had opened a new avenue of thought for him.

Sitting at a folding table inside the command tent, Morin activated the "Assist Drafting" function of his 【Research】 interface. He grabbed a pencil and began sketching on a blank sheet of paper.

A flat hull profile, a sloped frontal armor plate, and a low-profile fighting compartment housing a larger caliber gun... That was the basic gist.

After finishing this "assault gun" sketch—a blend of various design features—Morin rested his chin on his hand and pondered.

He was serious about this assault gun idea.

In a world with Armored Knights, where these units wielded long-barreled guns to instantly obliterate each other and effortlessly crush standard ground units... the priority of developing conventional "tanks" had dropped significantly.

Morin didn't think tank development was entirely unnecessary. Rather, he believed they shouldn't blindly repeat the developmental path of his original world. The tank's tactical role needed redefining.

Should it be a highly mobile "glass cannon" utilizing speed and terrain for maneuver warfare—sniping from the shadows like early Cold War European tanks to avoid close-quarters combat with Armored Knights?

Or should it go the super-heavy route, becoming a true land cruiser relying on both physical and magical armor to withstand Armored Knight firepower?

Honestly, Morin didn't have the answer yet.

But he was certain of one thing: before figuring out the tank's exact role, pouring resources into assault guns was definitely the right move.

Eliminating the complex turret traverse mechanisms, slip rings, and stabilization systems simplified the structure immensely.

The "firepower, armor, mobility" balancing act that tortured tank designers was far less problematic for an assault gun. Manufacturing costs and maintenance difficulties dropped sharply.

Most importantly, the assault gun had a crystal-clear battlefield role.

Advance alongside infantry, provide direct-fire support, and obliterate any hardened targets the infantry couldn't crack.

It didn't need a 360-degree firing arc, nor firing-on-the-move stabilization, nor high top speeds. It just needed enough tactical mobility to keep pace with the infantry advance.

For fire control, a fixed fighting compartment actually improved firing stability, bypassing the tolerance buildup inherent in turret rings and related components.

Even if dedicated anti-armor tank destroyers like the Jagdpanzer IV or E-25 emerged later, their development would be far easier than a tank mounting the same weapon.

The more Morin thought about it, the more viable it seemed. He picked up his pen and started writing letters.

The first letter went to Demag, Mercedes, and Borgward. Its main purpose was to apply pressure.

With half-tracks entering mass production and the prior military orders for upgraded radiant-crystal trucks, the executives of these three companies—aside from their "silent partner" Morin—were making a killing.

They were expanding production lines and truly scaling up. As for the R&D teams and overtime workers, under Morin's instruction, they received hefty bonuses and wartime material stipends.

Though the executives initially balked at these extra payouts, they couldn't exactly defy Morin, their golden goose—especially with the "Radiant Crystal Queen" backing him.

Since everyone from top to bottom had made their money, it was time to invest in new projects. After all, their "Big Boss" was currently baring his fangs at the Russians on the front lines.

The letter had two core directives.

First, continue refining and optimizing the existing half-track chassis.

Frontline units had reported several issues in combat: critical suspension components wearing out too quickly on long marches, overly stiff steering levers causing driver fatigue, and so on. These needed immediate fixing.

Second, initiate the development of a fully tracked chassis.

Morin laid out specific requirements in his letter.

This fully tracked chassis had to meet several hard metrics: Maintenance and repair couldn't be significantly more complex than the current half-tracks, allowing frontline combat engineer companies to handle most common faults.

Driving stability had to improve drastically, ensuring it could complete a 150-kilometer tactical march without major breakdowns.

After all, Morin couldn't count on military trains and armored airships for transport at all times. When the armored units needed to drive, they had to drive.

Regarding performance, the primary goal was mounting an upgraded 77mm field gun while making the hull immune to infantry-grade weapons from all sides.

Morin hesitated over the frontal armor protection.

Their current enemies lacked decent anti-armor capabilities. The White Army's outdated artillery was abysmal; even if they had armor-piercing shells, their effectiveness would be severely limited in the short term.

Practically speaking, 30mm would be perfectly adequate... But who knew what they'd face next? After a few seconds of hesitation, Morin scribbled down "50mm equivalent thickness."

This matter isn't urgent, but it must be done quickly, he wrote at the end. Rereading it, he realized the contradiction... whatever, they'd get the point.

Sealing the first letter, Morin felt his "design addiction" kicking in.

In his eyes, a Saxon armored force without a tank destroyer battalion was incomplete.

