Chapter 119 - Through the Night (4)
The 1st Battalion moved forward cautiously, adjusting their pace.
Fortunately, thanks to the Belliang Army's large-scale retreat, they were able to reach the trench line without much trouble.
"Ugh! What's that smell?"
"Damn! Those bastards!"
Inside the trenches, the stench was overpowering—the enemy had poured filth all throughout, and the walls were so thoroughly destroyed that the position was unusable.
They couldn't even think of going inside.
The ceaseless rain had turned all the refuse to rot, and no one could guess what kind of diseases awaited them if they went in there.
"We're going to need a meeting."
Looking visibly exhausted, Yurgen called the company commanders together for a quick meeting.
The soldiers were told to stay alert and stand by around the area.
"Ernest, are you alright?"
"I'm fine," Ernest replied with a smile to Robert, who asked with concern.
But after a moment, Ernest shook his head and corrected himself.
"No, I'm not alright."
Standing in the relentless drizzle, Ernest looked down at his own hands.
His hands, which had been soaked in Paul's blood, were now completely clean.
"Did you get hurt anywhere?"
Jonas ran his hands over Ernest's shoulders and arms, then grabbed him and spun him around, checking as he asked.
This was Jonas's first battle too—he must have been anxious and scared.
"No, I'm alright."
"Hey, are you alright or not?"
Robert joined in, spinning Ernest in place alongside Jonas.
They were trying to lighten him up, joking around in their own way to help Ernest relax.
"I'm alright. And that's why I'm not alright."
"Did you drink or something?"
"No."
Ernest came to a stop, feeling a little dizzy.
He looked at his two friends, swaying slightly as he spoke.
"I saw Senior Captain Paul being torn apart and killed right in front of me."
"...."
"But... to be honest, I didn't really feel anything. All I could think about was not letting the enemy get Paul's Balt Battery."
Ernest lowered his dark eyes and stared at the ground, then glanced sideways.
"No, that's not it either. I was actually kind of... annoyed that Senior Captain Paul couldn't even fulfill his given role properly."
At this point, there was no reason to hide anything from Robert or Jonas.
Ernest simply showed them his true self.
"I don't feel anything. Someone younger than us, terrified out of his mind, just died like that. I'm actually a little scared that I might completely lose it one day. Maybe I already have."
Ernest spoke as if confessing.
Maybe it wasn't the kind of thing you should say to your friends in a situation like this, but he wanted to get it out anyway.
"Well... I mean..."
"..."
Robert and Jonas wanted to say something to Ernest.
No matter how much he changed, they would still think of him as their friend.
But they just didn't know how to put it into words.
"That's just because you're still a kid."
"Ugh!"
Yurgen grabbed the back of Ernest's neck and gave him a light shove behind the knee with his own knee.
Ernest, startled, staggered but managed not to fall.
"You can't take care of others and yourself at the same time. You may be tall, but…"
Thud! Thud!
Yurgen smacked Ernest's helmet hard with his palm.
"Your head's still just that of a kid."
"..."
"You think you can do everything. That if it's not you, no one else can, so you have to keep your cool and handle it all yourself. Am I wrong?"
"Well, I… I'm not sure…"
Still held by the scruff of the neck, Ernest stood awkwardly and darted his eyes around, looking just like a cat that got caught.
"A half-grown kid with abilities, of all things…"
Yurgen gave Ernest a push, causing him to stumble forward and then glance back.
"…You're still just a little brat, but you already think you're all grown up. What an arrogant bastard."
Yurgen muttered this as he looked at Ernest's young, startled face.
Seventeen years old.
Ernest was only one year older than Paul, who had just been crying out desperately for his mother.
This kid was trying with all his might to shoulder not just his own burdens, but also those of everyone around him.
For most people, carrying just their own load would be too much—it would crush them.
But because he was so capable, he barely managed to carry that crushing weight all by himself, hanging on by a thread.
But just because he was enduring didn't mean he was really okay.
If he ever tripped up even once, that weight would flatten him, and he might never get back up again.
"To you, doesn't it seem like everyone else is an idiot or a fool except for yourself?"
"Huh? No, not at all!"
At Yurgen's mocking words, Ernest hurriedly waved his hands in denial, startled.
Watching him like this, almost no one would believe this was the same crazy kid who had just stuck his head into the Maw of a powerful Baltracher—one who had nearly wiped out their battalion, and yet he hadn't even flinched.
Whack!
