Chapter 123 - Through the Night (8)
Once inside the tent, Ernest saw that a Ranger was already there, having set down a sack and begun explaining the situation.
Thanks to the Ranger's report, Ernest was able to get a much clearer picture of how the battle had unfolded.
It turned out that the Rangers had been operating in two separate groups.
One Ranger company near the 1st Battalion had been deployed to assassinate the enemy commanders, while the group on the 2nd Battalion's side had fought desperately to hold off the enemy advance right after the battle began.
Meanwhile, some soldiers—faces pale and drawn—were moving the sack, pulling out severed heads to confirm their identities.
In reality, there was no real way to tell who they were just by looking.
These heads could be thrown into the Belliang camp as a provocation, or used as bargaining chips.
If they belonged to commanders, they were surely nobles—undoubtedly, there would be a House desperate to get those heads back.
While the Ranger made his report, Ernest stood quietly in a corner of the tent.
Of course, only his hands and feet were calm; his eyes were restlessly darting everywhere.
'The 2nd Battalion is incapable of carrying out operations. The 3rd Company of the 1st Battalion took heavy losses.'
Staring at the casualty sheet, Ernest clenched his fist tightly.
'We lost a company commander, and four Baltrachers died as well.'
The 3rd Company Commander of the 2nd Battalion had been killed in action.
Additionally, in the 1st Battalion's 3rd Company, one of their own Baltrachers had been killed defending the rear and flanks from the enemy's Baltracher attack, and three Baltrachers from the 2nd Battalion had also fallen.
All of this began when a handful of soldiers neglected their watch, allowing the front line to collapse.
Just as the Ranger was finishing his report, a courier came rushing breathlessly into the tent.
He read the room and waited quietly for a moment.
If it were truly urgent, he would've yelled out regardless of the Ranger's report.
"Well done."
Levin, after listening intently to the Ranger's entire report with a piercing gaze, gave that brief remark to acknowledge their efforts.
That was all.
Anything more would have been meaningless, and besides, the Rangers didn't take orders from the 1st Battalion, so he couldn't tell them to go and rest either.
The Ranger saluted Levin, and Levin returned the salute in a disciplined manner, showing his respect for them.
Levin signaled to Ernest, who had arrived earlier, to wait on standby, then turned his attention to the courier.
"They say they'll send in the 3rd Battalion for support."
The courier got straight to the point.
At those words, the staff officers all grimaced.
"What's the point of bringing them in now?"
"They're just trying to take credit for our victory, and we absolutely cannot allow that. How about deploying them to the rear as reserves?"
"Yes, the 2nd Battalion won't let this slide either."
The staff officers were wary of the 3rd Battalion showing up only after the battle was over.
The 1st and 2nd Battalions had spilled all the blood, and now the 3rd Battalion wanted to swoop in and take a piece of the pie.
That filthy hand needed to be cut off immediately.
This battle, in particular, owed an astonishing amount to the efforts of the 1st Battalion.
The 2nd Battalion had fought hard as well, but their lapse in security had caused the front lines to collapse and led to heavy casualties.
On the other hand, the 1st Battalion had rescued the 2nd Battalion and driven out the enemy, all while sustaining minimal losses.
"That's enough. Save the talk about credit for after everything is over."
With a low and resolute voice, Levin silenced the staff officers.
If they started squabbling over credit now and something went wrong, everything they'd gained could be for nothing.
Levin turned to Ernest, and Ernest stepped forward and saluted.
Salute!
Even to the salute of a mere Second Lieutenant, Levin responded with an impeccably sharp salute of his own, almost to a stubborn degree.
Ernest then began his report on the course of the battle.
He excluded any personal opinions and delivered his report in a detached, matter-of-fact manner.
However, since he belonged to the 2nd Company and had fought alongside them, and because the 2nd Company had truly distinguished itself, his report almost sounded as if he was praising their achievements—at least to himself.
"Hmmm…"
After listening to Ernest's account, Levin let out a deep breath and stared at the map laid out on the table.
Deep in thought, Levin was silent for a moment before he looked at Ernest again.
"Do you think the 1st Battalion can continue the fight tonight?"
At Levin's question, the staff officers shot sharp looks at Ernest, trying to pressure him.
They wanted him to say they could keep fighting.
If Ernest said they couldn't keep fighting, Levin would hand over responsibility for holding the front line to the 3rd Battalion and pull back the 1st Battalion.
In that case, they might have to share the glory of their hard-won victory with the 3rd Battalion.
"We can continue fighting, but I don't believe we can win."
Ernest didn't care about any of that; he simply gave an honest, straightforward report.
"Morale is high thanks to our recent successful operation and victory, but everyone is extremely exhausted. If another battle breaks out, we'll fight, but we won't last long before we collapse."
