Chapter 115 - The Empty Spot (4)
The 1st Battalion's campsite was eerily quiet.
Even now, countless people were dying in the forest.
"It's the 2nd Company! 1st Battalion, 2nd Company! Don't shoot!"
Instead of running directly to the campsite, Yurgen kept his distance, shouting at the top of his lungs while waving his arms.
Some of the soldiers standing guard for the campsite's defense hesitated, then glanced back toward the campsite and began waving their hands frantically.
"What happened!"
"We got the order to retreat! Didn't you hear?"
Yurgen lied without batting an eye.
He was so confident that even the 2nd Company soldiers beside him nearly believed it themselves.
The only two people who actually knew that the retreat was Yurgen's own decision were Yurgen himself and Ernest.
"Damn it! We didn't hear a thing!"
"The front has been breached and the enemy is pushing through! Where's the Battalion Commander?"
"He's not here! I'm telling you, he's gone!"
A soldier banged on his own helmet in frustration and cried out.
The 2nd Company had returned from the forest to the campsite after receiving the order to retreat, but the Battalion Commander was nowhere to be seen.
Given the circumstances, he was either trapped in combat or already dead.
Other than the order to defend the campsite, they hadn't received any further instructions.
They couldn't even retreat.
"..."
Yurgen looked back at the forest. He nervously chewed his lip, then made a decision.
"We'll defend the campsite for now."
"What about the Battalion Commander?"
"All we heard was the order to retreat. We just follow orders."
Yurgen spoke calmly. Anyone watching would think they really had come out of the forest because they'd received a retreat order.
"We'll hold the line here. If you want, you can head into the forest yourselves and try to rescue the Battalion Commander."
"..."
But in these circumstances, no one actually wanted to go back into the forest. More importantly, there wasn't anyone left to actually order them to go in and rescue the Battalion Commander.
For faster communication, Battalion Headquarters had already set up a command post inside the forest.
So, at the 1st Battalion campsite, the only people left to lead the troops were non-combat personnel and officers, and the highest-ranking among them was merely a captain.
In other words, there was no one who could truly take responsibility.
"Hurry up! Move quickly!"
Yurgen sent the 2nd Company into the battalion campsite.
All together, their numbers barely totaled forty.
Even that included the soldiers who had managed to survive and retreat with them before they made it back to the trench.
"Give us some Balt Battery bullets! Now!"
"Yes, sir!"
Yurgen immediately re-armed his men.
Some had lost their guns while fleeing, so new rifles were issued as well.
With all of Battalion Headquarters either trapped in the forest or presumed dead, Yurgen, as the company commander and a captain, now held the highest authority among those at the campsite.
Thanks to that, he could finally do things exactly as he wanted.
"Is there any cooked food left? Anything at all. The men have been starving all morning—they need to eat something."
"Please wait just a moment!"
Yurgen even made sure the exhausted soldiers got a decent meal.
Of course, all the while they ate, they kept their rifles at the ready and their eyes fixed on the forest, prepared to fight at any moment.
Inside the forest, gunfire continued to ring out constantly, but it wasn't as intense as before.
Perhaps both sides had reached their limits and were now locked in a stalemate, or maybe one side had clearly gained the upper hand and was forcing the other to retreat.
Dududududu!
Soldiers of the 5th Division Cavalry Regiment came riding in at a gallop.
"We're saved," Yurgen breathed a huge sigh of relief the moment he saw them.
In a situation where fierce fighting was still raging within the forest, the cavalry—who had nothing to do in close forest combat—were urgently on the move.
This could only mean they were there to support friendly forces retreating from the woods and to block the enemy from pursuing.
In other words, either an official retreat order had come down, or Imperial troops were already fleeing the forest.
If he was lucky, Yurgen, who had pulled back without orders, might be able to slip by without being dragged before a court-martial.
And with the Cavalry Regiment now nervously standing guard, they might just all make it out alive.
Before long, Imperial Army soldiers began to spill out from the forest in a frantic hurry.
There were quite a few of them, and they managed to maintain at least a semblance of order.
It looked more like a tactical retreat than a rout.
Protected by the Cavalry Regiment, they safely withdrew and headed toward the nearest friendly campsite.
The terrain of the forest was so infernal that it was impossible for units to return straight to their own camps.
Ernest was clearly extraordinary—most people could not lead a company so flawlessly through a pathless forest.
Many others soon flooded into the 13th Regiment 1st Battalion campsite as well.
Yurgen, tense but doing his best to appear composed, stepped forward to greet them.
"Where is the Battalion Commander!"