When Yurgen tried to kick Ernest's shin with the toe of his boot, Ernest instinctively lifted his leg and blocked Yurgen's with his own, pushing it away.
Ernest gasped in surprise, and Yurgen staggered.
Thunk!
Ernest obediently let Yurgen pat his helmeted head with his palm.
Since it landed on his helmet, it didn't hurt at all.
"See? I'm right. You little punk. You act like this because you think everyone would be dead without you. Am I wrong?"
"Honestly, if Ernest hadn't been here, we really might all be dead…"
"Hey, Adler. Make Jitman shut up."
"It's Jimman, actually."
"Yeah, Jitman. No—Jimman."
"Alright, let's all just keep quiet and step back. Jitman."
"It's Jimman! And you should be calling me Robert."
Jonas drags Jitman—no, Robert—away.
"Hey, Krieger."
"…Yes?"
"You really are something special."
Yurgen spoke with a sigh, his face drawn with exhaustion.
Ernest recalled the conversation he'd had with Yurgen when he had just taken command as platoon leader.
The most terrifying belief in this hell is the conviction that you're someone special.
"You are special, but that doesn't mean you get to play hero."
Tap.
Yurgen presses his fingertip firmly against Ernest's forehead, pushing him back, then gives him a gentle shove on the chest with his fist.
"One shot from a bullet is all it takes to kill you. Even if you're hit in the arm or leg, you'll go down and won't be able to move. As you've seen, once you get hurt around here, you're basically as good as dead. Do you really think they'll send some precious First-Class Baltracher just to treat you? Only someone like the 1st Company Commander, Lieutenant Hartmann, could ever hope for that kind of service. Most of the time, unless you get lucky and the timing is just right, you'll barely have a chance for treatment."
Pushed back by Yurgen, Ernest takes a few steps before returning to his place, staring silently at Yurgen.
"You know what you did well? Of course I do. You spotted the enemy's ambush. You held off the enemy's central charge effectively. And you stopped that damn Baltracher from massacring us all. That's right. You did well. You really did."
Yurgen, his bloodshot eyes stinging, rubs them with hands soaked from the rain, his face twisting in pain.
"But in the end, we survived just because we got lucky. What if that enemy Baltracher had just a bit more Balt left? What if Isaac had been late? What if you'd dodged just a second slower? Then instead of your shattered gun, it would've been your body in pieces."
Yurgen gestured at Ernest's gun with a jerk of his chin.
Since the barrel of Ernest's rifle had been cut off by the enemy Baltracher, he was now using a fallen soldier's weapon from the last fight.
"So stop telling others to keep their heads down in a fight and stuff that cocky head of yours down first. Seriously."
Thunk!
Yurgen smacked Ernest on the head again.
"…Yes, I'm sorry."
Ernest mumbled in reply.
Even after getting hit on the head several times, strangely enough, he didn't feel bad at all.
"Oh, you idiot."
Tap.
"Hey!"
"Sorry, my body just moved on its own… But really, why do you keep doing the same thing once it's been blocked?"
"You little—!"
Yurgen, having tried to kick Ernest's shin again only to be blocked in exactly the same way and stumbling off balance, shouted angrily.
How dare that fresh-faced young Second Lieutenant put his foot on the leg of a Company Commander, who's as high as the sky itself, and shove him away.
Truly, he couldn't be more insolent.
In the end, Ernest was caught by Yurgen and had to listen to a long lecture about "The Seven Important Reasons Why You Must Revere a Company Commander, Who's as Lofty as the Sky." The 2nd Company members, wearing disgruntled expressions, stood at parade rest and glanced sideways, whispering to each other as they watched Ernest silently endure Yurgen's words.
"Serves him right."
"Robert, I think it's a bit inappropriate to say things like that about a friend."
"But you think it serves him right too, don't you?"
"Well..."
Not only Robert but even Jonas, witnessing the rare sight of Ernest being scolded, couldn't help but feel, deep down, that it did serve him right—at least a little.
However, even as Jonas tried to carry on with his friends as usual, he couldn't suppress the trembling in his hands.
He had just experienced his first battle.
Though he hadn't been exposed directly to danger like Ernest, Jonas was still far too young—and far too gentle by nature—to feel nothing when he'd just seen someone die horribly right before his eyes as a result of his own orders.
Robert, knowing this, was acting more mischievously than usual, trying to comfort Jonas in his own way.
If Ernest had any room to breathe, he too would have forced himself to joke around with them.