The fatigue from combat is beyond imagination.
You have to focus every bit of your mind on survival.
Even just sitting and doing nothing after a battle, you're completely drained.
But this time, everyone was roused from sleep to fight on the field.
The battle situation was unfavorable, they rushed across a long stretch of the front, and even engaged in intense close combat with the enemy.
Even the 1st Company, which is in the best shape among the 1st Battalion, is now completely spent and unable to move.
As soon as the fighting ends and the tension lifts, all the pent-up exhaustion comes crashing in like a wave, and it breaks their spirit.
The crisis in the last battle was overcome thanks to the efforts of the commanders.
But now, we've passed the point where willpower alone can carry us through.
The soldiers urgently need rest.
"Let's pull back and put the 3rd Battalion at the front."
Levin replied in a calm voice after hearing Ernest's assessment. He tapped the map confidently with his command baton as he spoke.
"The chance of the enemy launching another attack is low, but we can't afford to let our guard down. We'll fall back and wait here. If there's another battle, we'll go in as reserves. Each company commander will handle the details as they see fit."
Without hesitation, Levin decided to yield the frontline to the 3rd Battalion and withdraw his troops.
Since the 3rd Battalion was also made up of new recruits, they couldn't pull the 1st Battalion all the way out of the forest.
The 1st Battalion would have to remain in the forest as a reserve force.
However, if the 3rd Battalion was on the front lines, keeping watch for the enemy, and the Rangers were out scouting the surrounding area, then the 1st Battalion could finally spend the night in peace.
"But then the 3rd Battalion will..."
"I told you before: save any talk of credit or praise until after the current operation is over."
"…My apologies."
The Operations Officer, who had been startled by Levin's words and was about to bring up achievements, could only retreat with a pale face after Levin coldly furrowed his brow and cut him off.
Levin hated repeating himself more than anything.
If someone couldn't even follow basic instructions, he'd rather just dismiss them than waste time trying to convince each and every one.
Levin's decision wasn't made just because Ernest's report swayed him.
He had weighed the status reports from each company, the Rangers' dispatches, and even firsthand accounts from wounded soldiers who were still in relatively good condition, considering a variety of factors before reaching his conclusion.
Levin's decision had the potential to create far greater ripple effects than anyone expected.
For one, if the 1st Battalion pulled back, the 2nd Battalion would also have to retreat.
The 2nd Battalion, having suffered heavy casualties, couldn't be expected to stay on the front lines relying solely on the 3rd Battalion of new recruits.
This would impact the political dynamics among the 13th Regiment's battalion commanders.
The 2nd Battalion might complain, but having survived and achieved victory thanks to the 1st Battalion, they'd grin and bear it; meanwhile, the 3rd Battalion would share in the credit thanks to the 1st Battalion, and could be expected to advocate for them at least once in the future.
There was another risk: if the enemy attacked again, the 3rd Battalion would have to stand alone and fight to buy time.
They might be wiped out.
In exchange, the 1st Battalion—an elite force in its own right—would have a chance to preserve its manpower.
This was a situation the 13th Regiment, which had once completely collapsed, would welcome with open arms.
If the 1st Battalion's forces remained intact, operations could still revolve around them even if the 2nd and 3rd Battalions suffered heavy losses.
As long as the 13th Regiment could keep fighting, they could force the Belliang Army into a two-front war.
The 5th Division could continue to drive a sword into the enemy's flank, focusing their forces through the path the 13th Regiment had opened.
If you only looked at the immediate rewards, Levin's decision seemed utterly foolish.
But from a broader, strategic perspective, his decision was spot on.
"Second Lieutenant Krieger, you're dismissed."
"Yes, Battalion Commander Sir."
Ernest answered Levin and saluted; Levin returned the salute.
Once he stepped outside the command tent, Ernest suddenly felt at a loss.
He needed to regroup with the 2nd Company, but what about the wounded from his company?
If he just left, he'd be abandoning them, since he was the only company officer present at the campsite.
"…Ah, right."
As Ernest pondered this, he realized he didn't need to rejoin the 2nd Company at all.
He'd received treatment, but his right arm still wasn't fully functional.
He needed rest for a while.
Besides, Yurgen had told Ernest to take responsibility for the wounded and escort them, not to come back.
And Ernest himself was included among those wounded.
For Yurgen, it was only natural that someone who had been so severely injured like Ernest should stay behind at the campsite and rest.
"…I can't disobey orders."
After some hesitation, Ernest decided to follow the direct orders of his superior, Captain Yurgen Vendermere.
He was worried about his friends and subordinates still out in the forest, but with Company Commander Yurgen and Deputy Platoon Leader Gustav there, things should be fine.