"I don't know!"
"Didn't you see what happened to the Command Post?"
"We heard the retreat order and pulled back immediately!"
"Damn it!"
Yurgen swore in frustration, but at the same time, he was so relieved his hands were shaking.
He had given the retreat order, believing that their priority was survival, but that didn't mean Yurgen wanted to be dragged before a court-martial.
This was wartime.
If he ended up facing a military tribunal now, the punishment could be far harsher than usual, just to set an example.
"For now, just rest. Got it? Don't say a word, just shut your mouths and hide yourselves away."
Yurgen wanted to make sure the surviving 2nd Company didn't draw any attention.
Right now, keeping a low profile was the best option.
"...."
"Jitman, aren't you going to answer?"
"…It's Jimman."
"Right, Jitman. No, Jimman. Yeah. Go on and get some rest. Check on the wounded and send them over."
"Yes, sir."
Robert replied weakly, then trudged over to the remaining members of the 3rd Platoon.
"Krieger."
Yurgen gripped Ernest's shoulder tightly, even though Ernest was still out of it.
"Well done. You saved us."
"..."
He praised Ernest in a calm voice.
But that wasn't the end of it.
"But listen, kid. You can't take responsibility for any of this."
Still calm, Yurgen gently scolded Ernest as if he were speaking to a child.
"I know you're talented. You might be inexperienced and a little rough around the edges, but you're already a fine commander. Still, you're just a platoon leader. You don't have the authority, nor the right, to take the blame for what happened."
"..."
Ernest remembered Ferdinand's words and, with dark eyes, stared down at the ground.
"Thanks to your judgment and choices, we're standing here alive with our backs straight. But what if we'd all died? Do you really think you could've taken responsibility for any of it?"
"…No."
Ernest replied weakly to Yurgen's words.
Smack!
Yurgen slapped Ernest's cheek, and since he didn't hold back, Ernest staggered back a step.
His vision flashed.
"I'll let it go this time. But there won't be a next time. This is the last of your reckless actions. From now on, you report everything to me and follow proper command structure. Understood?"
"..."
"Not going to answer? Still out of it? Want me to hit you again?"
"…Understood."
"Get lost."
After telling Ernest to get lost, Yurgen strode off briskly, disappearing in a flash.
Ernest stood there blankly, staring at Yurgen's back.
Even though Yurgen was physically smaller than him, at that moment he seemed overwhelmingly large.
For some reason, Ernest felt like he might burst into tears.
Ernest was just a platoon leader—nothing more.
He had no authority, and no real responsibility.
So, whatever trouble arose from this incident, it would all fall on Yurgen Vendermere, the Company Commander.
In the end, it was Yurgen who gave the order to retreat, Yurgen who put Ernest at the front, Yurgen who placed Benzen's 1st Platoon at the rear, and Yurgen who gave the firing order.
That single slap Yurgen delivered wasn't just a punishment—it was his way, as both a commander and an adult, of granting some measure of forgiveness to Ernest, the young platoon leader.
Drooping his head, Ernest let the rain soak him as he trudged toward the 2nd Platoon.
The first thing to do was check on the platoon members, and then order them to rest.
He'd also have to look in on the 1st Platoon, who had just lost their platoon leader, Benzen—there was no time to waste standing around like this.
'I have that letter to send, don't I.'
Ernest remembered the letter Benzen had entrusted to him.
"Ha…"
Strangely enough, instead of crying, all he could do was laugh.
Knowing he had to move but unable to will his body forward, Ernest covered his face with his hands and shook as he let out a silent, trembling laugh.
If only this were all a dream.
If only he could wake up back at the Military Academy, joking and laughing with his friends, getting ready for the day by cursing about Thomas—that would be wonderful.
"I want to go back."
No matter how many times he muttered it, he couldn't reclaim the time that had already passed.
Ernest lifted his head and started walking forward again.
He couldn't go back, so all he could do was keep moving ahead.
Including Platoon Leader Ernest, only twelve members of the 2nd Platoon had survived.
It was the price they paid for fighting the fiercest battle in the 2nd Company.
Still, it was better than the 1st Platoon.
Only six members of the 1st Platoon, who had covered the rear during the retreat, made it out alive.
They'd fled in such a rush that there had been no time to tend the wounded.
That was why everyone who made it was physically intact.
The worst injuries anyone had were bruises or scrapes from falling.
The rest were all dead.
Ernest headed to Benzen's tent to gather a few of his belongings.
He couldn't even recover the body.
At the very least, he wanted to make sure some keepsakes made it back to his family.
