Chapter 57
Chapter 57
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 57
Chapter Title: At Ease.
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Russian 8th Army, Provisional Cavalry Corps.
They were maneuvering to prevent the German army from completing its encirclement net.
"We're approaching supply limits."
"The enemy cavalry division is continuously gnawing away at our reconnaissance detachments."
"We press on. Calculations confirm we can definitely catch up to the encirclement."
The German army persistently harassed the Russian cavalry corps.
Instead of committing their cavalry divisions to direct decisive battles, they focused on depleting auxiliary resources like reconnaissance units.
They concealed small infantry detachments along every possible bypass route suitable for ambushes, relentlessly luring the cavalry corps.
Rivers, lakes, swamps, forests. They erected blocking lines wherever they could be seen, forcing detours and delays.
However.
The calculations were clear. The cavalry could catch the enemy.
"Kuh… heh heh."
That simple truth brought a chuckle from the corps commander, Major General Pavel Kolchak.
Tactically, countless problems kept piling up, but strategically, they held a overwhelming advantage.
In this situation, the Germans' persistent interference could only appear as desperate thrashing.
"Telegram from headquarters. Continue advancing ceaselessly as planned."
"Good! As expected of Commander Brusilov!"
The German 8th Army they faced was undoubtedly a fearsome monster.
But the Russian 8th Army was also arrayed with battle-hardened veterans who had endured war and seized victory.
Even if they couldn't beat them, they wouldn't lose—at the very least.
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Russian 8th Army Headquarters.
The 8th Army main body was advancing in the wake of the cavalry corps.
"Our forces' combat effectiveness seems lower than expected."
"Yes, judging by supplies, only the cavalry corps can realistically fight."
"One card down. Damn it."
As the Germans methodically severed supply lines while forming their encirclement, the already dire logistics ground nearly to a halt.
Compounded by forced marches, combat power plummeted to the point where deserters began appearing.
The plan had been for the cavalry to buy time, allowing the 8th Army to join in, but that looked unlikely now.
"At this rate, no choice but to rely solely on the cavalry corps…"
Brusilov muttered under his breath.
At that moment, a soldier burst into headquarters.
"Reconnaissance air unit returned! One plane!"
"Hmm."
They had dispatched over ten aircraft, yet only one came back.
It appeared the rumors were true: Germany had developed fighters capable of air combat.
"Bring him in."
Brusilov masked his dismay, straightened, and issued the order.
The reconnaissance pilot soon entered and saluted the commander.
"Lieutenant Ivan Popov."
"Lieutenant Popov, why haven't the other pilots returned?"
"…Shot down by German so-called 'fighters.' I barely escaped alive."
"I see."
'As expected.'
The pilot replied in a choked voice.
Pity flickered in Brusilov's eyes but vanished quickly.
"What did you observe?"
"Yes, sir."
The pilot set down blurry photographs and unrolled a map.
"German movement routes and current positions. I spotted the corps around here."
"Routes as predicted. The fastest path."
"Wait—the positions seem off?"
Staff officers gathered.
The commander and staff, sensing unease, alternated glances between pocket watches and the operations map.
Soon, they pinpointed the source of the discomfort.
"…Slow."
After a silence, Brusilov voiced it, his tone laced with faint suspicion.
The enemy's encirclement maneuvers were ambiguously sluggish.
Not overly slow, not slightly—just precisely ambiguous.
It smacked of delays from variables… or deliberate ones.
"No chance of calculation error."
"Another variable?"
"Could be factors we overlooked. Likely difficulties forming the encirclement."
"Either way, good news? Cavalry can hit the enemy 8th Army sooner!"
Amid the opinions, Brusilov stared piercingly at the enemy 8th Army marker.
He fought impatience. But avoided excessive caution too.
Soon, the commander spoke slowly.
"By the way, interferences against our cavalry corps are intensifying, aren't they?"
"Yes. Enemy cavalry division and infantry blocking the advance at heavy cost. But hardly efficient, even politely."
"Catching the enemy flanking corps is already certain for our cavalry. Their army HQ must be lower caliber than thought?"
"No—the enemy is that 8th Army. Forgotten Tannenberg and Lake Masurian already?"
Brusilov's sharp glare silenced the smirking staff.
His words continued.
"They're scrambling somehow, but this campaign's defeat is sealed. No rash moves."
"…Understood."
"Good."
Brusilov leaned in firmly once more.
"Situation isn't bad overall. Enemy might be harassing our cavalry desperately because their position worsens. Rasputitsa season—anything's possible."
"Hmm."
"However."
The commander shifted the mood.
"The enemy knows full well what a massive thorn our cavalry corps is. They'll be dead set on annihilating it."
"That's… true."
A simple reframing, yet novel to the staff.
They'd feel the same—desperate to eliminate the cavalry.
"Thus, the enemy might be scheming to deceive us."
"Yes."
The staff nodded to Brusilov's words.
Conclusion: Advance with vigilance to the end.
"…If only air recon remained."
"…"
One staffer's mutter plunged headquarters into silence.
As the pilot bowed his head, Brusilov clapped his shoulder.
"Not blaming you. Go rest."
"Yes, sir. Withdrawing."
The pilot trudged out; Brusilov closed his eyes briefly.
"Recon now limited to cavalry. Highly problematic."
"Yes…"
The fog of war thickened; the intelligence gap widened.
Communications with high command severed over interception fears; recon planes shadowed Russian 8th Army ceaselessly.
Even restrained, all chatter with subordinates—including cavalry—was monitored. Secrets from the enemy? Virtually none.
"Tactically overwhelmed—push strategy doggedly. No complacency."
"Understood."
The meeting ended; the 8th Army marched on.
The cavalry corps repelled mounting German resistance.
Time passed; conviction grew.
"Enemy corps has issues. Their cavalry division's grown bolder."
"Rasputitsa, surely."
"To block our approach."
Victory neared. Cavalry pinning the encirclement opened retreat for the main army.
And at last.
"Report from mounted scout: Enemy 8th Army rear sighted, forced march ongoing!"
They overtook the flanking 8th Army infantry corps.
"Hahahahahahaha!!"
Major General Kolchak bellowed with laughter.
The enemy pulled every trick to hobble the cavalry—yet met the 8th Army sooner.
About half of Poland traversed; cavalry caught them.
The soldier, unable to stifle laughter, continued.
"Report notes persistent harassment limited long recon, but 8th Army clearly exhausted!"
"Excellent!"
Textbook perfection. Enemy force-marched; cavalry on their flank-rear.
Hit-and-run kept encirclement impossible.
Division commanders, fired up, pressed Kolchak. True to Kazakh form, one barked roughly, subordinates' grit in his voice.
"Opportunity! Pound their rear now!"
"No—contact HQ first…"
"Hey!"
The Kazakh division commander lowered his tone slyly.
"They'll intercept comms. Strike their unguarded backs quick!"
"Agreed. Hit once, report after—not late."
"…"
Kolchak paused, then shook his head firmly.
"No. Can't freelance now. Too grave to bulldoze."
"…Ugh."
"Tch, corps commander's call."
Dissatisfied but rebuttal-less, the division commanders withdrew.
They waved dismissively: your call.
Kolchak nodded, ordered the signalman.
"…Reply from headquarters."
The response arrived.
"…"
Utterly shocking, bewildering.
"What? Recite it."
"Y-yes."
Prodded, the signalman read the order slowly, eyes trembling.
"All attacks—including assaults, raids—on enemy mobile corps strictly prohibited."
"…What?"
"That is."
Division commanders, faces rigid, turned slowly.
Dazed Kolchak swallowed hard.
"A trap."
The signalman's lips parted barely.