But as the 1st Platoon Leader, Deputy Company Commander, and someone who, from the very first battle, had adapted remarkably well and distinguished himself with merit, Ernest felt no such ease in his mind.
Yurgen's words might have been harsh, but in truth, Ernest believed he had to keep trying—that if he put in enough effort, things would get better.
Memories of the moment when Benzen Johansson lost his life so meaninglessly haunted him.
He was determined not to lose his friends like that.
This belief of Ernest's was extremely dangerous.
Underneath it, instead of clear reason, there was a desperate urge to escape reality.
He couldn't fully accept the fact that, in this vast war, he was nothing more than one of many expendable pawns.
So he wanted to believe that things would change if only he tried harder.
It wasn't because he was stupid or incompetent, but because he was clever and capable.
And because he was still so young, Ernest needed Yurgen's scolding.
Now that Ernest had realized this, he quietly endured Yurgen's long-winded lecture—which was, in truth, little more than nonsense.
While Ernest was being lectured, the courier who had been sent to Battalion Headquarters returned.
Levin had given the order to withdraw to a safe location and set up camp.
It was a bit disappointing that he hadn't told them to come out of the woods, but at least he hadn't ordered them into those miserable, filthy trenches—so they were grateful for that much.
"There really isn't another superior quite like our Battalion Commander when things get rough."
"What about when things are easy?"
"When things are easy, well... he can be a bit of a pain."
Yurgen started to answer Robert's question without thinking, but fortunately caught himself and managed to swallow back any disrespectful comment about Lieutenant Colonel Levin Ort.
"Where would you find a superior who's always kind and easy to work for?"
Jonas forced a small laugh as he tried to hide the tremor in his voice, helping to gloss over Yurgen's slip.
"Of course they exist," Yurgen said with a broad grin, spreading his arms wide in front of the seventeen-year-old platoon leaders.
"Yeah, maybe somewhere. But definitely not here."
"If my superior were a blond beauty, I'd be fine even if she had a terrible personality. Actually, that might make it even better."
"Hmm... Mmm..."
Ernest, still sulking a little from Yurgen's scolding, made a sarcastic comment.
Robert confessed that his own tastes were getting more and more questionable, and Jonas glanced around awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable.
"Are all those guys from the Imperial Military Academy this full of themselves?"
"I... I'm not sure I'm the one to ask about that..."
Yurgen pressed Jonas for an answer, but Jonas had nothing to say.
In any case, with Levin's permission now granted, the 1st Battalion pulled back from that damned cesspit of a trench, regrouped carefully, and set up a temporary camp.
"Oh, damn it! Damn! Curse those Belliang bastards!"
"My back's breaking—and I'm not even thirty yet..."
The soldiers threw themselves into building the new camp. They had to dig with their entrenching tools, but the roots in this forest—trees and even grass—ran so deep and spread so wide, it was hard to tell whether they were digging dirt or just hauling up endless roots.
Still, because of that, once they managed to break the ground, they rarely had to worry about the trenches collapsing with rain—the thick roots prevented the earth they'd just dug out from being washed away and filling it right back in.
"Hey! It's collapsing! It's collapsing!"
"I told you to pack it down better!"
It didn't happen very often.
Anyway, the 1st Battalion used the terrain to set up their fortifications as quickly as possible.
The positions were chosen after an in-depth discussion among the company commanders—though the results felt just a bit shaky overall, they made sure the men could move safely between posts without having to dig separate trenches.
"Whew! Let's finally take a break!"
Since everyone's lives depended on it, they all worked hard and finished much sooner than expected.
Most of the soldiers had been farmers before, and thanks to their remarkable skill with digging, the work went quickly. A farmer who can't dig isn't much of a farmer.
They spread cotton tent cloth over the tops to make a roof, so the soldiers could go inside, dry off, and rest comfortably. Listening to the rain tapping on the roof, even this damned forest felt oddly cozy.
Of course, this was only a makeshift position, so if the enemy decided to attack in force, they'd probably have to abandon everything and run.
"Um... this is the new member of our 2nd Company, uh..."
"I'm Bruno Fiders."
"Bruno! Oh, it's Bruno. Everybody, get along well with him."
And so, a new Baltracher joined the 2nd Company.
Bruno was a Baltracher whose name alone instantly gave away his Belliang origins.
Bruno's appearance was also thoroughly Belliang: broad forehead beneath dark brown curls, and slightly drooping brown eyes that seemed full of melancholy.
