Chapter 112 - The Empty Seat
Late in the evening, Yurgen gathered the platoon leaders and scratched his head as he spoke.
"So, what we have to do now is…"
"Company Commander, which officer gives a plan briefing like that?"
"Yeah, you grumpy eldest, still sore about not getting a medal. Why don't you come over here and sit down, too."
"Sigh…"
Benzene let out a sigh, looking as if he had a headache, but he still followed Yurgen's order and took his seat.
Even so, this was supposed to be a company operations meeting to prepare for tomorrow's battle, and yet here they were, conducting it like this.
"As you can see, the 5th Division has thrown bodies at it to take the forest from here to here."
Yurgen lazily pointed at the map with his staff as he explained.
"Apparently, the 6th and 7th Divisions joined in for what they called a full assault, but from what I hear, they're in shambles now. Well, that's about what you'd expect from them."
Yurgen let out a sigh, making remarks that would send the 6th and 7th Division Commanders into a fit of rage and earn him a slap if they'd heard.
With the cigarette supply still out, all Yurgen had left was a single cigarette.
"So now, the higher-ups seem to be hoping that the 5th Division will sort out this mess somehow."
"They want us to break through the forest?"
Benzene tried his best to keep his voice calm, but it still trembled at the end.
"Yeah. We're screwed."
Yurgen looked just as troubled as the rest.
Right now, the 5th Division had broken through to the middle of the forest and managed to establish a front line. Some might scoff and say, "Is that all the 2nd Corps accomplished with their all-out assault?"—but that would be selling short what had been achieved.
The Bertagne Forest formed the border between Mihahil and Belliang, and for Belliang, it was practically their last line of defense.
Once the army broke through this forest, the Empire could charge across Belliang's vast and fertile plains, sweeping through half the country in the blink of an eye. In other words, the outcome of the battle for Bertagne Forest would decide the war with Belliang.
Even though the 5th Division had only taken part of the Bertagne Forest, they had pushed all the way to its center and dug in. If the 5th Division played their cards right, this damn forest battle could be over in an instant.
But Belliang was throwing everything they had into stopping them. Even now, the 5th Division was under concentrated attack by Belliang forces, and the area where the 5th Division and the Belliang Army were clashing had become the fiercest battleground on the continent.
"They're dying like flies. It's almost impossible to find a single 5th Division soldier who served as a soldier before the war."
Yurgen's voice sounded utterly exhausted.
"So, is there any brilliant tactic besides just ramming straight in?"
Robert asked hopefully, his tone pleading.
"If there were, don't you think we'd have tried it already…?"
Yurgen couldn't bear to meet the bright eyes of this young officer and dropped his head.
At this point, all the 1st Battalion, 2nd Company of the 5th Division could do was follow orders and charge to seize the enemy position.
Right now, there's no room for detailed company-level tactics to make a difference; both sides are just bashing each other with everything they've got
Right now, it's really the time when tactics matter only at the very least at the battalion level—realistically, it's the regiment-level maneuvers that actually make an impact.
"All the other units are fighting in the forest right now. And tomorrow, we have to go back in, too."
"Our unit is made up of nothing but fresh recruits. How are we supposed to fight like this?"
"The enemy's in the same boat. You saw it yesterday—they're dragging kids who don't even have a trace of a mustache yet, handing them rifles that can't even fire properly, and throwing them into charges."
"..."
"Anyway, according to the plan, our battalion's going to take the left flank. Fortunately, we don't have to break through ourselves—our role is to hold out until Central manages a breakthrough."
Yurgen, who'd been snapping back sharply at Ernest's grumbling, quickly caught himself and tried to gloss over it. He pointed at the map as he spoke.
It was not the right thing to say to Ernest, who had been forced to shoot those same mustache-less boys himself.
"Again, the left flank?"
Ernest felt sick to his stomach, but since he knew Yurgen hadn't meant anything by it, he just grumbled to lighten the mood.
"This time, I'll put 2nd Platoon on the right."
"Put us in the center, sir."
"No, you're the perfect fit for the right flank."
Ernest's face twisted in frustration.
It was clear that, no matter what happened, Yurgen was determined to put Ernest's 2nd Platoon on the right flank in tomorrow's battle.