The 50mm "RAK 15" anti-armor gun currently dominating the battlefield was great, but it was tailored for existing threats. As the war dragged on, the enemy would inevitably improve their armor.

Whether it was the White Army reinforcing their positions to mitigate the 50mm's damage, or encountering upgraded Britannian Armored Knights in the future... the RAK 15 would eventually fail to penetrate.

Developing the RAK 15's successor early was the only way to stay a step ahead in the firepower arms race. With this in mind, Morin rolled out a fresh sheet of paper and wrote a second letter to Krupp, another company he held shares in.

The request was equally direct: follow the RAK 15 design philosophy to create larger caliber anti-armor guns. 77mm or 88mm would do; let their experts decide the exact caliber based on the armor-piercing performance gains.

The sole core requirement: a qualitative leap in penetration and destructive capability over the RAK 15.

Finishing both letters, Morin leaned back, his shoulders popping.

The roar of armored vehicle engines starting up echoed outside the tent; likely a patrol shift change.

Morin folded the letters into envelopes and called for the communications officer, ordering him to send them along with his sketches back to the homeland through the Eighth Army's field postal service.

After the officer left, Morin sat back down and glanced at another sketch resembling a Jagdpanther or SU-100.

Flat hull, sloped frontal armor, low-profile fighting compartment...

If all went well, by the time this Eastern Front campaign concluded, he'd see the real thing on the testing grounds. In the foreseeable future, Saxony's ground forces would field a high-low mix of "Armored Knights + Multi-role Assault Guns."

While he daydreamed over the sketch, hurried footsteps approached.

Manstein poked half his head through the tent flap.

"General, the artillery regiment is here! Rundstedt and the rest of the units are arriving!"

Over the next two days, contrasting the frantic rush to reinforce Rzhyshchiv immediately upon arriving in Kyiv, Morin and the Instruction Brigade actually found themselves with some downtime.

The White Army on the east bank of the Dnieper not only halted their river crossing operations but voluntarily abandoned several temporary positions near the riverbank.

The reason was simple. After the Instruction Brigade's artillery regiment arrived and set up their batteries, they began registering targets on the east bank. The combination of 105mm and 150mm guns swiftly plowed through several White Army temporary positions, treating them as convenient target practice.

The terrifying sight of 150mm high-explosive shells obliterating positions in a single hit drove the White Army soldiers to retreat overnight into more robust, in-depth defenses.

The brigade's aviation squadron confirmed this via aerial reconnaissance. The White Army's main forces had entirely withdrawn into fortified positions capable of withstanding artillery fire. Aside from a few cavalry scouts, White Army units were practically invisible in the open.

However, General Yegorov did not breathe a sigh of relief.

That afternoon, Major Grishin visited the Instruction Brigade camp again, relaying Yegorov's request to discuss matters with Morin. Morin went without a second thought, naturally followed by Major Klose and an inquisitor whose name Morin couldn't recall.

But Morin noticed a subtle shift in the military inquisitor's behavior starting from the second day.

While Klose still shadowed the brigade's senior officers and attended every interaction between Morin and the Western Rus faction, his presence felt much less intrusive.

He no longer initiated conversations or hounded them with half-baked questions. He just quietly followed, occasionally scribbling in his notebook. Morin couldn't figure out the man's angle, but he didn't care. He hadn't done anything out of line anyway.

Upon Morin's arrival at the Rzhyshchiv garrison headquarters, Yegorov laid bare his concerns.

"General Morin, the White Bandit Army's sudden front-wide withdrawal... makes me very uneasy."

He rapped his knuckles on the map indicating the opposite bank.

"As far as I know, their commander, Denikin, isn't one to give up easily. After losing two battalions to you, he might fume for a few days, but he wouldn't just tuck his tail and hide."

"Please rest easy on that front."

Morin crossed his arms, staring at the map markers, and spoke decisively.

"He is definitely preparing a massive offensive. This is merely the calm before the storm."

"..." Yegorov frowned. "You seem remarkably calm."

"My follow-up units have arrived over the past two days, and the artillery regiment has completed its deployment and target registration."

Morin pointed along the west bank of the Dnieper's Rzhyshchiv sector.

"The Infantry Instruction Regiment's three battalions are dispersed across these positions to assist your garrison in defense. The Armored Instruction Regiment is positioned behind the defensive lines, ready to launch counterattacks. The artillery regiment is deployed in depth to provide fire support."

"As for the reserve force, that will consist of the combat engineers, the Thunder Warriors I mentioned earlier, and myself."