On top of that, Bruno's accent was so heavily Belliang that anyone not used to it could barely understand what he was saying.
Having a Baltracher from Belliang join them while they were at war with Belliang left the 2nd Company in an awkward mood.
"I'm Ernest Krieger, leader of the 1st Platoon."
Even Isaac, who was a fellow Baltracher, stood stiff and wary, so in the end, Ernest, as 1st Platoon Leader, had to step forward first.
"Oh, Krieger."
Hearing Ernest's name, Bruno's eyes widened in delight as if he were genuinely glad.
"I've heard a lot about you. The Hero's son. They say you even received the Medal of Merit in your very first battle?"
With a smile, Bruno reached out to shake Ernest's hand.
Ernest, feeling a bit uncomfortable but hiding it, shook his hand firmly.
"It's an honor to fight alongside you. Of course, the same goes for everyone here. I look forward to serving with you."
Bruno spoke brightly, unfazed by the tense atmosphere around him.
"…You're Belliang, aren't you?"
At that, Isaac said sharply to Bruno, practically threatening him.
"Oh, uh."
"Isaac. He's a Fiders like you."
"Thank you, Company Commander. Isaac, I understand why you'd be suspicious of me. Of course you would."
Bruno didn't lose his smile, clearly used to such prejudiced looks.
He shrugged nonchalantly and waved his hands dismissively as he spoke.
"But Isaac, you and I aren't so different. No, actually, I started even lower than you did, and I clawed my way up to where you are now. I've come a long, long way."
Bruno dropped his left hand down, then raised it high above his head.
"Think about it—a Belliang living in Belliang lands conquered by the Mihahil Empire? You can't even imagine what that's like. But look at me now. Here I am."
Bruno smiled and spread his arms wide. The raincoat, still slick with oil since it had only recently been issued, and the luxurious officer's uniform underneath.
Bruno spread open his raincoat and pointed emphatically at the Senior Captain insignia on his shoulder with his thumb.
"I can't speak for everyone else, but most Baltrachers from Belliang are ready to devote themselves to the Empire. If it hadn't been for the Empire, I would've spent my life breaking my back, poor as a dirt farmer, handing that poverty down to my kids too. But not anymore. Now, I'm an Imperial officer, a noble, and I can provide for my family—good food, proper clothes, a nice home. If I work hard, my children might even become nobles themselves."
Bruno spoke in a truly cheerful voice, even throwing a fist in the air for emphasis. Just as Bruno said, most people from Belliang live and die as farmers, working those sprawling fields. It was all but impossible for the countless farmers to accumulate any wealth, because every inch of Belliang farmland belonged to great landlords. Most of these were monopolized by royalty and nobles, while a few pieces were owned by wealthy commoners. Those landlords rented the land out to tenant farmers and squeezed them with heavy taxes—a system of pure exploitation.
"I can't say what it's like for those who are still stuck farming, but for those who, thanks to the Empire, escaped poverty, everyone has real affection for the Empire. I'm no different. Some people go on about Belliang independence, but that's just foolishness. Personally, I think the Empire should rule over all of Belliang."
"…Well… I guess… you could see it that way…"
Bruno had spoken so plainly that Isaac, himself a fellow commoner-turned-Baltracher who had become a Senior Captain and a noble in the Imperial Army, couldn't bring himself to doubt Bruno any further.
Bruno truly believed that he had escaped poverty thanks to the Empire, and that the Empire needed to conquer all of Belliang to liberate the destitute farmers from their misery.
"Isaac, I heard about your previous Baltracher. Paul, was it? Don't worry. I'm not like that."
Bruno stuck out his hand to Isaac.
Isaac looked a bit reluctant, but he figured that Bruno wouldn't freeze up in terror and cause trouble like Paul had, so he took his hand anyway.
After that, Bruno shook hands with Robert and Jonas, and even greeted the non-commissioned officers and the soldiers with a warm smile. Fortunately, 2nd Company didn't have much trouble accepting this cheerful new officer. The previous efforts—beginning with Ernest's platoon—to ease discrimination against soldiers from Belliang had paid off.
"…I'm not sure if this will be all right."
Watching Bruno interact with the soldiers, Ernest quietly spoke to Yurgen.
"Why? Are you suddenly worried he'll go mad and side with Belliang?"
Yurgen scoffed.
"No, it's the opposite that concerns me."
From what Ernest could see, Bruno really seemed determined to fight with all his heart for the Empire.
The problem was, he was perhaps a bit too eager—so desperate to distinguish himself that he was just itching to score some achievement.
