Holy Roman Empire

Chapter 92: Chapter 92: The Battle of Trento – Counterattack

Translator: 549690339

A round of azure moon was embedded in the night sky, like a black screen, and the bright moonlight spilled onto the world, coating the dark realm with a layer of silver gauze.

“Huff, huff, huff…”

“The wind is picking up!”

The assault team was lucky, having encountered such favorable weather on their very first day.

Colonel Grig was not a military novice; to plan a night raid, it was natural to consider a variety of factors, with the weather being the most important one.

The Venice Area has a typical Mediterranean climate. In the summer, it is under the control of the subtropical high-pressure belt. Because the temperature of the Mediterranean waters is lower than the land, it forms high pressure, which intensifies the influence of the subtropical high-pressure belt.

In winter, the water temperature of the Mediterranean is relatively high, leading to low pressure, attracting westerly winds, and greatly strengthening the force of the westerlies.

Of course, Colonel Grig didn’t know these technical details, but having been stationed in the Venice Area for a long time, he knew that this season in Trento was characterized by dryness, little rain, and plenty of wind.

The night was dark and the wind high; perfect for murder, and tonight all the conditions were met. The night curtain and the sound of the wind would perfectly conceal the movements of the assault team.

“Move out!” Colonel Grig decisively ordered.

At that command, the Death Squad silently left the camp, and if anyone had been paying attention, they would have noticed their footsteps were very quiet.

A closer observation would reveal that all members of the Death Squad were dressed in black, their sleeves tied up with ropes, and even their boots were wrapped in cloth.

Anyone with a bit of military knowledge would know that this was a professional night raid.

“What, worried?” Hamm asked in a low voice.

“Aren’t you the same? Tonight’s battle stakes our future. Success smooths the road to becoming a general, failure means early retirement and heading home!” Colonel Grig spoke gravely.

“You’re worrying about these young men, right? If it were just about our own futures, the two of us would be the unlucky ones. You also have the merit of defending the city; Marshal Radetzky would hate to let you go home,” Hank said, feigning relaxation.

In battle, victories and defeats are commonplace for soldiers; no one can guarantee perpetual victory. As long as the defeat isn’t due to personal failings, it’s typically forgivable.

While Colonel Grig was no famous general, and didn’t possess any extraordinary talents, the previous battles had proven that he was an excellent mid-level commander.

Marshal Radetzky, hailed as the God of War by the Austrian army, relied not only on his military command abilities but also on his fair and just behavior, his approval of promoting capable juniors, which is why he was esteemed by officers and soldiers alike.

Since this night raid had been approved by him, as long as there was no problem in the execution, there was no need to worry about being scapegoated.

This was the reason Colonel Grig and the others dared to launch the night raid, knowing they had a responsible superior who wouldn’t steal credit from his subordinates, and naturally, they had to fight hard.

“Nonsense, do you think the two of you can be free of worry? These young men have been trained by us, if they fall here, how would we explain to their families when we return?” Colonel Grig said, frowning.

Time ticked by, second by second, and the silent night was left with only the howling wind and the whirling fallen leaves. Grig suddenly found the wind endearing, as if it were a gift from God.

“It’s about time; it looks like there were no mishaps!”

As he said this, the sweat on Colonel Grig’s forehead had already started to trickle down; only he knew the immense pressure he had just faced.

The two men also checked their watches and showed relaxed smiles. As long as they had not been discovered by the enemy, the night raid was already half-successful.

“Pass the order down, command all units to get up and have their meals immediately, and launch the attack in one hour!” Colonel Grig said seriously.

“Tell everyone to keep it down a bit!” Hank added worriedly.

Despite being several miles away from the enemy camp, and ordinary movements would not alert the opposition, they still decided to be extremely cautious.

A flare shot up, the horn for the attack sounded, and the artillery roared to life. The Sardinian Army, still in its slumber, was jolted awake, and by this time the battle had already begun.

Enraged by the disruption of his sweet dream, General Messe asked, “What’s happening outside?”

“General, the enemy has launched an attack!” the guard outside replied anxiously.

Hearing this, General Messe was wide awake in an instant, hurried out of bed, and donned his military attire at breakneck speed before rushing to the headquarters.

At this time, the negative effects of the Sardinian Army’s hasty expansion became apparent, as a multitude of new recruits turned into headless flies in the darkness, scurrying everywhere.

Chaos is contagious, and it soon spread throughout the army. In the dark night, bullets flew wildly without sight of from where the enemy came, a pressure these recruits could not withstand.

An errant bullet, coming from nowhere, hit a soldier, and the soldiers nearby, out of habit, pulled their triggers, shooting towards what they mistakenly believed was the enemy’s direction.

General Messe quickly made his arrangements, and no sooner had Major General Wil left his quarters with orders than he became the first unfortunate victim—a stray bullet flew from somewhere and hit him square in the chest.

Seeing Major General Wil fall to the ground, a chill went through everyone’s hearts, and they involuntarily retreated back to headquarters, as a terrifying thought surfaced in their minds—”friendly fire!”

After a moment of hesitation, General Messe pulled out his sidearm and fired a warning shot, issuing his orders with a severe tone, “I don’t believe the enemy has broken through. They have so few troops, the attackers can’t be many.

Everyone, return to your units and command your troops. Wipe out the intruders. Anyone who dares to desert will be executed by me on the spot!”

Before the harsh reality, a group of officers nervously stepped out of headquarters. General Messe’s judgment was right, the attacking enemies were indeed not many.

However, that was only the case during the initial surprise attack. By the time he was assigning tasks, the Austrian army had already emerged in full force.

A few miles was not a long distance to travel. Before they could rejoin their units, the decisive battle had already erupted.

“Kill!”

“Kill, kill!”

“Kill, kill, kill…”

The Sardinian Camp had sunk into an ocean of slaughter with the offensive from the Austrian army and the internal fratricide.

The night concealed it all, and at this moment many thought of the Life-saving 36 Strategies. A Sardinian Soldier casually snuffed out a nearby oil lamp, and soon more soldiers followed suit.

It proved to be quite effective indeed—extinguishing the lights and lying flat on the ground usually meant, with a bit of luck, one wouldn’t get hit.

Alright, they were safe in the darkness, but the officers seeking their troops were now vexed. In the pitch black, who could tell where their men were?

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