Morin tapped his chest, flashing a wholesome smile.

"Actually, besides the Thunder Warriors, I'm quite strong myself."

General Yegorov didn't know what to say. He clearly found it hard to accept an Army Major General personally acting as the reserve and being so eager to charge the front lines.

"General Morin, are all Saxon generals like you?" he couldn't help asking.

"Not exactly. I guess I'm a special case."

Morin chuckled without elaborating further, continuing:

"Oh right, there's also the armored airship... It will arrive tonight."

"It can continuously monitor all movements on the river from the air. The moment the White Army launches their boats, we'll spot them." Morin paused, adding, "Of course, it packs a punch itself, and it can airdrop Armored Knights at critical moments to stabilize the situation."

Yegorov didn't press for details on the airship's armament, though his expression remained somewhat skeptical.

That wasn't surprising. For someone who had never seen an armored airship, imagining its combat capabilities was difficult.

"Furthermore, outside the Rzhyshchiv sector, both upstream and downstream... the Dnieper widens significantly, and several sections have rapid currents, making crossings incredibly difficult."

Morin traced up and down the map.

"Therefore, the areas where the White Army's Southern Army can execute a crossing are naturally bottlenecked. I'll maintain a mobile force roaming our defense sector to strike wherever they pop up."

Yegorov stayed silent for a while before finally nodding.

"Let's hope things go as you say, Major General Morin."

Leaving garrison headquarters, Morin didn't return straight to camp. Instead, he openly detoured to find Bearded Andrei. Major Klose and Lieutenant Fischer naturally tagged along.

Andrei's regimental headquarters was located in a civilian house south of Rzhyshchiv, its roof half-blown off by artillery, patched up with canvas tarps to keep the rain out.

Seeing Morin approach, a hearty smile broke out beneath Andrei's thick beard.

"Oho! If it isn't our General Morin—wait a second, let me call some guys over!"

Andrei rolled his eyes mischievously and hollered into the house.

"Hurry up! That crazy second lieutenant from Sevilla is here!"

A moment later, several men in National Army uniforms filed out.

Morin stared at their faces for two seconds before breaking into a grin. He knew all of them.

Leading the pack was a tall, thin man—Kasanov, the university chemistry professor. He was the key figure who helped Morin jury-rig the shaped charges in Sevilla, turning Morin's theories into reality.

The others were working-class International Brigade soldiers who had assisted in the production.

"Second Lieutenant Morin! It really is you!"

Kasanov reacted first, his eyes wide with surprise.

"Andrei told us you were in Rzhyshchiv and had become a general; we all thought he was joking!"

The chemistry professor stepped up excitedly, hugging Morin. A flurry of shoulder slaps, handshakes, and rapid-fire Russian greetings followed. Seeing Morin putting on zero airs despite being a general, the other familiar faces sighed in relief and approached with smiles to greet him.

Surrounded by the group, Morin couldn't keep the smile off his face.

Running into these familiar yet distant faces on this foreign Eastern Front... it felt incredibly surreal.

Meanwhile, the situation for Major Klose and Lieutenant Fischer, standing on the periphery, was rather awkward. They couldn't join the conversation, nor could they leave. They just stood there listening to the group reminisce.

For the next half hour, Morin and his old friends traded stories, bragging about their past battles in Sevilla. The stories were naturally half-truths, embellished with artistic flair. Furthermore, the discussions were strictly confined to military operations, utterly devoid of any ideological issues.

As Morin spoke, he openly waved Klose over.

"Major Klose, come here! Let me introduce you... These are my comrades-in-arms from the Aragon civil war, when I was ordered by the Army High Command to assist the International Brigades."

He pointed to each of them, explaining their vastly different backgrounds to the inquisitor. He then turned back to his friends, speaking in serious Russian: "These two are Military Inquisitors from the Saxon Imperial Army, tasked with supervising my words and actions on the front lines."

Andrei hesitated for a moment before finally blurting out:

"Honestly, I wanted to ask on the first day we met. We saw Saxon officers dressed like this back in Aragon... So you Saxons have these kinds of posts too?"

"We do, brother, we do."

"Why are they supervising you? Keeping an eye on you in case you defect?"

"Pretty much."

Bearded Andrei burst into roaring laughter, loud enough to echo down the street.

"Don't worry, don't worry!" He thumped his chest and spoke to Major Klose in broken Saxon. "We absolutely won't kidnap your General Morin!"