This meant Ernest would once again be stuck with the hardest job.
The mission was to defend the left side of the front line.
But the 1st Battalion's position was a bit ambiguous to call it the flank.
To be precise, it should be described as facing the left front of a winding, half-moon-shaped line.
Given that, calling the right flank was essentially placing them at the front.
In other words, they were set to be thrown right at the very edge of the 5th Division's main front, where the Belliang Army would launch its fiercest attack.
It was no wonder Ernest was unhappy about it.
"Hey, even if I have to go grovel in front of the Battalion Commander, I'm nominating you for a Silver Star. Let's go take the right."
"How am I supposed to receive something like that? Be reasonable, sir. And if anyone gets it, it should be you. You're about to turn thirty—surely you deserve at least one medal by now."
"How long has it even been since you got here, and your head's already gotten this big?"
"My head was always bigger than yours, sir."
"Wow… You really are something else."
"If I play it normal, will you move me to the center?"
"Nope, you're on the right, no matter what."
Although Ernest and Yurgen traded this banter in a formal tone, it was all pointless in the end.
In a major battle like this, what difference does it make whether a company is on the right, the center, or the left? Wherever you are, people will end up dying more or less the same. This was nothing more than idle chatter to relieve tension.
Still, if you analyzed it thoroughly, the right side really was the most dangerous. And in yurgen's eyes, it was better to put Ernest in charge of the right than Benzen or Robert.
Regrettably, even Ernest himself had to agree with that assessment.
"Quit your whining and get some real sleep, kids. That's the only way you're going to grow."
It was supposed to be an operations meeting, but it ended without a thing being decided.
Yurgen told them to get some rest, but the platoon leaders were in such low spirits that it didn't look like any of them would manage a wink.
"…Get some good sleep, I'll see you tomorrow."
"Yes, you too, Senior."
Benzen hesitated for a moment, then offered his tired farewell before heading back to his tent.
Ernest and Robert didn't part right away; instead, they stood side by side in the rain, staring out into the dark, shadowy forest.
"I'm scared out of my mind."
Robert murmured.
During yesterday's battle, he hadn't even fought properly.
He'd just dashed about in a daze, following Yurgen's orders.
He hadn't even killed an enemy with his own hands.
And yet, just the thought of having to go back into those woods made Robert feel sick to his stomach.
His legs trembled so badly, he thought he might collapse at any moment.
"I'm scared to death too."
Ernest wholeheartedly agreed with Robert. He might've received a medal for bravery, but the truth was, he had absolutely no desire to fight.
"The Headmaster was right. There's nothing honorable or beautiful about death. It's completely meaningless."
Ernest muttered without energy.
He was never the sort of person who gave meaning to death in the first place.
He'd been raised and taught that survival was what mattered most.
Even so, there were times he'd tried to convince himself that maybe, just maybe, there was some value in a noble death.
But that was simply a way of rationalizing, to guard himself in the face of fear.
Yet, out here on the battlefield—when you experienced it yourself—there wasn't a trace of honor or value to be found. It was just killing and being killed, nothing more. You could end a life—a fellow human, someone who felt and thought and breathed just like you—with nothing but the twitch of a finger. What possible value could there be in such an empty, meaningless death?
"That's why we grit our teeth and do whatever it takes to survive."
With forced cheer, Robert clapped Ernest hard on the shoulder.
"If we die like dogs out here, we'll never get to marry a gorgeous blonde."
"Always the same old bastard."
The two of them chuckled, bantering for a while before heading off to their respective tents.
Ernest took off his raincoat and hung it up, intending to lie down in bed, but realized that his uniform was damp from the rain that had seeped in. He changed his clothes and, with nothing else to do, tidied up his already neat table once again.
While doing so, he found a sheet of paper with Belliang vocabulary written on it and began practicing the pronunciation aloud. Afterward, he neatly wrote out some basic words on a fresh sheet of paper to teach the soldiers how to read, repeating the exercise in silence.
Ernest sat in front of the table for quite a long time, writing out those words.
Only when the Balt Lighting started to flicker unsteadily did he stop what he was doing and try to get some sleep on his bed. He made a mental note to request a new battery for the light next time.
He couldn't fall asleep right away and tossed and turned for quite a while.
