Chapter 198: Pack Me 200 Roasted Pig Knuckles

von Bulow and Ludendorff’s expressions froze once again.

And Morin, on the other side, continued:

“The first day I noticed something was wrong and sent a Dispatch Rider back, you sent me just one Field Artillery Battalion, and for the next two days, there was no other support.”

“You left one battalion of mine at the front to hold off an Army Group? Fine! Even if Charleroi City could only deploy a maximum of one division, that’s still a disparity of over 1:10!”

“Esteemed Generals, have you had a fundamental failure of ideology?” Morin’s barrage of questions, like a storm, hammered down upon the two Generals. He was practically pointing his finger at them and cursing.

This time, the composure and calm on their faces could no longer be maintained. General von Bulow’s face turned pale and green. His lips moved, but he couldn’t utter a single word. Finally, he could only cast a pleading look toward Ludendorff beside him.

Ludendorff felt sweat pouring down his head. He felt that his job as Army Group Deputy Chief of Staff was incredibly frustrating. He took a deep breath, and after a long pause, he frowned and threw his hands up, speaking with some agitation:

“Charleroi kept calling for me to reinforce them! How was I supposed to go? The Second Army Group main force needed my Battle Group to block the Grand Duchy of Flanders’ Fifth Infantry Division, and they also had constant skirmishers attacking my Battle Group!”

“We didn’t have many Military Trucks allocated to our Battle Group in the first place, and I needed them to haul logistics from Liège. I simply couldn’t spare any more mobile transport to move troops!”

“And if I had sent the supporting troops on foot, their arrival time would have been the same as the two infantry battalions that arrived last night!”

Listening to Ludendorff’s ‘nonsense,’ it actually sounded like a genuine outpouring of his heart. Morin fell silent.

He knew that what Ludendorff said was likely mostly true. The deployment of the Second Army Group was indeed complicated. Their main force was stalled by the Namur Fortress Cluster, leaving the entire front line overextended and troops dispersed. Ludendorff’s Battle Group, as the forward mobile unit, was under immense pressure, needing to interdict the enemy, protect the flanks, and maintain the supply line. His constraints on manpower and transport were tight, so he did have a point.

But understanding was one thing; acceptance was another.

“General, I understand your difficulties,” Morin’s voice softened somewhat, but still carried a cold edge. “However, that is not a reason for you to condemn my unit to annihilation.”

“You said you had no Military Trucks to transport troops, yet why, when my convoy arrived, were you immediately able to load it with two battalions of reinforcements and double the ammunition?”

“You see, there are always more solutions than problems, aren’t there? The key lies in whether you are willing to look for that solution, and whether you are willing to pay the price for it.”

Ludendorff’s mouth opened and closed, unable to find words.

Yes, why was he able to conjure up reinforcements and ammunition the moment Morin’s convoy arrived?

Because Morin had written very clearly in his letter that if they didn’t receive immediate support, the Instruction Assault Battalion would be completely wiped out. He was forced into a corner and had to squeeze a portion of the limited manpower and supplies from his already strained resources.

Ultimately, it all came down to a question of priority. Even if he had realized the value of the Instruction Assault Battalion in the previous battles, just as Morin said, his ideology hadn’t fully shifted. Therefore, he had yet to elevate the Instruction Assault Battalion’s priority during the fight.

“Alright, alright, both of you calm down!” General von Bulow, seeing the atmosphere growing tense again, quickly intervened to mediate. He walked between the two men, separating them. “Ludendorff, there are indeed points in your command that are questionable… Captain Morin, you must also be understanding. The frontline situation is complex. No one can guarantee that every decision is 100% correct.”

He first placed the blame fifty-fifty, then changed his tone, addressing Morin with genuine sincerity: “Captain Morin, the Second Army Group Command Post certainly bears responsibility for this matter…” General von Bulow then offered many flattering words, completely abandoning the dignified posture of a Second Army Group commander.