An embarrassed smile flickered across Major Klose's face. Over the past two days, his view of Morin had actually shifted. As for Lieutenant Fischer, his expression remained rather colorful.

After the reunion finally wrapped up, Morin gifted Andrei's group some of the "military ration beer" he had brought along in his command vehicle, fulfilling the promise they made when they parted at the train station years ago.

Agreeing to meet up again later, Morin led the two inquisitors back.

On the way back to camp, Major Klose stayed silent. Lieutenant Fischer trailed behind, suppressing an uncomfortable scowl. Morin, on the other hand, was in high spirits, a spring in his step.

Dusk had fallen by the time he reached the camp, the setting sun painting the western skyline a vivid orange-red.

Just as Morin was about to head to his tent to handle some paperwork, the communications officer sprinted over.

"General! The Armored Airship squadron cabled; they estimate arrival in thirty minutes!"

Twenty minutes later, a black dot slowly swelled on the twilight horizon.

Initially, only Morin knew what it was, tracking the massive blue marker closing in on his system map. But soon, others noticed the armored airship's approach.

Word spread fast.

Instruction Brigade soldiers poked their heads out from tents and vehicles, gazing at the northwestern sky.

The veterans of the Infantry Instruction Regiment, having coordinated with armored airships extensively, lacked their previous awe and excitement. However, the newer recruits from the expansion, though having seen airships before, found the experience of watching this oppressive behemoth slowly approach the front lines entirely different.

As it drew closer, the L15's silhouette sharpened.

The several-hundred-meter-long hull exuded a dark gray metallic sheen in the fading light.

The multiple propellers on its flanks spun, emitting a continuous low-frequency roar—not the buzzing of the brigade aviation's planes, but a deep vibration felt right in the chest.

The Western Rus residents in Rzhyshchiv had an even stronger reaction.

Anyone walking the streets that evening froze when the massive shadow crept across the sky. Jaws dropped. People crossed themselves.

An old woman standing by her door dropped straight to her knees, mumbling prayers.

Yegorov witnessed this from his second-floor office at the garrison headquarters.

He stood there, staring up at the behemoth blotting out half the sky for over ten seconds.

Major Grishin stood behind him. After a long while, he asked, "General, is this the armored airship Major General Morin mentioned?"

Yegorov nodded, his voice laced with complex emotion.

"...It seems the Saxons weren't bluffing."

The L15 didn't land immediately. Instead, it circled Rzhyshchiv once before heading toward the Dnieper River. As per their prior communications, Lieutenant Colonel Andreasia was to command the airship to put on a show of force "where the White Army could see it."

An airship this huge couldn't be hidden anyway. It was better to display it early to pressure the White Army—a textbook form of psychological warfare.

Meanwhile, on the east bank of the Dnieper.

The L15's arrival was also spotted by White Army sentries and forward observation posts.

Indeed, it was impossible to miss such a colossal flying object appearing on the horizon.

In the rear White Army positions, soldiers previously huddled in their trenches out of sheer boredom stood up almost in unison.

"What the hell..."

A young White Army private rubbed his eyes, thinking he was seeing things.

But backlit by the setting sun, the shadow grew larger and clearer.

The expressions on the faces of the older soldiers next to him shifted drastically. One veteran's face went deathly pale in seconds.

During his service in the old Imperial Army, he had heard the older generation of officers share legends about "Behemoths." Ancient entities awakened from beneath Siberia by Orthodox Alchemists. The ultimate weapons of the Tsarist era that terrified other nations out of invading Rus territory.

Although he had never laid eyes on an armored airship or a Behemoth, his brain instinctively categorized the colossal object in the sky as the only thing matching that scale in his worldview.

"A Behemoth..."

The veteran's lips trembled.

"The Saxons' Behemoth is in the sky!"

The phrase spread through the trenches like a plague.

One after another, White Army soldiers stood up, looked toward the western sky, and paled.

No one corrected the veteran.

Because not a single person present had ever seen a Saxon armored airship. Blurry newspaper photos and artist renditions failed to convey the true scale.

Thus, just like that veteran, when they saw the sky-blotting black silhouette, their brains frantically searched their limited knowledge base and pulled up the only matching concept.

A Behemoth.

Panic spread through the forward positions faster than any officer's orders.

Some turned and ran. Some curled up at the bottom of the trenches, clutching their heads. Others dropped to their knees in the mud and began praying.

The White Army frontline commanders spent over an hour just barely restoring order.

But that very night, the number of deserters from the White Army's frontline positions cracked the top five single-day records since the Southern Army's offensive began.