Just the thought of having to crawl back into that hell and fight the enemy again tomorrow made him break out in a cold sweat and feel dizzy. Still, after barely sleeping at all since yesterday's battle and exhausting himself through another long day, Ernest eventually drifted off without realizing.
Morning arrived.
Even though he'd gone to bed late, Ernest woke up at his usual hour. He began his morning routine as always. Since he'd already shaved yesterday afternoon, his philtrum and chin were still smooth, but out of habit, he dragged the razor over them once more—only to draw blood in the end. But since focusing on shaving helped to steady his nerves a little, he didn't mind so much.
Ernest personally made his rounds through the platoon's tents, speaking with Gustav and the other squad leaders, and listened to their reports about whether anything had happened overnight. Thankfully, everything had been quiet. He went to report to Yurgen, who received the update with his usual indifference and brushed it off.
Yurgen looked a bit tired of Ernest, who insisted on sticking to every detail of the reporting protocol. What could have just ended with "nothing to report," Ernest extended: listing the names of every squad member, the condition of the Belliang soldiers, confirming there'd been no frictions, saying the sentries reported all clear, on and on...
"No unusual incidents."
"Alright."
For reference, Robert was notoriously quick-witted about things like this, summarizing his report in a single sentence.
Yurgen shot Ernest a look as if to say, "See? That's how you should do it."
But that was clearly a mistake.
"Robert, who told you to report like that?"
"It was the Company Commander…"
"What are you talking about? Don't tell me you're suggesting the Company Commander gave you that ridiculous order. That's nonsense. It's just an excuse. That's ignoring the military reporting system. As you know, there's a reason for these protocols. Annoying or not, it all serves a purpose. Even a tiny mistake can undermine military discipline. It's not even a hard thing to do, nor is it an issue with untrained soldiers. We're all officers here, graduates of the Military Academy. We can't call ourselves officers if we're too lazy to do even this much. From now on, make sure to follow the reporting protocol exactly."
"...."
"...."
Ernest's calm but meticulous reply, completely correct and leaving no room for error, made both Yurgen and Robert fall silent and glance at each other, gauging the mood.
"Every single word, from start to finish, is absolutely correct. Krieger."
While Ernest was earnestly speaking, Benzen quietly slipped into the tent and nodded along, visibly moved.
Then, Benzen strode up to Yurgen and saluted him smartly.
Though Yurgen grimaced, he accepted the salute.
Benzen could almost feel his own face relax in proportion to Yurgen's growing irritation.
He then delivered a report nearly as flawless as Ernest's, and Yurgen, gritting his teeth and clutching his half-worn trousers so they wouldn't slip down—thanks to these damn platoon leaders—had to listen to the entire lengthy report.
"As expected of Senior Johansson. Flawless as always."
"You're not so bad yourself, Krieger."
"Alright, Robert. You do it again, and do it properly this time."
"…Can I at least finish putting my pants on first?"
With Ernest and Benzen exerting pressure from both sides, Yurgen had no choice but to surrender.
Once he had awkwardly finished pulling up his pants and fastening the buttons to secure them, he finally felt at ease, able to use both hands again.
Robert delivered his report with a lot of stumbling, and the morning briefing just kept dragging on.
Yurgen wanted nothing more than to kick these damn bastards out as quickly as possible, but with Benzen and Ernest glaring at him with fire in their eyes, he had no choice but to hold back.
Yurgen desperately needed a cigarette.
But if he smoked his very last one now, he'd really be in trouble.
Scheduled resupply was supposed to arrive today, but no one was going to send cigarettes into an active combat zone deep in the forest.
It always goes this way—you try to save that very last cigarette, only to finally smoke it once resupply comes in, chain-smoking until you've had your fill.
Honestly, it'd probably be smarter to smoke it midway through and settle your nerves.
Meanwhile, Ernest and Benzene, who'd managed to put Yurgen in his place, were able to start their morning with satisfaction.
Even during breakfast, the atmosphere wasn't half bad. The soldiers, eating their meals, kept glancing at the sheets of paper they'd received from Ernest yesterday, busy scribbling on the ground.
"If you can read and write, you could become a non-commissioned officer. Work hard and learn."