But Morin also knew when to quit. His goal was not truly to burn bridges with these two powerful figures. It was to secure the proper treatment and respect the Instruction Assault Battalion deserved, preventing similar situations from happening again. Now that he had vented his anger, made his point, and the two Generals had ‘acknowledged their fault,’ it was time to talk business.

Morin’s tone softened slightly, and he spoke: “Esteemed Generals, I also understand the notion of ‘with great power comes great responsibility.’ The combat effectiveness of the Instruction Assault Battalion is clear, and executing difficult combat missions is entirely reasonable.”

He paused, then changed his focus, his expression turning serious again. “However, to prevent similar tragedies from happening in the future, I believe it is necessary for us to reach a consensus on the correct way to utilize the Instruction Assault Battalion.”

von Bulow and Ludendorff exchanged glances, both seeing a hint of helplessness. They knew this young man wouldn’t leave until he achieved his goals today.

“Alas, Captain Morin, just tell us what you want,” General von Bulow gestured with an inviting hand.

“Very well.” Morin wasted no time, immediately beginning his lesson in front of the two Generals.

“Firstly, what is the positioning of the Instruction Assault Battalion? We are a ‘training’ unit; we are an ‘assault’ unit!”

“Our mission is to test and perfect new tactics and new equipment during wartime, paving the way for the army’s modernization reform!”

“Our core value lies in the ‘assault’—in using our superior firepower and mobility like a sharp dagger to tear open enemy lines and execute critical infiltration and attack missions!”

“Not, as happened this time, being treated like ordinary line infantry and thrown into a fixed position to fight to the death! That is the greatest waste of our potential!” Morin’s voice was firm and powerful, echoing through the tent.

“Every soldier in the Instruction Assault Battalion is a treasure! They have received the most rigorous training, mastering the most advanced tactical thinking; they are the seeds of the future Saxon Army! Consuming them in pointless, static warfare is a crime!”

von Bulow and Ludendorff listened silently, their expressions complex. They had to admit that Morin was entirely correct. The original intention for forming the Instruction Assault Battalion was precisely this. However, in the reality of war, such a unit, due to its overwhelming effectiveness, is often subconsciously utilized as a ‘firefighting unit,’ neglecting its true strategic value.

Morin looked at the two Generals and began to state his demands.

“Therefore, I hope that in the coming battles, the Command Post will clarify the principles for the Instruction Assault Battalion’s deployment.”

“First, we must be granted sufficient time for rest and recuperation! My unit has just endured a brutal battle. The soldiers are exhausted physically and mentally, and casualties are heavy… I request at least two days of rest, during which our weapons and ammunition must be fully replenished, and our manpower replaced!”

von Bulow and Ludendorff exchanged glances and nodded. This request was reasonable; they had no grounds to refuse.

“Agreed.” General von Bulow immediately conceded: “I will immediately order the Logistics Department to prioritize all your needs…”

“Thank you, General!” Morin nodded and continued: “Second, regarding the nature of the mission: the Instruction Assault Battalion can continue to undertake high-risk assault missions, similar to this ‘seizure of vital ground’! However, there is one prerequisite!”

He held up two fingers.

“During the mission planning stage, the Army Group Command Post must, based on the specific situation of the objective, allocate and reinforce us with a portion of regular troops in advance.”

“These troops will be under the unified command of the Instruction Assault Battalion. Their main task will be to take over the defenses and consolidate the position after we capture the objective area, thus freeing us from the arduous defensive duties!”

“We are the dagger, not the shield! We are only responsible for stabbing the enemy; we are not responsible for holding the ground and taking a beating!”

This request was somewhat unorthodox. Allowing a Captain Battalion Commander to command other battalion- or even regiment-sized units was unprecedented in the rigid hierarchy of the Saxon Army. Ludendorff’s brow furrowed again; he began to worry that this young man was getting ahead of himself.

But surprisingly, General von Bulow pondered for a moment, then slowly nodded.

