Munitions Empire

Tang Mo’s contingent of more than 600 people had about 70 who were hastily recruited, and these hundred or so were basically untrained, nearly equivalent to a bought "suicide squad."

Even calling them a suicide squad is not quite right because they were not the kind to fight to the death; even when Tang Mo was recruiting them, he never mentioned anything about sending them to their deaths.

He recruited them as odd-job workers, coachmen, army cooks, and laborers. In short, they were without much combat ability.

Moreover, to cultivate his own direct line of followers, he had also brought out a youth class of about 40 boys, who also lacked any fighting capability.

They had only undergone semi-military training and had received shooting training on the way here, their combat effectiveness was practically zero.

This youth corps didn’t accompany the regular troops in combat; instead, they followed the artillery squad, learning how to operate cannons and getting accustomed to the wartime atmosphere.

In fact, this combat platoon composed of children was overseen by a commander selected from among the students’ parents. Their purpose here wasn’t to fight but to monitor Tang Mo and ensure these children weren’t abandoned on the battlefield at critical moments.

Expecting these children to fight was obviously unrealistic, so Tang Mo’s actual combat forces were pretty much just a few dozen artillerymen, three seriously trained Infantry Companies who had seen bloodshed, 40 Cavalry, and some elite Rangers.

So, to be precise, this force totaled just over 500 people, minus a number of artillery loaders who were practically there to make up the numbers, perhaps not even reaching 500.

This force had just arrived at the triple junction a few hours earlier; the artillery had no time for on-site reconnaissance, nor had they conducted test-firings.

In terms of weaponry, they did indeed possess the most advanced cannons and rifles in the world, but apart from the weapons, they were all just green recruits.

This is why they attempted a volley fire at the first chance they got, and it’s also why their first volley went astray.

Standing at the artillery position, Redman was infuriated and bellowed at several ashamed officers, pointing to the rising black smoke in the distance and shouting, "It’s only that far, and you still missed?"

He was so angry he wanted to kick them, grinding his teeth as he demanded, "Wasn’t each one of you boasting that you could hit targets more than 3 kilometers away? Keep boasting!"

Those were six artillery shells! Do you know how much one of those shells costs? Tang Mo had boasted on the way here that these artillerymen were precious, like hard-to-come-by golden eggs!

Based on the cost estimate, because the cannons were only in trial production and not yet mass-produced, and because the materials were laboriously melted down and recast, each one was priced sky-high.

A single cannon cost 300 Gold Coins, and even if Lord Earl of Northern Ridge had liquidated his entire estate, he could have only bought five, while Tang Mo now had six equipped.

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Each shell, especially the fuse part, was handcrafted by high-level technicians like Mathews, and Tang Mo himself had assembled the fuses of more than a dozen shells—such intricate work that a single fuse would cost upwards of 3 Gold Coins.

And that was without even counting the cost of the projectile body, the primer, and the propellant charges. Even if Tang Mo had them at cost price, these shells could never be considered cheap.

What’s more, these shells were not easy to make, and had it not been for the obvious disadvantage at the outbreak of the war, Tang Mo would have been reluctant to reveal he possessed such high-caliber weaponry.

The artillery commanders, rebuked and ashamed, were deeply aware of how costly their weapons were, and missing with such expensive ammunition was utterly humiliating.

Meanwhile, Redman continued to yell, pointing at the explosion and the rising black smoke, "I put so much trust in you! I let you fire a volley right at the start! And what did you do? Look at that! You missed everything!"

In fact, the reason he was shouting so loudly was that he was shocked by the weaponry. Before this, he had never heard of... cannons that could explode after firing...

The awe that this weapon inspired in him was immense, so much so that even as its commander, he couldn’t help but feel fear and reverence for it.

As Tang Mo had said, this weapon was the God of War, the "truth" of the future, the voice of reason in a discussion, and the most vitriolic tone in a quarrel.

Therefore, uncontrollably, Redman’s distress grew, for history was destined to record this momentous occasion, and he would be remembered along with the six missed shots as part of "posterity’s annals."

Obviously, he would be known to all, gods and men alike, through a stigma: the first deployment of mankind’s breech-loading cannons in real combat was a total miss under the command of... that idiot Redman.

Thinking of this, he grew even more furious, jabbing his finger in the direction of the explosions, "Do you have any shame at all? Any dignity?"