The squad leaders encouraged their soldiers enthusiastically. Just the ability to read and write would make you one of the most valued commoners. You could become a non-commissioned officer and make a career in the army, or after retiring, you could easily find a good position anywhere.
A faint glimmer of hope was visible in their eyes.
However, knowing what was about to happen—thanks to what Yurgen had told him—Ernest, along with the experienced soldier Gustav, couldn't bring themselves to share that optimism.
Soon, the remaining soldiers of the 1st Battalion assembled for battle. This time, unlike before, they simply gathered everyone in one place.
Except for the 2nd Company, everyone else was organized only by platoon or squad. They were operating without even a Company Commander. They simply informed the soldiers of their assignments and sent them off, promising swift reinforcements—basically, just throwing them into the forest.
The mood was so heavy and dismal, it seemed nothing could improve it. Even a funeral would be more cheerful than this. Some wept quietly, while others were shaking so badly with fear that they wet themselves. But with the rain pouring down so hard, and everyone barely keeping it together, no one really cared what anyone else was doing.
Beeeeep! Beeeeep! Beeeeep!
The piercing sound of the whistle rang out. With the order to charge, the soldiers began advancing, letting out cries that could've been either shouts or sobs.
Thanks to the 5th Division having pushed into the center of the forest, they weren't hit by a hail of enemy fire like last time. Still, everyone was so gripped by fear that they just scrambled forward as fast as they could.
This time, even Battalion Headquarters ventured into the forest. The Battalion Commander was coming along, too. Of course, they wouldn't actually be taking part in the fighting. They probably wouldn't even get close to the front line. They'd just set up their command post in a safe spot, sit back, and focus very hard on leading the battle.
That, surely, would be a great comfort to the soldiers dying on the front line, and it would undoubtedly be of immense practical help.
"They'll spend ages just reporting and relaying orders—good luck actually commanding anything in this mess," Ernest thought to himself, brimming with sarcasm.
In this rain-soaked forest, it was incredibly difficult to report the situation or deliver orders using couriers.
Just running through the woods was hard enough, but with poor visibility and barely any clear paths, couriers could easily get lost. If things went wrong, even the 1st Battalion now entering the forest could lose their way and end up in some strange location.
That was his worry, but in reality, the 1st Battalion had no trouble at all finding their route.
"It's the Rangers."
The Rangers were helping the 1st Battalion reach their objective.
Since the 5th Division had pushed into the center of the forest, the Rangers hadn't slept a wink, busy mapping out the nearby terrain. They couldn't risk missing this opportunity—if they lost the forest to the enemy again, everything would be for nothing.
They had nearly finished mapping the area, were blocking enemy Rangers from infiltrating the rear, and were keeping watch for any enemy flanking maneuvers.
Now, even if the worst happened and the 5th Division was forced to retreat, losing the forest completely, thanks to the Rangers' dedication, next time they'd be able to fight a little more easily.
Of course, by the time it got to that point, the battle would already be as good as lost.
Inside the forest, battered by torrential rain, the endless crack of Balt Guns at first sounded like more rainfall. But as it got closer, the noise grew louder, until at some point it devoured everything, making it almost impossible to believe the soldiers were really hearing gunfire.
With the flood of nonstop noise, the soldiers' ears simply stopped working.
Their heads swam, their balance wavered, and they charged on in a daze, mouths open and gasping for air, not even noticing the drool running down their chins.
"Go in! Go in!"
Amidst the chaos, Yurgen's furious shouts rang out. Snapping back to his senses, Ernest gave an order to the 2nd Platoon.
"Get inside the fortification! You have to get inside if you want to survive!"
Ernest couldn't tell if his command had actually been heard—he could barely even hear his own voice over the din.
But the seasoned Non-commissioned Officers weren't idiots who needed to be explicitly told the obvious.
They grabbed the terrified soldiers—who were trembling like newborn fawns—shoved them forward, kicked them, and pushed them into the fortification.
"Keep your head down! I said put your head down! Do you have a death wish?"
"We're going to die! We're going to die!"
"Aaaagh! Aaaaaaagh!"
"M-my arm won't move... it won't move..."
Inside the fortification, it was already hell.
The wounded screamed or bled out, dying as they feebly begged for help, but no one reached out to them.