"..."
Ernest found a letter Benzen had recently started.
Perhaps he'd taken Ernest's advice—for it wasn't a farewell letter, but instead a simple, everyday note.
But the letter was left unfinished, abruptly trailing off before it could be ended.
Ernest decided to send both Benzen's unfinished letter and the one Benzen had previously entrusted to him, along with the ring Benzen had carefully kept in his box instead of taking it to the battlefield, to the House of Johansson.
Benzen hadn't married yet, but he must have been engaged.
It was probably an engagement ring.
Even in the letter he never finished—the one he couldn't find the words to complete—there was a lonely, empty space after a woman's name.
As more time passed, news came in about the situation as a whole.
Shockingly, the Battalion Headquarters of the 1st Battalion had been completely wiped out.
It was possible they'd been taken prisoner by the enemy, but since they'd vanished without a trace, it was fair to call it annihilation.
According to what Yurgen found out, the 1st Battalion's command post had not properly received the retreat order during the relay of commands.
Or maybe—though higher command had ordered a retreat—that damned Battalion Commander had tried to make a name for himself by disobeying and ended up sending all his men to their deaths.
Either way, because the retreat order wasn't issued in time at the 1st Battalion command post, only Yurgen's 2nd Company managed to withdraw with its numbers largely intact.
The 1st and 3rd Companies, seeing the troops beside them begin to pull back, belatedly started their own retreat, but it was too late—they were subjected to a concentrated enemy attack and then wiped out during the pursuit that followed.
According to a few survivors, after splitting up and scattering, they just blindly ran for their own lines.
Meanwhile, as the 5th Division was retreating under fierce enemy attack, the 6th and 7th Divisions switched to a counteroffensive from the north and succeeded in seizing the northern part of the forest.
The 5th Division took devastating losses, the 13th Regiment—which included Ernest—was utterly shattered, and Benzen, Ernest's senior from the Military Academy, was killed in action.
But looking at it strategically, the situation had actually improved.
In the raging wild gale of war, the struggles and emotions of individuals were hardly worth considering.
"Hey, I'm totally screwed," said Yurgen, after things had settled down a bit.
He called together the two remaining platoon leaders and, sticking his last cigarette in his mouth, delivered the news.
"Are we being brought up for a court-martial?"
Robert asked, tense with worry.
Now he also knew that the retreat order back then had been Yurgen's own decision.
"No. They're giving us medals."
"…Why?"
"The entire 1st Battalion got wiped out, but we… managed to come back in one piece, more or less."
"...Why is that a problem?"
"Haven't your parents ever taught you not to accept things from strangers? You shouldn't accept something if you don't know where it comes from."
"But in the army, if someone above you gives you something, it's not from a stranger."
"It is from a stranger. I've never even seen those people's faces."
Yurgen and Robert tried their best to avoid mentioning Benzen, who had been killed in action, as they talked.
Yurgen was going to receive the Medal of Merit—the same medal Ernest had been awarded.
Even though he'd withdrawn without orders, he was now being decorated for keeping his men together and leading them calmly in a crisis.
It was ridiculous, but as long as the people involved kept quiet, nobody would ever know.
It was just yesterday that Ernest and Yurgen had jokingly talked about the medal before the battle.
Now, it felt like that had happened a year ago.
"When will we be getting reinforcements?"
Ernest asked Yurgen in as normal a voice as he could manage.
The 1st Battalion had suffered catastrophic losses, and the Battalion Headquarters had been completely wiped out.
Right now, they weren't in any condition to fight.
Getting reinforcements would also mean they'd have to head back into battle.
"It's not just our battalion that's been wiped out. The 2nd and 3rd Battalions took heavy losses too. Right now, the 13th Regiment doesn't have a single battalion ready for combat."
Yurgen scratched at his messy beard, looking frustrated.
"There aren't any units fit to fight, and it'll take time to get replacements. So, for now, they're saying they'll combine what's left of the 2nd and 3rd Battalions with us in the 1st Battalion."
"…What about the Battalion Commander?"
"They're sending one from the 2nd Battalion."
Not only were they scraping together the survivors from all three battalions, but now they were even transferring the 2nd Battalion's commander over to the 1st.
With only one battalion left, there was nothing the 13th Regiment could realistically accomplish.
Maybe their plan was to form the 1st Battalion out of the few soldiers who actually had combat experience and try to use it as some sort of elite unit.
And if a commander from the 2nd Battalion was coming in, it would definitely make things awkward for the remaining men from the 1st and 3rd Battalions.
With that kind of favoritism in play, trouble was bound to follow.
