My soldiers are all Fourth Calamities!

23. AUV, that accent is absolutely authentic!

Beneath the forest, Rochester's two forces moved close to the ground, stopping simultaneously at an inconspicuous location.

Immediately afterwards, the same message popped up in the chat boxes of both teams of players almost simultaneously: "Unknown camp ahead".

But to the other soldiers, this scene was utterly absurd.

You mean, without any scout reports or supporting information, two company commanders directly provided precise coordinates with an error of no more than twenty meters?

Is this what a seasoned veteran with extensive combat experience looks like?

Rochester looked at the markings on the map. With the improvement of his perception, the map's edge expanded, and the players' map range also expanded further. At this moment, the camp 120 meters away from them was clearly exposed on the map—which was also the largest area they could see at the moment.

What surprised him even more was that, in addition to the expanded scope, the level of detail in the intelligence had also made a qualitative leap:

[Unknown Camp]

[Some artillery fire (additional information gained due to enhanced perception)]

All Rochester could say was that this ability point was too cost-effective.

Rochester sighed inwardly, thinking that the cost-effectiveness of this ability point was ridiculously high.

He quickly issued orders on the command channel: a platoon would go forward with him to conduct reconnaissance, while the main force would split into two groups to silently encircle the camp from the east and west sides.

As Rochester drew nearer, the entire camp came into view.

This was a mixed-groom army, with soldiers mainly divided into two groups: one group wore the Vistula Federation's signature four-cornered hard-topped "Rogativka" caps, with a silver-grey eagle emblem embroidered on the brim; the other group wore the more common soft-topped boat-shaped caps, with a blue and yellow trident badge sewn into the center of the cap band. A few others wore grey-green military overcoats that closely resembled those of the M1915.

The entire camp was bustling with noise, the air filled with curses that sounded like Russian and profanities in Ukrainian dialect, but mostly with the distinctive accents of the Vistulas.

Unsurprisingly, this was the same coalition force previously encountered, cobbled together by the "Vistula Federation" and the "Cossack Provisional Government".

"These Vistulas are truly heartless beasts..."

At the edge of the camp, a group of ragged prisoners were being driven around a charred birch tree.

Something was vaguely hanging on the tree trunk—it was a corpse, its face roughly smeared with coal dust, clearly a scout executed by the Allied forces.

"Go! Go...you Bolsheviks!" Several "Vistula soldiers" drew their bayonets and viciously drove away the prisoners who were staring at the corpses.

Not far away, several Vistula officers sat around a campfire, smoking and puffing away, their feet piled high with looted supplies. "Look at all the furs we've plundered! Even the gun carriages are overflowing with stuff. When we get to the next village, we'll rob a few more wagons, otherwise we won't have enough room for everything."

No sooner had he finished speaking than two soldiers in the distance began to wrestle over a bag of stolen flour. Instead of stopping them, the people around them cheered excitedly.

"Okay! Slap him in the face! Slap him hard in the face!"

Hey! Have you eaten?!

A Vistula officer frowned as he watched, took out a cigarette, lit it, took a deep drag, and exhaled a cloud of smoke. "At this rate, we won't be able to leave before dawn. And... isn't the commotion at our camp too great?"

"Don't worry, sir," the adjutant beside him waved his hand dismissively. "There are so many sentry posts around. Besides, we deliberately left a lot of junk along the way. If anyone really wants to track us, they'll definitely follow the wrong route we provided. If anyone manages to find us, they must be friendly forces, using magical technology to locate us—those Bolsheviks don't have such technology."

...

Judging from the quality of these soldiers, Rochester felt that this type of unit would flee in terror if attacked.

Or are they really a military unit?

Those who don't know might think it's a spring outing.

There aren't even any patrol teams?!

After all troops had reached their designated positions, Rochester ordered them to attack silently, without making any sounds of charging or war cries.

After everyone was ready.

Rochester gave the order.

"attack!"

Players can quickly and seamlessly follow commands.

As Rochester gave the order, countless soldiers charged out from the east and west flanks like ghosts.

Caught off guard by the sudden attack, the enemy troops instantly became disorganized and fled in droves.

Suddenly, a player puffed out his cheeks and shouted in a very authentic Vistulaic accent, "We're surrounded! We're surrounded!"

Rochester: ?

You can play like this?!

The most outrageous thing is that the player's imitation of the tone was so perfect—it felt like suddenly hearing a standard "AUV, that's so authentic" in a foreign country. Once that tone came out, there was basically no doubt about it.

But after that shout, the Vistula troops didn't panic; instead, it was their allies—the soldiers of the Cossack Provisional Government—who broke down once again. Then, an enemy soldier speaking in a dialect added in a panic, "We're surrounded!"

This statement, carrying a sense of terror, spread throughout the group.

These words, with their terrifyingly contagious power, spread throughout the entire camp in an instant.

"We're surrounded! We're surrounded! We're doomed!" the fleeing crowd screamed hysterically.

Upon hearing the gunfire and shouts from behind, the Allied commander's adjutant instantly realized that something terrible had happened.

He immediately thought of himself as a "model officer" who had served for many years and had never made any mistakes, and that he might have made a mistake of dereliction of duty and miscommand in front of his superiors this time.

At this thought, he was terrified. In that instant, he forgot about the disobedient soldiers, forgot about the dignity of a general, and even completely forgot about the danger and his instinct for self-defense. He gripped the saddle tightly, frantically spurred his horse, and charged towards the center of the camp, braving the rain of bullets that were fired at him but fortunately none of them hit him.

He had only one thought in his mind: find out what happened! He had to find a way to remedy the mistake no matter what! If he was responsible for the mistake, he, a model officer who had served for many years and had never been reprimanded, absolutely could not make a mistake!

He managed to escape through the hail of bullets, shouting something at the top of his lungs, but the people around him ignored his commands and began to run away in even greater panic.

The soldiers of the "Cossack Provisional Government" had already spread fear throughout the entire force in an instant.

These routs of soldiers ignored orders and kept running forward.

No matter how desperately the regimental commander, who had previously seemed so authoritative to the soldiers, shouted, no matter how angry, purple, and transformed the officer's face was, and no matter how he brandished his saber, the soldiers continued to run, talk, and fire wildly into the air, completely ignoring orders.

The wavering morale that would decide the outcome clearly fueled the atmosphere of terror. The general began coughing violently due to lung disease caused by prolonged shouting and smoking.

It seemed like everything was over. But at that very moment, several other officers arrived on horseback.

"Sir...I..."

"drive!"

He saw the same men who had just been laughing and joking—his superior and adjutant—ride past him on horseback and disappear into the forest, their horses carrying several large bundles.