"Stop the collective calculations! Each gun crew calculate separately! Recheck the parameters carefully! Fire individually! Don’t miss again!" In the end, to get them to resume firing quickly, Redman concluded his admonishment, "Quick! Prepare for the second round of shelling!"

"Yes!" The nearest officer turned to see the gunner standing next to the cannon he was responsible for and bellowed with irritation, "What are you gazing at? Adjust it—quickly!"

"Get the boy scouts to do the math, too! Don’t mess it up again! Hurry up!" Another officer walked back to his own cannon position and roared with equal humiliation.

Of course, besides themselves, those who were startled were the Suthers troops already arrayed and ready for battle.

These Suthers soldiers, who had not undergone very strict training, had already been terrified by the sudden explosion behind them.

Many of them first thought: the explosions were from explosives buried under the roadbed beforehand, which was one of their few reasonable explanations for the blasts.

After all, although shrapnel shells were available at that time, such powerful ones had never been seen, not by these new soldiers and not even by their commanders.

So, in their hearts, these soldiers quietly breathed a sigh of relief: fortunately, it must have been explosives planted by the enemy in advance, and they had not been detonated when they had crossed the road. It was definitely the protection of the God of War.

Indeed, they had actually been protected by the God of War because, without His blessing, their location might have been covered by artillery shells from six howitzers.

"Boom!" When a Suthers soldier finally snapped out of it and shifted his gaze from the explosion on the roadbed to look behind himself, he abruptly discovered that the twin long battle lines of Northern Ridge soldiers were now within striking distance.

In a panic, this Suthers soldier fired his gun without waiting for the command, aiming at the new recruits of Tang Mo’s camp from far away.

This gunshot also reminded many more Suthers soldiers of a fact: two enemy lines of soldiers were advancing towards them in neat steps.

"Hold your fire! They’re still at a distance! Hold your fire!" A Suthers officer, hoping to prevent his somewhat flustered troops from acting rashly, waved his Longsword and yelled loudly in the ranks.

Tucci’s confidant, a general standing at his own position, had also regained his composure by this time. He now quickly assessed his battlefield situation and found that the advantage was still on his side.

On one hand, although the enemy’s artillery was somewhat mysterious and the explosions made him uneasy, that round of bombardment had passed.

Theoretically, those enemy cannons wouldn’t fire again for a few minutes considering the loading speed.

Moreover, it was evident that the enemy had never experienced battle—their infantry and artillery cooperation had obvious gaps. Their infantry was still halfway there, and by the time they got close, the enemy’s second round of artillery might not even be ready.

Another point gradually reassured him—the idiot commanding the enemy’s infantry seemed to lack combat experience.

Normally, an attacking team would form in three rows or simply use a square formation, which ensures firepower density and helps prevent immediate collapse from losses.

Clearly, the enemy’s commander hadn’t realized this, forming only two horizontal ranks, although in squares, they looked dangerously thin.

Such a flimsy battle line could be penetrated by a single volley, scattering the enemy’s formation and leaving them without any significant fighting power.

With these two advantages, Tucci’s confidant felt he could still hold the line. However, the recent explosion still left him somewhat shaken.

So, he grabbed a nearby messenger, and asked anxiously, "That messenger who was sent to rush the reinforcements—has he left? Has he delivered the message to Lord Tucci?"

The messenger shook his head; he was no clairvoyant to know where his colleague, who had set out earlier, was at that very moment.

The battlefield changes in the blink of an eye; the man might have died en route, might not have found Tucci, or might have sprained an ankle and lost his way—who knows?

"You! Go now! Rush! Send a reminder! Inform General Tucci about our situation here! Quickly, go now!" He released the messenger, who immediately turned and ran off.

On the other side of the battlefield, Tang Mo, who was following the side of the troops, advancing step by step forward, saw a plume of white smoke rise from the enemy’s square and heard a sharp gunshot. Seeing that no one had fallen, he breathed a sigh of relief and shouted loudly, encouraging all the soldiers, "Steady! Gentlemen! Our toughness is like Northern Ridge’s steel!

Our blood could ignite Northern Ridge’s coal!"

"This is our home! A home no one can take from us! Let these bastards taste what Northern Ridge’s bullets feel like!" He stepped through the underbrush, watching the enemy’s formation drawing ever closer. He nagged tirelessly, trying as best as he could to relax.

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