“This request… while unconventional, is sound from a tactical standpoint.” The old General ultimately made his decision: “I agree in principle. We can discuss the specific operational details later.”

He knew clearly that after the battle of Charleroi, the value of the Instruction Assault Battalion had been vividly demonstrated. Trading the casualties of regular troops to preserve the combat effectiveness of this elite unit was a calculation that made perfect military sense. He also wanted to see what kind of brilliant battles this young Captain, who constantly brought him ‘surprises,’ could achieve when commanding a larger force.

Morin breathed a sigh of relief when von Bulow agreed. He knew the hardest part was over.

“Third,” he continued, “the issue of fire support.”

“I request that the 77mm Field Artillery Battalion that was temporarily assigned to us and is stationed outside North Charleroi be formally placed under the command of my Instruction Assault Battalion! We need an artillery force that can provide us with direct fire support at all times!”

“That is not a problem.” General von Bulow readily agreed to this request; it was merely a Field Artillery Battalion.

In addition to this, Morin put forward one final request. He insisted that the results of the Charleroi campaign be widely publicized, emphasizing the Instruction Assault Battalion’s relentless defense against overwhelming odds. He also requested military commendations for the Instruction Assault Battalion soldiers and proper compensation for the families of the fallen soldiers.

This request struck von Bulow and Ludendorff as somewhat odd. After all, even without Morin’s reminder, the Second Army Group would certainly promote the victory vigorously, as it was a tremendous boost to morale. Therefore, von Bulow and Ludendorff did not refuse, stating they would relay the request to the rear immediately. After the battles of Liège and Charleroi, they were acutely aware that the Instruction Assault Battalion’s combat effectiveness was incomparable to that of regular troops.

“Rest assured,” General von Bulow finally said solemnly: “I guarantee you, on the honor of a Saxon Army General, that I will fulfill every point you have raised!”

“All the brave men who fell in the Charleroi campaign will receive the highest level of compensation from the Empire! Their names will forever be inscribed on the Saxon Wall of Honor!”

“I will also personally petition the General Staff and His Majesty for commendations for you and your Instruction Assault Battalion!”

As consensus was reached between the parties, the tense, confrontational atmosphere in the command tent gradually dissolved. General von Bulow’s smile became much more genuine. His gaze toward Morin was no longer merely that of a superior looking at an unruly subordinate, but one of sincere admiration. This young Captain, though headstrong, was courageous, resourceful, and extremely competent. More importantly, he was an officer under the focused attention of the Crown Prince, with boundless prospects for the future.

Just then, the Aide-de-Camp who had left earlier returned, ‘opportunely’ carrying a massive tray.

“General, Captain Morin’s dinner is ready.” The Aide-de-Camp carefully placed the tray on the table in front of Morin.

On the tray was a generously sized Saxon Roasted Pig Knuckle, its skin roasted golden and crispy, sizzling with grease, accompanied by a large serving of sauerkraut and mashed potatoes. The aroma was mouth-watering. Morin hadn’t eaten well, nor had he had much appetite these past few days. Earlier, he was channeling all his energy into confronting the two Generals. Now that the matter was settled, his mind relaxed, and his stomach immediately protested with a loud rumble. He dispensed with formality, picked up his knife and fork, and set to work on the giant Roasted Pig Knuckle.

He quickly devoured the entire Roasted Pig Knuckle, skin and all, along with the sauerkraut, finishing it all in a whirlwind. Finally, he picked up the plate and ate the last bit of the gravy and sauerkraut juice mixed with the mashed potatoes. His table manners left von Bulow, Ludendorff, and the Aide-de-Camp utterly speechless.

He… he can eat that much?

Morin put down the plate, let out a satisfied sigh, and wiped his mouth with a napkin. He had to admit, the feeling of being full was simply amazing.

He then stood up, preparing to take his leave. Before doing so, he looked at the Aide-de-Camp who was collecting the plates, and suddenly grinned.

