Chapter 31: Great Victory on the Grasslands!

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In this world, there were plenty of armies that had to fight at least one battle before anyone realized just how terrible they were.

On paper, the Monggo Autonomous Territory had nine cavalry divisions.

If the Guanbei Army had not forced them into battle, the various Rassian khanates would never have discovered how hopelessly incompetent they were.

On the surface, this battle had shattered four cavalry divisions. In reality, the casualties were not even as high as those suffered during the air raid and night battle a few days earlier.

The confirmed death toll amounted to only a little over three thousand.

Both sides were cavalry, and their horses were of the same breed. When the pastoralist auxiliaries saw the front ranks collapse, the cavalry in the center and rear whipped their mounts furiously and turned tail, sending the horses racing wildly across the grassland. After abandoning their weapons, those auxiliaries of pastoralist origin ran even faster. The khanate knights under Zhang Shan genuinely could not catch them.

Even so, it was still a respectable victory.

Zhang Shan did not make things difficult for the khanate chieftains under his command. With a grand wave of his hand, he distributed roughly half of the weapons Ba Gen had hauled back that night.

It was not that Zhang Shan was being petty. They had agreed beforehand that payment would be calculated according to enemy casualties.

Enemy heads, enemy weapons, or captured horses all counted. Bring me the proof, and I would deliver the goods. Perfectly fair!

To be honest, those khanate knights did not think much of the Type 38 rifle. There was nothing to be done about it. The Japanese rifle was passable when used as an infantry weapon, but as a cavalry rifle it was far too long and cumbersome.

“Your Highness, if possible, we would rather have the ‘box cannons.’”

The box cannon’s proper name was the Yamato Nambu pistol, a copy of the Asgardian Mauser pistol.

For infantry regiments, the weapon had a short range and weak stopping power.

But for cavalrymen without guns, the box cannon was simple and easy to use. Even untrained herdsmen could handle it.

The corner of Zhang Shan’s mouth twitched. The anti-Yamato drama-loving part of his brain had been awakened. He nodded.

“All right!”

Thus, that night, nearly ten thousand herdsmen from the Monggo Autonomous Territory slept beside the large supply depot where the Boundary Division was stationed. There were so many of them that countless auxiliaries who had lost their equipment had to sleep in their clothes on the grass.

Seeing the spectacular scene, Lieutenant Colonel Sakamoto and Natsume Hisashi, sitting inside the supply depot office, were seized by a strange excitement.

Natsume Hisashi waved a hand, and two Monggo men dressed as auxiliaries carried in a large chest.

“Lieutenant Colonel Sakamoto, this is our prince’s sincerity. The remaining half will be deposited into your account at Rhine Bank once the deed is done.”

“His Highness is truly… exceedingly generous.” Sakamoto stared at the chest filled with cloth pounds, practically drooling.

Without the slightest attempt at concealment, Sakamoto summoned the subordinates he trusted most and stuffed a thick bundle of cloth pounds into each man’s arms.

Natsume Hisashi sneered inwardly.

You idiot, Sakamoto! You sold the Guanbei Army’s most important supply depot for a hundred thousand cloth pounds!

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Sakamoto sneered as well.

No need to die, and I still get to make a fortune in cloth pounds. This is one hell of a profitable deal!

At that moment, the two despicable foxes underwent a miraculous elevation of friendship, as though they had finally found kindred spirits in each other.

In the middle of the night, a strange roar suddenly came from the sky.

“What was that?”

Many of the auxiliary cavalrymen who had survived the day’s battle had not yet fallen into a deep sleep. At the thunderous sound of engines, they sprang up at once and stared around in bewilderment.

To be honest, the moonlight was poor that night. The clouds overhead were somewhat thick, allowing little moonlight to reach the ground.

But there was an infiltrator among them.

Several auxiliary cavalrymen of pastoralist origin watched in utter confusion as a number of crimson spheres of light shot rapidly into the sky from the center of their encampment, exploding not far above the ground.

Flares!

They were not enough to illuminate the entire supply depot as brightly as day, but they were more than sufficient to guide the aircraft overhead.

At an altitude more than three kilometers away, Lieutenant Prokofiev’s mouth twitched slightly.

“So they really did launch flares to guide us.”

“Captain, shall we attack?”

“Of course! Night Owl Squadron! Falcon Squadron! Dive-bombing attack!”

Nearly a hundred I-16s released the shriek of death as they plunged from the heavens.

Then something even more absurd happened.

Almost every anti-aircraft gun at the supply depot opened fire in unison.

For a few seconds, anyway—seemingly just to tell the pilots, We are here. Come and hit us!

It looked rather courageous, did it not?

Who could have guessed that in the very next moment, every Yamato soldier manning the anti-aircraft positions would turn and run south as fast as his legs could carry him?

Some even muttered as they fled, “How much is military pay worth, anyway? Firing a couple of rounds is enough to satisfy His Imperial Majesty.”

Prokofiev had conducted ground-attack missions for a long time, but this was the first time he had ever witnessed anything so preposterous. At the last moment, he urgently warned his comrades:

“Listen up, everyone. The enemy has abandoned its anti-aircraft positions! Repeat! The enemy has abandoned its anti-aircraft positions. Attack at your discretion!”

“What?!”

The Rassian pilots in the communications channel were left with nothing but a storm of question marks in their heads.

What the hell was going on?

Prokofiev remembered Prince Andrei’s instructions: If the enemy abandons its anti-aircraft guns, prioritize strafing its cavalry.

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The order was absurd, but it involved high-level secrets, and Prokofiev did not dare ask too many questions.

He could only follow the prince’s command and shout over the radio:

“All units, attention! Give priority to strafing the enemy cavalry!”

To be honest, it was not a good idea.

Strafing a highly mobile cavalry force in the pitch-black night felt like using artillery to swat mosquitoes.

Yet reality once again exceeded his imagination.

The TB-3 bombers had dropped only their first wave of incendiaries, but the flames spread as though they had ignited a gigantic grid-shaped fire trap.

No one knew how many barrels of gasoline had been set alight and exploded, but the resulting inferno instantly spread across the grasslands surrounding the supply depot.

Under normal circumstances, the grasslands in the summer rainy season were difficult to ignite.

But the enemy had an absurd amount of gasoline.

Flying low, Prokofiev saw with perfect clarity thousands upon thousands of enemy cavalrymen blundering around the burning fields like headless flies.

Every one of them was a combat achievement!

The I-16 formation—and even the machine gunners aboard the TB-3 bombers—had an absolute feast that night.

The TB-3 bombers in particular had long been criticized for their slow speed.

But in a scene resembling a shooting gallery, their slowness had become an advantage.

The bombers cruised back and forth at less than a hundred meters above the ground, and the machine-gun turrets beneath their wings actually managed to run out of ammunition.

A battle this absurd had truly unfolded before the eyes of the Rassians.

And it was not over yet.

Just as the flames finally began to weaken and the Rassian air force was forced to turn back, Prokofiev heard that familiar cry of “Hurray!” once again.

Lit by the glow of the flames, countless khanate knights burst from the darkness. With rifles and sabers in hand, they began reaping the lives of the enemy with abandon.

At dawn, another telegram from the Principality of Bolia shook the world.

Last night! Our brave soldiers successfully annihilated the Guanbei Army of Yamato. In a single operation, we routed Yamato’s Fourth Division at the Boundary, along with the First, Second, Third, and Fourth Cavalry Divisions of the Monggo Autonomous Army. More than eighteen thousand enemy soldiers were killed. Three divisional flags, over ten thousand rifles, assorted artillery pieces, and more than a million rounds of ammunition were captured…

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