In any case, it wasn't good news for Ernest.
The higher-ups were clearly planning to squeeze as much as they could out of the 1st Battalion.
For the next few days, things were quiet.
Belliang was too busy trying to hold off the 6th and 7th Divisions, who had taken the northern part of the Bertagne Forest, and the 5th Division was so battered—except for the Cavalry Regiment—that neither side paid each other much attention.
Just like before the last battle, Ernest began teaching the surviving platoon members how to read and write. But the soldiers had almost no motivation left. After all, it hardly seemed possible any of them would make it out of this alive.
Unlike them, Ernest remained passionate about learning the Belliang language.
To be precise, it wasn't so much passion as it was desperation—he needed something, anything, to keep himself together.
The soldier who had been teaching Ernest to read had died in battle, so he couldn't keep learning to read and write.
Instead, he threw himself into picking up the spoken language from another soldier, doing his best to absorb as much as he could.
Of course, teaching takes real skill, and the soldier helping him with Belliang had no system or structure at all.
He just blurted out whatever words came to mind, however they came to him.
But Ernest's sharp mind picked up the words almost instantly, and he managed to discover the grammar and rules hidden in the soldier's rambling speech all on his own.
And so, in that place so far removed from any real peace, they passed a few oddly peaceful days—until the promised moment finally arrived.
The remaining soldiers of the 13th Regiment were transferred to the 1st Battalion.
At the same time, not only did they receive new soldiers to fill the gaps, but several new officers also arrived to take their posts.
"Ernest, Robert. You both made it."
"…Jonas?"
"My god, Jonas. What are you doing here?"
"I've been assigned as the new platoon leader."
The officer newly appointed as platoon leader to the 2nd Company was Jonas Adler, a peer of Ernest and Robert.
With Benzen's death and fresh reinforcements, Ernest had become the leader of the 1st Platoon.
Robert was now in charge of the 2nd Platoon, which made Jonas the new leader of the 3rd Platoon.
"Are you alright? Are you hurt anywhere?"
"How long has it been? It's been ages. What about the others? Are they okay?"
Ernest and Robert, seeing how clean and well-kept Jonas looked, grabbed him and fired off questions in a rush, looking him over from all sides.
"Calm down. I just got here as a platoon leader. I haven't even been in a fight yet. And… and, Robert, it's only been ten days since we last saw each other."
Seeing his friends so thin and worn-out—changed almost beyond recognition in just ten days—Jonas visibly struggled to keep his composure, but forced a smile anyway.
Ernest and Robert could only stare at him in shock.
It was hard to believe that it had only been ten days since they parted at the 2nd Corps Headquarters.
It felt more like a month.
"I'm not really sure about the others. I hadn't heard anything before I left. Anyway, I was the last of us peers to arrive."
"…I see…"
Hearing Jonas's words, Ernest muttered weakly. Since then, new officers had kept arriving, and eventually, all the fresh officers from the Imperial Military Academy had been sent to the battlefield.
No one could bring themselves to say that none of them had died.
"..."
Yurgen stood some distance away, watching the three young platoon leaders chatter, and just kept dragging on the cigarette he'd received with the latest supply shipment.
Seeing these seventeen-year-old kids get together and talk excitedly just because they'd run into an old friend, it felt as if reality was slipping away.
If only this wasn't the battlefield, it might have been a good thing.
"Phew…"
Shuddering at the horror of it all, Yurgen exhaled a heavy cloud of smoke.
It might be better if they kept friends separated.
At least then, dying out of sight of each other would be less traumatic.
"Captain Vendermere."
Still staring blankly at the young platoon leaders, Yurgen slowly turned his head at the sound of the deep voice.
Yurgen looked up at the very tall man, squeezed his eyes shut, and pressed his own forehead hard with the hand holding his cigarette.
"Don't bother saluting. We're both Company Commanders."
Yurgen spoke weakly, swallowing his emotions for a moment.
"But still, there's a difference in rank—how could I not salute?"
"..."
Faced with this stubborn remark, Yurgen ended up having no choice but to accept the salute.
Only then did the man lower his hand.
"Go on. Get over there."
Yurgen gestured toward the platoon leaders with his cigarette.
"Yes, sir."
The man responded in a low voice, then strode purposefully toward the 2nd Company's platoon leaders.
"Damn it."
Yurgen cursed under his breath as he watched that large back walk away.
It's really hard to bear.
No matter how big he is, he's still just a kid.
The man silently approached the platoon leaders, and with a hulking frame impossible to miss unless you were blind, he drew their attention.
