Chapter 62: A Vicious Plot, Human Lives to Fill the Trenches

It is deeply ironic that the warring factions assembled a combined force of over three hundred thousand troops. Both sides maintained auxiliary units—on one side stood the Church Militant and the Khanate cavalry, while on the other were Category B and Category C divisions. Adding various other detachments to the mix, the total easily surpassed half a million men. When factoring in the massive logistical support networks, claiming to possess an army of one million in foreign propaganda was hardly an exaggeration.

Yet, regarding the characterization of this impending, large-scale war, the emperors of both empires reached a tacit and peculiar consensus, referring to it as nothing more than a "border skirmish."

Indeed, the situation was utterly surreal.

The Rasia Emperor was displeased that Andrei refused to bend the knee.
The Yamato Emperor was disgruntled that Commander Honda had acted unilaterally behind closed doors.

Yet which sane soul on earth would wage a "border skirmish" with an army of a million men?!

Consequently, Alica’s *New York Times*, Asgard’s *ToD’s Gazette*, and Britannia’s *The Daily Mumble* published headlines dripping with sarcasm, such as [A Border Skirmish of Two Million Men], to describe what was undoubtedly one of the largest military engagements since the last Great Europa War.

A swarm of military commentary "experts" sprang forth to analyze the troop strengths and topography, vividly illustrating scenarios where the Trans-Beria Railway was severed near Red Pagoda City, leading to the gradual erosion and eventual fall of the Beria Grand Duchy.

One had to admit that if the Beria Grand Duchy failed to take decisive action and instead relied blindly on the trunk railway for defense, it would ultimately be impossible to withstand the comprehensive offensive launched by the North-Guandong Army along such an extended front, boasting six full Category A divisions and twelve Category B divisions.

Every single expert spoke with absolute conviction that once their logistical issues were resolved, the Yamato people would be invincible.

Their arguments were so sound and meticulously detailed that even Rasia’s Emperor, Constantine XVIII, actually believed them.

"Ha! I shall simply wait for that young pup of the Beria family to be battered to a pulp, and only then will I step in to mediate the conflict."

Using outside forces to deliver a measured blow to a disobedient subordinate was certainly an inglorious tactic, but it was undoubtedly effective.

As for the price the Beria family would have to pay in order to secure a truce, Constantine XVIII cared not a whit. No noble of high-ranking Rasia lineage would ever deign to cast a favorable glance upon that wretched, permafrosted wasteland of the Far East.

If not for the naval base left behind by the previous emperor in the Maritime Province, complete with a fleet of majestic and formidable warships that also kept the Pacific Ocean in check, His Majesty would have dismissed the Far East with utter contempt.

He remained entirely oblivious to the boundless greed harbored by the Yamato people, whom he viewed as no more than stunted children. He remained blissfully immersed in the sweet illusion that all six Prince-Electors would willingly bow and submit at the foot of his imperial throne.

As for the Odin Emperor, he genuinely hoped that Andrei would thoroughly teach those arrogant Yamato upstarts a lesson.

As for Britannia, the secret to acting as the arbiter of the continent lay in keeping the continent in turmoil, ensuring that no single power could conquer the rest. A powerful Rasia Empire did not align with Britannia's interests; should that monster recapture the glory of the "Europa Steamroller," it would spell a nightmare for every nation in Europa.

A formidable regional faction freed from the constraints of the Rasia Emperor was undoubtedly welcomed with open arms by the British.

For Alica, a nation of arms dealers, nothing could be more delightful than the rise of the Beria Grand Duchy. After all, Alica sold weaponry and resources to both Yamato and Beria, profiting handsomely from both sides—and selling at a markup, no less. It was an absolute windfall.

Everyone else was simply enjoying the spectacle. Only Zhang Shan noticed a seemingly insignificant "triviality" unfolding along the steppe railway.

"Oh? A large number of Seris laborers?" Zhang Shan asked, scanning the report handed to him by Anna.

"Yes, Your Highness. The Yamato are forcing them to construct the railway, yet they appear to have neglected to provision rations for the coming month. This intelligence was acquired through Lieutenant Sakamoto."