No one even glanced in their direction.
There was simply no time for that.
To the southwest, where they were fending off the enemy attack, so many corpses had piled up that the walls and trenches could barely serve their purpose.
Only by flattening themselves against the bodies strewn everywhere could the soldiers manage to avoid the enemy bullets.
"This is 2nd Company, 1st Battalion! We need sup—!"
"Shut up and get out there and fight!"
Amid the chaos, Ernest tried to relay the news of reinforcements to the friendly troops fighting from the fortification. But a captain—he couldn't even tell what unit he was from—just grabbed Ernest, shoved him forward, and told him to fight.
"Ralf! Ralf! Damn it! Gustav!"
"Yes!"
"Take Ralf and get up there!"
"Yes!"
The noise made it almost impossible to communicate orders. For now, Ernest ordered Gustav to take Ralf's 1st Squad and head up to the top of the fortification.
This defensive position was something Belliang had built in the center of the forest just in case—the idea was to stop the Imperial Army if things went badly.
The hill might not have been very tall, but it was high enough to get a clean shot at the enemy's heads.
"Kol! Sven!"
Ernest started to call out to Kol and Sven, but gave up and quickly ran over to grab Kol by the shoulder first.
"Kol! Go to the right and hold the line! Just hang in there!"
"What?"
"Get over there, keep your head down, and just fire your gun!"
"Yes, sir!"
Apparently, Kol really liked Ernest's order.
Even in this chaos, he grinned and gave Ernest a thumbs-up.
"Sven! Head over there and hold your position!"
"Yes, sir!"
"Keep your head down!"
"Yes, sir! Understood!"
After hurriedly deploying the platoon, Ernest looked around and saw that the trench wasn't functioning properly because of all the corpses.
Soldiers were crawling over the bodies, struggling to move forward.
This was a fortification built by the Belliang side. The trench and walls had, of course, been constructed facing east, where the Imperial Army's attack was expected.
From the hill where the 1st Squad had climbed, Belliang's old trenches lay to the east, while to the west there was a hastily-dug trench by the Imperial Army.
The trenches built by Belliang were deep and sturdy, but those dug by the Imperial Army were shallow and shoddy—barely deep enough to reach a man's waist, and constantly clogging with mud swept in by the rain. Worse yet, the bodies piled up so high that the trenches naturally couldn't function as intended.
"Company Commander!"
Ernest tried to find Yurgen.
However, the area was far too chaotic, and between the gunshots and screams, no sound carried clearly even ten paces away.
Giving up on finding Yurgen, Ernest quickly headed over to a captain he didn't recognize from which unit.
"We need to clear the bodies from the trench!"
"What are you babbling about!"
"The trenches are blocked because of all the corpses!"
"You think we're just leaving them there because we don't know?"
"Please pull a few soldiers off the line so we can clear out the bodies!"
"You little bastard!"
The captain, already exhausted, was furious that this young, green Ernest was practically barking orders at him, barely veiling them as requests—so he lashed out with his fist.
Whack!
But the captain was so worn out that there was hardly any strength behind the punch.
Ernest could easily have dodged or even overpowered him in return, but instead, he took the hit without flinching.
"My platoon is fighting out there, isn't it!"
Even as his face took the blow, Ernest stepped forward and barked at the captain.
"We'll keep fighting—just help clear out the bodies!"
"..."
The captain looked genuinely startled. His bloodshot eyes, dulled by exhaustion and fear, suddenly sharpened, focusing clearly on Ernest at last.
"Damn it!"
He glanced around, spat out a curse, and hurriedly gathered the few remaining men from his company to give them orders.
"Which unit are you with…!"
He turned back to ask Ernest, but by that time, Ernest had already vanished.
"That crazy bastard!"
Ernest was now crouched beside the trench where the bodies were piled high, reaching out and dragging corpses out of the mud.
There was a makeshift wall set up opposite him, but it was so hastily thrown together that it barely offered cover—he could almost feel the bullets grazing his hair.
Straining with all his might, Ernest managed to pull one swollen corpse free and tumbled down into the trench himself. Soaked by rain and wedged between the bloated bodies, he barely carved out enough space to stand, completely unaware of how desperate he must have looked.