Ernest worried that this could bring about some kind of accident.
"Yeah, you're probably worried he'll go crazy and play at being a hero, just like you did."
Yurgen made a snide remark.
"Don't worry—I'll keep a close eye on him, so just mind your own business. And stop sticking your neck out where it doesn't belong. Seriously! Before I have to bash your head in."
"Yes, sir…"
Having gotten another earful from Yurgen, Ernest was tempted to pretend to smack Yurgen on the back of the head, but he held back and made his way toward the 1st Platoon.
Tonight, the 1st Battalion would be spending the night here, keeping an eye on the enemy's movements and creating a foothold to expand the front line.
Since they'd confirmed that the enemy had withdrawn after half-hearted skirmishes, the replenished 2nd and 3rd Battalions would soon be on the move as well.
The 14th and 15th Regiments would probably advance as soon as they were ready.
If the 13th Regiment could manage to re-enter the forest and successfully push the front line forward like this, the 1st Battalion would earn major credit in the Battle of Bertagne Forest for splitting and pressuring the Belliang Army's front. But regardless of honors or medals or any of that, the real goal was to break out of this damned forest as quickly as possible and reach the plains.
It had already been over a month and a half since the war had broken out. The rain would soon let up. Now, the Empire not only had to fight a two-front war against Alliance forces on all sides, but also suppress rebellions within the Empire itself.
Belliang, together with the Alliance Army, would do everything in their power to pressure the Empire until it gave up this reckless war. If they could just drive the Imperial Army out of Bertagne Forest, even once, Belliang would have a real chance at victory.
They were probably fighting with grim determination right now, trying to hold back the 6th and 7th Divisions that had occupied the northern part of the forest. If those Imperial divisions managed to break through the forest and reach the plains, occupying Belliang's farmlands and cutting off their supply lines, then every last Belliang soldier left in Bertagne Forest would wither and die.
Naturally, from Belliang's perspective, Ernest and the 1st Battalion, which had thrust deep into the center of the forest, would be as annoying as a nail driven right through the sole of your shoe. It was already hard enough just to block the 6th and 7th Divisions—now, with that irritating pain in their foot, they could hardly even walk straight.
Belliang had been passive in their engagement with the 1st Battalion, and after a half-hearted fight, they'd once pulled back.
But if that little nail digs any deeper and ends up lodged in the sole, rotting the foot so badly it has to be cut off, they'll make sure to rip that nail out before things get that far.
There was no doubt—the enemy offensive would come, perhaps as soon as this evening, or by tomorrow at the latest.
If the enemy attacked before the 2nd and 3rd Battalions could reinforce them, the 1st Battalion would have no choice but to retreat.
It would be a shame not to be able to force Belliang to stretch their front lines, but even just distracting them from the northern forest battle would be a small victory.
In any case, the 1st Battalion would have to face the enemy in this forest once more.
There was plenty left to do.
"..."
Yurgen stuck a cigarette in his mouth and stared vacantly at the young platoon leaders hurrying back and forth.
He stood there for a while, lost in thought, then reached into his jacket for his lighter and lit his cigarette.
"Phew..."
As Yurgen let out a long stream of smoke, the deep lines of pain etched into his forehead seemed even more pronounced. The terrified look on Paul's face as he died in the previous battle flashed before his eyes.
Benzen's sarcastic voice, who'd died defending the rear of the retreating company under Yurgen's orders, echoed in his ears.
Besides them, there were so many others—pulled onto the battlefield at too young an age, never having the chance to bloom before they fell.
Those who died under his command, the weight of that responsibility pressed on him relentlessly, never letting go.
And now, even these kids have to bear that same heavy burden.
"What on earth must their parents be feeling…?"
Yurgen muttered as he watched the young platoon leaders, forced into the war and made officers at such a young age.
What did those noble Houses see as so great about sending their own children off to become mere soldiers?
Were they grieving, knowing their sons were out here fighting at the front?
Did they regret it?
"Ha…"
Yurgen let out a hollow laugh, half from bitterness, half from self-reproach.
To think that, even in this situation, he felt a pang of envy just for the fact that they had children to raise at all.
Their sons were fighting for their lives in a war—any parent would be beside themselves with worry.
It was wrong to feel envious.
"Ptoo."
He spat out the bitter saliva, clamped the cigarette under his helmet and hood, and stepped out from beneath the sheltering roof.
There was too much to do.
There was no time for idleness.