Zhang Shan’s eyes narrowed into mere slits.

Damn those Japanese devils; they were resorting to another vicious scheme.

When Zhang Shan received recent reports detailing how Red Pagoda City’s increased "entrenchment value" had slowed the Yamato advance to a crawl, the pieces clicked together in his mind.

"Find me some Seris refugees."

Three days later, south of Red Pagoda City.

Following months of intense combat, the buildings in the southern sector that had once offered defensive cover were now reduced to shattered ruins and rubble.

As the defenders, the Rasias were forced to gradually fall back toward the city center.

With Panfilov’s "deep trench" doctrine having been implemented throughout the entire army, Yamato "Banzai charges" had become a rarity of late. When they did charge, they invariably carried wooden doors or ladders to serve as improvised bridges for crossing trenches.

Today, however, things seemed rather different.

"There are so many people on the other side!"
"They don't look like Yamato."
"How could they not? They all look the same."
"No! Their horns are different!"

The horns of the Yamato devils were conical—short and sharp.

The individuals visible through the telescope clearly possessed different features. Among these men, who were obviously civilians, many sported short horns on their foreheads, measuring roughly three to six centimeters and resembling pieces of ginger.

This discovery gave the Rasia defenders a clear understanding of the situation.

Behind the trenches and broken walls several hundred meters away, a restless sea of heads was clearly visible.

Muddy, yellowish cordite smoke billowed across the trenches. Splinters of earth churned up by Type 11 light machine guns, mixed with bloody foam, rained down upon the flagstones.

Hundreds of Seris civilian laborers, prodded by Yamato bayonets and machine guns, were crammed tightly into the foremost trench. Their soot-stained white tunics were soaked with the stench of sweat, the knees of young men trembled uncontrollably within their tattered trousers, and the graying beards of the elders were stained with dried tears and mucus.

"Charge!" a Yamato lieutenant roared, waving his sabre. Its gleaming flash served as the starting gun, and a machine gunner immediately swept a burst of fire into the ground just behind the trench where the Seris laborers were huddled.

They were still terrified!

Several Yamato soldiers lunged forward viciously, while an interpreter barked a translation: "Take up the sandbags and charge!"

When one Seris man hesitated, a bayonet instantly drove into his shoulder. The sound of tearing flesh, coupled with excruciating agony, forced a piercing scream from his lips.

That shriek served as the cruelest starting signal.

It spurred the panicked Seris laborers into hoisting individual sandbags upon their backs, driving them like a flock of driven sheep toward the opposing line.

Closer!
Even closer!

They could already see the gaping, black muzzles of the white-skinned Rasia soldiers waiting opposite them.

Yet, the gunfire they dreaded most did not ring out immediately. Instead, a booming broadcast echoed from across the lines, speaking in the very dialect most familiar to them.

"Seris elders and brothers, do not be afraid! The Rasias will not kill you! Drop to the ground immediately, throw your sandbags behind you, and slowly crawl toward the flanks!"

The megaphone, operating at no less than 120 decibels, instantly gave the panicked Seris a anchor of certainty.

When the first person followed the instruction, the rest of the group did the same.

The Rasia soldiers on the opposite side gestured for them to move to the side.

Many more complied.

Naturally, the fact that the Seris laborers refused to sacrifice their lives to fill the trenches deeply infuriated the Yamato.

Machine gun fire erupted once more, this time aimed directly at the Seris laborers.

*Rat-tat-tat!*

Inevitably, those in the rear were struck. Their panicked screams caused another fraction of the Seris laborers to lose their composure and leap up to run, only for multiple bullet holes to blossom like bloody flowers across their gray cloth tunics, their bodies collapsing limply to the ground.

At the same time, the Rasias opened fire with mortars, targeting the Yamato machine gun nests.

A chaotic battle broke out instantly.

By a stroke of immense fortune amid the disaster, roughly half of the Seris laborers driven out to fill the trenches successfully reached the Rasia lines. In truth, none of them had known whether the Rasias would open fire or spare them; they had never anticipated that the opposing soldiers would actually clear a path to let every single Seris through.