He grabbed another corpse, hauled it onto his shoulder, clenched his teeth, and shoved it out of the trench. The trench barely came up to his waist, and the wall meant to block enemy fire was so low that Ernest had to squat down just to avoid getting shot as he worked.
"Move them, now! Get them out of here, quick!"
"Damn it! Damn it!"
The soldiers sent by the captain hesitated at the edge of the trench, unable to bring themselves to climb in—but the sight of this young officer, frantically hauling bodies, startled them into action, and they rushed over to help.
Dragging bodies out of the narrow, shallow trench was brutally difficult and agonizing.
But everyone moved in a mindless rush, too exhausted to even register how tired they really were.
Ping!
"Gasp!"
Ernest, who had unconsciously straightened his aching back while frantically pulling out corpses, recoiled in fear at the sound of a bullet whizzing past his head and bent down again.
He was already too tall for the shallow trench, and now he was trying to haul bodies out while hiding.
It felt like his back and knees were going to shatter.
"Sven! Sergeant Sven!"
Once they'd cleared enough space, Ernest shouted for Sven at the top of his lungs.
Sven, who had been lying atop a pile of corpses at one end of the trench, firing his gun, looked around cautiously, careful not to get his head shot.
"Bring the 3rd Squad over here!"
Ernest beckoned and called out.
Sven seemed to shout something back, but Ernest couldn't hear it.
For now, Ernest continued pulling bodies from the trench with the other soldiers.
Thud.
One of the soldiers helping to drag out corpses straightened up, then collapsed limply. He stopped moving entirely, and now, along with the body he'd been trying to haul out, he filled up the trench. There was one more corpse to clear away.
"Ah! Gah! Huff!"
When Ernest snapped back to his senses, he realized that the captain—who had punched him earlier and whose unit he still didn't know—was also next to him, helping pull out bodies.
"Ugh! Urgh!"
The captain, struggling with a rain-soaked corpse slung over his shoulder, gagged and retched as he tossed it outside.
Still, he didn't stop throwing out corpses.
Now there was finally some space, and the soldiers were able to remove the bodies more easily by making use of it.
At the very bottom, there were even corpses so rotten and decayed, it was impossible to tell how long they'd been buried there.
"Sven! What are you doing!"
"We're here! We're here!"
When Ernest called out for Sven again, an answer came from right behind him.
In all the chaos, he hadn't even noticed Sven had brought the 3rd Squad over.
"Get in position and hold the line! Don't stick your heads out! 1st Squad will handle taking out the enemy!"
"Yes, sir!"
Ernest once more warned Sven not to poke his head out.
It would be Ralph's 1st Squad, holding the high ground, who'd take care of shooting the advancing enemy.
Here in this trench, it's enough just to let the Belliang Army see there are enemies.
Ernest tried to check if Kol's 2nd Squad had managed to secure their position safely.
"Get out! You crazy bastard!"
Suddenly, a rough hand seized him by the back of the neck.
With strength far beyond what he'd imagined, the hand yanked Ernest back, and he staggered, crawling out of the trench.
"Are you out of your damn mind? Do you have a death wish?"
Yurgen pulled Ernest—now covered from head to toe in mud and filth from the corpses—into a tight hold, then rolled with him out of the trench to safety behind cover.
Once they were clear, Yurgen shouted fiercely into Ernest's ear.
"You're an officer! Stop running around at the front and just command!"
Yurgen's voice was full of fury.
But the expression on his face showed it wasn't just anger.
"…Yes, sir!"
So instead of saying that he'd only tried to clear the corpses after doing everything he could from a command position, Ernest simply agreed.
After all, Yurgen was right—no matter how shorthanded they were, Ernest shouldn't have crawled in there to remove bodies himself.
Jurgen looked like he was about to explode, clearly had plenty more to say, but when Ernest simply accepted it without protest, he didn't yell any further.
"Damn it."
Jurgen muttered a curse under his breath and stalked off to somewhere else. Ernest, covered in filth, sat slumped beneath the low earthen wall and watched Yurgen's retreating back.
Then, unsteadily, he forced himself to stand, wavering on his feet from sheer exhaustion—it was all he could do just to stay upright.
For now, the immediate crisis had passed.
But the battle for the 2nd Company had only just begun.