Trusting that the 2nd Company would manage without him, Ernest dragged his exhausted body toward the infirmary tent.
Honestly, he just wanted to collapse and sleep right then and there.
But since he'd been ordered to take responsibility for the 2nd Company's wounded, he needed to check on them first.
Fortunately, the 2nd Company's wounded were all right.
Most had simply twisted their ankles after a misstep or hurt their hands and wrists from breaking a fall.
"Everyone, return to your own tents and get some good rest."
Ernest didn't ask anything more of the 2nd Company's wounded; he simply instructed them to rest.
"Is… is that really okay?" one of the wounded asked cautiously, glancing around anxiously.
They'd figured, since their injuries were minor, they'd be sent back into the forest.
"If you want to stay here in the infirmary tent for injuries like that, I won't stop you."
"We'll head out now."
With that, the soldiers of the 2nd Company stood up—some limping, others moving awkwardly—and hurried out of the tent.
Everyone left in the infirmary tent were regular soldiers who hadn't been treated by a Baltracher.
All that could be done for them now was to stop the bleeding and neatly cut away any damaged tissue before stitching the wounds closed.
If the injuries were so severe that even that wasn't possible, they would just saw off the limb altogether.
As a result, the infirmary tent was filled with the stench of blood and filth, and no one could know when or how disease might spread.
Having finished his duties, Ernest finally returned to his own tent.
The first thing he did was strip off his ruined clothes, which had gotten filthy from fighting in the rain and rolling on the ground without even a raincoat.
After deliberating for a moment, he just stepped outside in his underwear and washed himself in the rainwater.
He didn't care who might see him, nor did he want to care.
Coming back into the tent, Ernest wiped down his wet body, changed into clean clothes, and then turned to the final task of the night: tending to his weapons.
If he left them as they were, his bayonet and dagger would rust and become useless, and the gun would inevitably develop problems.
After cleaning his gun thoroughly and reattaching the bayonet, he set it beside his bed and tucked the dagger under his pillow.
At last, Ernest lay down on the bed, utterly exhausted.
He fell asleep immediately.
Honestly, "passed out" would have been more accurate.
***
Ernest stayed another day at the battalion campsite.
All he really did was check on his company members, report the condition of the wounded, and then rest and relax.
He wondered if it was really okay to take it this easy, but there wasn't anything else he could do.
Besides, faithfully following Yurgen's orders was also part of his duty—so this might as well count as being on assignment.
After all, recovering his strength was a serious matter.
After that, the 1st Battalion managed to withdraw safely from the forest without any further battles.
The 14th and 15th Regiments were pushing forward to widen the front by deploying additional troops, while the 13th Regiment was temporarily withdrawn to rest and regroup.
"Look at these bastards, living the good life."
That was the first thing Yurgen said when he returned and saw the wounded lounging around the campsite.
The well-rested, well-fed wounded really did look as healthy as Yurgen said.
Their "wounds" were mostly just minor sprains at most.
"In that case, Company Commander, you could definitely pass for a barbarian."
Ernest, looking remarkably healthy himself, threw a bit of cheeky praise at his sky-high commander, calling Yurgen—who was practically a wild beast—a barbarian.
"Ernest, is your arm okay?"
"It's fine. The Baltracher treated it."
"What? Then what are you still doing here? You should've run straight back into the forest! You're not even a patient anymore!"
"Still, it went right through my arm. How can you just say that?"
"Exactly, Robert. You should learn a thing or two from Jonas—at least he worries about his friends."
Robert and Jonas checked Ernest's wounded arm, and when they saw he could move his right arm without trouble, they both sighed in relief.
"Why is Jonas the only one who looks so spotless?"
"Guess he can't give up on his style, even on the battlefield."
"Ah, our dandy Young Master has arrived."
"I'd expect that kind of comment from Robert, but Ernest—I really didn't want to hear it from you. Is there anyone here who shaves every day besides you?"
Even among the 2nd Company members, who all looked like wild beasts, Jonas still managed to look sharp.
Even amidst the chaos, he carefully washed, combed his hair, and kept himself neat and tidy.
The only thing he couldn't manage was shaving, so soft stubble was growing unevenly on his face.
"If you need a mirror, I can lend you one," Ernest offered.
"Hm... I think I'll let it grow out for a while," Jonas replied, running his fingers thoughtfully over his beard and shaking his head.
"A well-groomed beard can look cool, you know," Jonas added.
"It's probably not the most hygienic thing," Ernest pointed out.
"I'll just shave if it becomes a problem," Jonas shrugged.
"Don't regret it," Ernest advised.
"A man shouldn't be afraid to try something new," Jonas replied with a grin.