"It hasn't really been that long, but it feels like ages, doesn't it?"
He lifted the hood of his raincoat as he spoke.
Short, bristly stubble covered his square jaw, but he couldn't quite hide a faint smile.
"…Ferdie!"
Robert, startled, jumped and shouted.
At that, Ferdinand's smiling face twisted abruptly.
"I told you not to call me that, Jimman."
"What happened? Did you get transferred to the 1st Battalion too?"
"Yeah."
When Ernest asked with wide eyes, Ferdinand answered calmly.
"I came from the 2nd Battalion. I'm with the 1st Company."
"This is almost like a class reunion."
Jonas said with a wry smile.
Hearing that, not only Ernest and Robert but even Ferdinand's face turned tense.
No one wants to meet their friends in a place like this.
That goes for everyone.
It's not only that I don't want to be here myself—I also don't want my friends to have to be here.
"So, if you're from the 2nd Battalion, Jonas is the only one here who's new."
"Are there any other guys here?"
"Georg and Baumann are here too. They're with the 1st Company."
Ferdinand called Georg Brandt and Baumann Koch by their first names without hesitation. It seemed that after yelling for each other on the battlefield so much, they'd just started using first names out of habit.
"So that means all the platoon leaders in both the 1st and 2nd Companies are our peers? Look at that! Maybe we'll actually have a voice around here. And with Ferdie on our side, too."
Robert grinned as he spoke.
He wasn't really in high spirits, but he tried to lighten the mood with a joke, just like in the old days.
"No, the 3rd Platoon in the 1st Company is from a different military academy."
"…Huh?"
"Why?"
When Ferdinand replied with a wry smile, Robert and Jonas tilted their heads in confusion.
But not Ernest.
He quickly reached out, pulled aside Ferdinand's raincoat, and checked the rank insignia on his shoulder.
"That's right."
With his large, rough hand, Ferdinand gently pushed Ernest's hand away, speaking in a voice laced with self-reproach and showing a similar expression.
"I'm the 1st Company Commander, far more than I deserve.
Though it had only been ten days since they were deployed to the battlefield, and despite having fought just two battles, Ferdinand had already been promoted to lieutenant and was now entrusted with leading the 1st Company of the 1st Battalion.
He wore a wry smile at the thought.
Ferdinand, who had started as the 1st Platoon Leader, took over as acting Company Commander when the previous commander was killed in the last battle.
That was the extent of his command experience—temporarily leading the company as they retreated.
But when he finally came to his senses, he found he'd been promoted to lieutenant and made Company Commander.
No one was foolish enough to miss that his grandfather and father's influential backgrounds had played a significant role.
"From now on… yes, from now on, let's meet often. Ernest, Robert, Jonas."
Ferdinand tugged the hood of his raincoat a little lower over his head as he spoke, carefully, slowly, and as if savoring each of his friends' names.
"I've told Georg and Baumann as well. You're welcome to visit any time."
"Who is it?"
Ernest, quietly staring at Ferdinand, suddenly seized him and asked urgently.
He had caught the subtle tension in Ferdinand's attitude—something off—and wasn't about to let it go unnoticed.
Ssshhhhh…
The torrential rain poured down.
The sound alone was almost deafening.
Ernest's black eyes, as always, were deep and somber.
Ferdinand's brown eyes, in that moment, seemed even darker than Ernest's.
The two pairs of dark eyes met.
Ernest wished he was wrong.
He hoped it was just his imagination, that Ferdinand would grumble and ask what nonsense he was talking about.
"Tobias."
"..."
Ferdinand said their friend's name in a dry voice, utterly devoid of emotion.
And yet, that flat, emotionless tone was somehow unbearably raw.
How much had he needed to suppress—how much pain had he swallowed—to be able to say the name of a friend who'd died, so calmly?
Tobias Müller.
Truthfully, Ernest hadn't been all that close to him. But they had spent more than three years together at the Military Academy—studying, laughing, talking, joking, and even helping each other during training.
"…Yeah. Later, then."
Ferdinand spoke in that voice of his, which always seemed to echo so deeply, but now sounded almost brittle in its dryness. Then he turned and strode off, disappearing into the rain.
His broad back receded, grew smaller, then vanished.
The three platoon leaders of the 2nd Company stared blankly after him.
A friend had died.
They weren't ready yet to accept that fact.
It all felt like a lie, and yet the cold emptiness in their hearts froze their resolve, keeping them from running away.
Time, so heavy it seemed the sound of the pouring rain alone might break them, fell relentlessly on their young shoulders.