“Officer,” he said, walking up to him, his tone genuinely sincere: “Could you please tell your cook that the Roasted Pig Knuckle here at Army Group Headquarters is truly delicious. It’s the best I’ve ever had.”

The Aide-de-Camp was taken aback by the sudden compliment, instinctively replying: “Ah, r-really? I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“Enjoyed it? I loved it.” Morin nodded repeatedly, then changed his tone, a fox-like expression appearing on his face. “So, could I trouble you to pack up two hundred more for me? I’ll take them back to improve the rations for the men in my battalion… they haven’t had a proper hot meal in days.”

“H-how many?” The Aide-de-Camp thought his ears were failing him.

“Two hundred,” Morin repeated, his tone as casual as if he were asking for ‘two beers.’

“Pffft—” Ludendorff, who had just taken a sip of coffee, sprayed it out.

General von Bulow’s eye twitched, and he nearly slipped off his chair. The Aide-de-Camp was completely dumbfounded.

What? Two hundred Roasted Pig Knuckles? Are you joking?

These weren’t two hundred potatoes! The Army Group Headquarters officer’s kitchen had a limited daily supply of Roasted Pig Knuckles. Even twenty would require half a day of haggling with the Quartermaster. If he actually sent two hundred to the Instruction Assault Battalion, he guaranteed that the next week, no one in the Second Army Group, from General to Chief of Staff, would see that dish on their table. If this news got out, wouldn’t he, the Logistics Aide-de-Camp, be killed with looks by the officers?

The Aide-de-Camp looked at General von Bulow for help, his eyes practically screaming: “General, save me! I truly cannot do this!”

General von Bulow could only manage a wry smile. He looked at Morin’s utterly self-assured expression—‘It is only right and proper for me to ask for benefits for my soldiers’—and felt both annoyed and amused. This young man was truly skilled at pushing his luck! Give him an inch, and he takes a mile!

However, upon second thought, he realized he couldn’t refuse this request. He had just used the man’s unit as cannon fodder, nearly wiping them out. Now that the man returned with a victory, asking only for food, it would be unthinkable to refuse even this small request. If this were to reach the Crown Prince’s ears, forget two hundred pig knuckles—he might have to build a whole pigsty for them.

General von Bulow cleared his throat, glaring at the still-dazed Aide-de-Camp.

“Why are you looking at me? Go prepare them!” He waved his hand testily. “I told you, if Captain Morin asks for two hundred, you will prepare three hundred for me!”

“Ah? Yes! Yes! General!” With General von Bulow’s approval, the Aide-de-Camp looked immensely relieved, grabbed the tray, and fled the tent.

von Bulow watched the Aide-de-Camp’s chaotic retreat, shaking his head helplessly. Then he turned to Morin, half-joking and half-serious:

“You rascal, you certainly know how to cause me trouble… I’m telling you, if you ever take this matter to the Crown Prince, telling him I begrudged you a Roasted Pig Knuckle, he would run back from the Fifth Army Group front line and cleave me with his saber.”

Morin laughed heartily. He knew von Bulow was both joking and implicitly telling him—

Let this matter end here; don’t escalate it further.

“I would never do that! General, you have been so good to me; I am nothing but grateful,” Morin smiled, straightened up, and rendered a solemn salute to both Generals. “Thank you for the hospitality, esteemed Generals! I will not disrupt your command any further. Farewell!”

With that, he turned and walked out of the command tent with a light step.

Watching Morin’s retreating figure, Ludendorff finally recovered from the shock. He looked at the plate, which had been licked clean, and muttered to himself: “That guy doesn’t look fat, how can he eat so much?”

General von Bulow said nothing. He stared pensively toward the tent entrance, his eyes somewhat distant. After a long while, he slowly spoke, his voice carrying an odd tone of resignation.

“As long as he keeps winning battles, forget two hundred Roasted Pig Knuckles. If he asked for the stars in the sky, I’d find a way to pluck them down for him…”

(End of this Chapter)

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