Chapter 846: Chapter 70: The Enemy at the Gates
The enemy’s marching speed was very fast; even with the harassment from the Texas cowboys, by the afternoon of the second day, the Union Jack and the colonial garrison’s Star Stripes Alliance Banner were already flying at the foot of the mountain.
They began building their camp in good order. The colonial garrison divisions from Quebec, New Brunswick, Virginia, Lower Canada, and Pennsylvania looked rather relaxed, loosely gathered together, cigarettes in their mouths, puffing away.
These colonial garrisons belonged to the local combat sequence, often fighting native tribes and wild fierce beasts. Many of the officers leading them were veterans who had taken part in suppressing the Great Indian Uprising and the War of the Spanish Succession.
As for those home troops who had actually fought the Texans before, most of them were on high alert, faces tense. Many even grouped together, taking out the Cross Talismans that nearly everyone carried, and prayed to the Military Chaplain for blessings.
The colonial garrisons saw this attitude from the so‑called "home elites" and burst into laughter, their hearts filled with a sense of superiority.
"Look at this bunch of pampered home lads—lose one battle and they’re scared shitless of the Texans. I bet any random wild beast could make them piss their pants and cry for their mom."
"What ’home elites’? They’re probably not as good as the constables back where we are. I really don’t get what they’re so afraid of."
"Exactly. Aren’t they just a bunch of werewolves? All that crap about being invulnerable to blades and guns, about having an Undying Body—heh, I don’t believe flesh and blood can stand up to siege guns!"
As he spoke, that officer began to brag: "Last time when we were dealing with the Iroquois, their tribe’s Wizard tried to hold a blood sacrifice, casting Evil Arts. I just called in the artillery for a saturation strike. By the time we went over to check, all their idols and Arrays were gone without a trace."
Admiral George naturally also sensed that the morale of the soldiers under his command was not high. Taking two guards with him, he strode up onto a "platform" cobbled together from several ammo crates and bellowed, "Lads, did you hear those taunts aimed at you?"
"The Fourth Infantry Division, long famed as an elite unit—have you already thrown away your honor?"
"Did the Texans really scare you just because, right after we landed and hadn’t yet gained a firm foothold, they used some insidious Evil Art? Don’t forget, Saint George’s Knight Order is marching with us this time, and God is watching us from the Celestial Kingdom. Pull yourselves together, my soldiers—you will wash away your shame with the glory of victory and return home with heavy purses. That is my promise to you, from me, George Elvin!"
"Glory to the United Kingdom!"
After encouraging the morale of the Third Infantry Division, Admiral George did not stop. He continued onward, inspecting each camp in turn, and only returned to headquarters at dusk, just in time to run into Marshal Julian, who had also just come back from inspecting the front line.
Admiral George hurriedly said, "Marshal, the fortress the Texans built looks quite decent. Our shell reserves are limited. If we can’t breach their city defenses before the shells run out, we’ll have to wait for fresh supplies from home."
Thanks to Great Britain’s castration of colonial industry, the vast expanse of British North America did not have a single shell production line of its own; only on the territory of the former Thirteen Colonies were there a few small‑scale firearm production lines.
The rest of the wide‑ranging colonies relied mostly on small workshops to make guns, barely enough for local security and Hunting, and nowhere near sufficient for military resupply.
Julian shook his head. "You worry too much. With the Texans’ industrial base, it’s impossible for them to turn New Basilicata City into a true fortress city of reinforced concrete. As long as our Floating Airships reach the sky above the enemy, we’ll drop hundreds of tons of shells. Even if the Texans really have built a ’Liege Fortress,’ it will still be razed to the ground."
Admiral George hesitated. In his battle reports, he had already clearly stated how feeble the Floating Airships were in the face of the enemy’s Demon Dragon. Unless the Demon Dragon was dealt with, the Airship Fleet would be useless.
Marshal Julian seemed to have anticipated what he was going to say and spoke bluntly: "Admiral George, you’ve dealt with the enemy’s Demon Dragon before. I need you to set up a killing game. Whether you trap it, capture it, or slay it, the enemy’s Demon Dragon must be neutralized so that our Airship Fleet can pour hundreds of tons of aerial bombs down on the enemy’s heads!"
Admiral George said in a deep voice, "Then I’ll need the Iron Duke and all of the Royal Mage Corps to assist. The enemy’s Demon Dragon is very cunning. I need you to give me some time—until then, the Floating Airships must not be used lightly."
"Fine. But you should understand, the time I can give you is very limited. If we could drag this out indefinitely, we might as well just pen these Texans up in the mountains and wait a few years—eventually they’d be scrounging for rats in the deep woods."
Marshal Julian’s hawk‑like gaze locked firmly onto Admiral George’s eyes. "As this war has gone on, its meaning has changed. You should understand: we can only succeed, we cannot fail—glory to the United Kingdom."
Admiral George answered solemnly, "Glory to the United Kingdom."
If he had been recalled to the homeland earlier under the charge of "poor conduct of operations," that would have been one thing. But that hadn’t happened. Instead, they had ordered him to "atone for his crimes through merit." If he pulled it off, everything before would be written off; but if he lost, not only would his own future be ruined, his family’s reputation would suffer as well, and he might even face a stint in prison.
He no longer had any way out.
...
Leon and his recon team had already withdrawn back into the mountains and were now gazing from afar at the British Army camp being set up below.
Seeing the mountains of ammo crates and the endless pack‑mule columns stretching along the distant road, Leon couldn’t help clicking his tongue. "These damned Brits—judging by this posture, they’re really treating us like a major enemy."
"That’s something to be proud of. It means we Texas soldiers can now match the French."
"Enough, don’t butter us up. Without Mr. Losa, we probably wouldn’t be able to withstand even the first wave of the Brits’ attack."
Baron Charlie, who had been about to speak, instantly showed a satisfied expression on his face.
"That’s something to be proud of. It means we Texas soldiers can now match the French."
"Enough, don’t butter us up. Without Mr. Losa, we probably wouldn’t be able to withstand even the first wave of the Brits’ attack."
Baron Charlie, who had been about to speak, instantly showed a satisfied expression on his face.
