Creating an Industrial Empire in 19th Century Parallel World

The morning sun cast a warm glow over the plain as the allied army assembled. The British troops were stationed on the left of the Sevastopol Road, with the French and Turks positioned on the right, stretching out towards the coast. The plan was for the two armies to advance simultaneously on a broad front and try to turn the enemy's flank on the left further inland.

"Hold your ground, men! Don't let them take an inch!" the French commander shouted to his soldiers, the strength of his shout was gradually losing as he found something odd.

As the French troops advanced toward the Russian lines, the sound of gunfire erupted, filling the air with a deafening roar. The French commander shouted at his men to hold their ground, but his voice wavered as he sensed something amiss.

"What's happening?"

The Russian soldiers were equipped with AN-M1 rifles purchased from the Axelsen & Nielsen Arms Manufacturing Company. Their semi-automatic firing mechanism allowed them to take down their opponents with speed and accuracy.

"We can't keep up with their firing speed," one French soldier shouted to his comrades.

Another replied, "Their rifles can fire instantaneously without cocking!"

In the midst of the chaos, a group of Russian soldiers led by Captain Gorbachev emerged from the smoke and debris, their rifles blazing.

"Push forward, men! Take control of the battlefield!" Captain Gorbachev shouted to his soldiers.

They managed to take out several French officers, causing confusion and panic among the enemy ranks.

"We need to fall back," one French officer said to his comrades. "They've got us outnumbered and outgunned."

As the French soldiers began to retreat, Captain Gorbachev and his men pursued them, firing their rifles and shouting battle cries.

"Don't let them get away!" Captain Gorbachev yelled to his troops.

The cacophony of the rifles tearing through the air and the artillery booming was deafening. The ground trembled under the constant bombardment, and smoke filled the air, obscuring the soldiers' vision. The screams of the wounded and dying could be heard above the din, as they lay scattered across the battlefield, their bodies broken and torn.

The sound of bullets ricocheting off metal and stone mixed with the screams of horses as they fell, shot by the enemy's artillery. The acrid smell of gunpowder filled the air, making it hard to breathe.

Captain Gorbachev and his men pushed forward, their eyes scanning the battlefield for any sign of the retreating French soldiers. The noise was overwhelming, and it was hard to hear anything over the roar of the battle.

In the distance, they could see the French troops retreating, trying to escape the relentless onslaught of Russian fire. Captain Gorbachev and his men pursued them, dodging the artillery fire and taking cover behind rocks and trees.

The smoke was thick, and it was hard to see through it. Captain Gorbachev could feel the heat of the burning buildings nearby. His heart was racing as he took aim and fired his rifle, the recoil jarring his shoulder.

Through the haze, he could see the retreating French soldiers, their uniforms torn and bloodied, their faces etched with fear. They stumbled and fell, trying to outrun the Russian soldiers, but to no avail.

Captain Gorbachev and his men continued their pursuit, their battle cries ringing out across the battlefield. They were a force to be reckoned with, and the French soldiers knew it.

As the battle began to die down, Captain Gorbachev took a moment to catch his breath. He looked out over the battlefield, taking in the devastation around him. Bodies littered the ground, their once proud uniforms now torn and covered in blood. The ground was pockmarked with craters, the remains of the artillery shells that had rained down on the battlefield. Smoke still rose from burning buildings nearby, casting an eerie glow over the scene.

Captain Gorbachev felt a mix of emotions. He was proud of his men for their bravery and determination in the face of the enemy. But he was also saddened by the loss of life and the destruction of the landscape.

He knelt down beside a fallen comrade, a young soldier whose life had been cut short by the violence of war. Captain Gorbachev said a prayer for the fallen soldier, hoping that his sacrifice would not be in vain.

Captain Gorbachev and his lieutenant walked through the aftermath of the conflict.

As they walked, they came across a wounded French soldier, lying on the ground and clutching his leg. Captain Gorbachev hesitated for a moment, his finger tightening around the trigger of his rifle. But then he remembered the code of honor that he had sworn to uphold. He approached the soldier cautiously, keeping his rifle trained on him.

"Who are you?" Captain Gorbachev asked, eyeing the soldier warily.

The soldier groaned in pain. "Please, don't kill me…I have a wife and children," he said weakly in French. "Please, have mercy on me."

Captain Gorbachev studied him for a moment, his finger still on the trigger. He may not understand French but he can see through his eyes that he is genuinely pleading for his life. He lowered his rifle and knelt down beside the wounded man.

"I will not harm you," he said. "We will take you back to our camp to have your wounds tended, and after that, you become our prisoner of war."

He motioned to one of his men, who came over and helped the wounded soldier to his feet.

"Take him back to our camp," Captain Gorbachev instructed. "We will see that he gets medical attention."

As the soldier was carried away, Captain Gorbachev couldn't help but feel a sense of empathy for him. War was a brutal and unforgiving thing, and it took a toll on everyone involved. But, they invaded their homeland, so his job as a soldier is to protect his country from invaders.

As he made his way back to camp, Captain Gorbachev reflected on the events of the day. The AN-M1 rifles had given them a significant advantage over their opponents, but he knew that they could not become complacent. The French and their allies would undoubtedly regroup and come back stronger.

But for now, he allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. They had won an important victory, and he was proud of his men. They had fought bravely and honorably, and they had emerged victorious.

As he approached the camp, Captain Gorbachev saw that his men were already beginning to clean their rifles and tend to their wounds.

He nodded to them in acknowledgment, and they returned the gesture, their faces weary but proud.

As he entered his tent, Captain Gorbachev removed his uniform and collapsed onto his cot. He was exhausted, both physically and emotionally. He closed his eyes and tried to shut out the images of the battlefield, the sounds of the gunfire, and the cries of the wounded.

But they would not leave him, haunting him like ghosts in the night. He knew that he would carry the memories of this battle with him for the rest of his life.

He sighed heavily and sat up, reaching for a piece of paper and a pen. Just before he can write something, his adjutant rushed into the tent, panting.

"General!" The lieutenant called, his voice hoarse. "We have received news from General Ivanov's forces, he said that the British were repelled."

Gorbachev's eyes lit up as relief and excitement washed over him. He felt a weight lift off his shoulders, knowing that the British forces had been repelled. The thought of losing another battle was almost too much to bear, but now, with this news, he could breathe a little easier.

He stood up, his fatigue momentarily forgotten, and turned to his adjutant. "This is excellent news," he said, his voice full of excitement. "With the British, Turks, and French forces repelled, we will squeeze them out in Sevastopol. I'm going to write a letter to the General Staff Building and inform them of this news. Tell the other Generals and officers to reconvene here in two hours."

"Understood, General," the lieutenant saluted before turning around and leaving the tent.

Alone in his tent, Gorbachev wrote the news of the battle. The contents of the letter were about their performance in the war, the addition of the AN-M1 semi-automatic rifles, and the morale of the troops increasing as they won the battle. He is certain that the higher-ups would be delighted to read the news. And at the last part of the letter, he wrote.

[The AN-M1 rifles' semi-automatic firing mechanism has bestowed upon us a remarkable edge against our adversaries on the battlefield. I am of belief that this weapon holds immense potential to alter the trajectory of the war and secure our triumph.

Hence, I humbly request a provision of more AN-M1 rifles. It is crucial that we persist in innovating and adapting if we intend to preserve our superiority over the enemy.]