Although they'd soon have to head back into the forest for another fight, for now, they just wanted to enjoy being alive—talking, joking, and soaking in the moment.
Thankfully, Jonas seemed calmer and more at ease, whether thanks to Robert's support or perhaps just to the comfort Jonas took in his own carefully maintained style.
"Krieger. Come with me for a bit."
Having returned to civilization—whether wild beast or barbarian, the 2nd Company had left the wild behind—Yurgen approached Ernest with a reluctant expression and said just that.
"Where are we going?"
Ernest stood up and followed Yurgen, asking as they walked.
Yurgen, who had unusually shaved—leaving his bare chin visible—awkwardly scratched at it.
"Some stranger is supposed to give us something."
"…Me too?"
"Yeah."
There had been a saying that you shouldn't just accept medals from strangers.
That came up after the battle in which Benzen was killed, when Yurgen received the Medal of Merit.
"What are we getting?"
"I'm getting the Silver Star. You're getting the Bronze Star."
"Oh, my god."
At Yurgen's words, Ernest let out a sigh.
It was a sigh of exasperation, not of admiration.
The Silver Star Medal is the third highest among the medals for valor, and the Bronze Star Medal is right behind it as the fourth.
"I get why you'd receive one, Company Commander, but why are they giving one to me?"
"You saved my life..."
"And you reported that?"
"'Reported'? That makes it sound like—You kept nagging me to file reports, so I did it properly!"
'Good old Yurgen' really was an excellent commander who never failed to credit his subordinates' achievements to higher-ups.
He gave a thorough account of Ernest's actions, particularly when Ernest saved him during the ambush by the Green-Eyed Baltracher.
It was only right for Yurgen to receive the Silver Star Medal—if anything, he more than deserved it.
If it weren't for Yurgen, not only the 2nd Battalion but the 1st Battalion might have been wiped out as well.
In that case, their hard-won lines would have collapsed, and they would've been pushed out of the forest again.
"We're not the only ones getting medals, right?"
"They're distributing them pretty evenly. I heard the 1st Company Commander and the 3rd Company Commander are getting them too."
"Why… are they giving out so many?"
Ernest felt a bit bewildered.
Both Ferdinand and the 3rd Company Commander had certainly done more than enough to deserve medals, but even someone like Ernest, with less than a month's experience as an officer, knew that medals were rarely handed out so freely.
"It looks like the Battalion Commander made sure everyone got recognized."
This was probably all thanks to Lieutenant Colonel Levin Ort, who valued the judgment of frontline commanders.
Levin could've credited all of it to himself when reporting to headquarters, but instead he carefully reviewed all the reports and made sure those who truly distinguished themselves were recognized.
This time, none of the staff officers at the command post received medals or awards—not even Levin himself.
Since the victory was achieved thanks to the discretion of the field commanders, the credit belonged to them, and so did the honor and the awards.
At least, that's how Levin saw it.
He didn't care what the staff officers might say.
All the company commanders in the 1st Battalion received medals.
Yurgen received the Silver Star Medal, while the others received the Bronze Star Medal.
And among them, one platoon leader who seemed to have slipped in by mistake also received the Bronze Star Medal.
"From now on, do your best in whatever duty you're given."
"Yes, sir!"
After awarding the medals, Levin dismissed the recipients with just a few words.
"Our Battalion Commander is really something, isn't he?"
"Captain Vendermere, it's inappropriate to make such comments about a superior officer."
Yurgen joked as he gave Ferdinand's broad shoulder a playful pat, only for Ferdinand to call him out.
"Oh, come on. You're just like Johann... that bastard Krieger."
Yurgen started to mention Benzen, who had died, but caught himself and instead brought up Ernest.
"...."
Ferdinand gazed down, turning his newly awarded medal over in his hands.
He knew full well he'd been awarded the medal on his own merit.
However, he couldn't be sure that was all there was to it.
After all, all he had done was fight according to Yurgen's orders in the first place.
"You received it because you deserved it, Ferdinand."
Ernest could read the turmoil in Ferdinand's expression and spoke up.
Ferdinand looked up at Ernest.
Ernest gave him a small smile.
"And you received yours because you deserved it too, Ernest."
"..."
Unlike Ferdinand, who was wrestling with mixed feelings, Ernest, who was openly dissatisfied about receiving his own medals, couldn't say anything in response.
Since taking command as platoon leader, Ernest had already received both the Medal of Merit and the Bronze Star Medal in less than a month.
Normally, anyone would be overjoyed.
But thanks to his name—cheapened for being the son of a hero—Ernest simply couldn't be happy about it.
At any moment, now that they'd fattened him up enough, someone might decide to gut him like a pig and be done with it.
At least Levin Ort, the Lieutenant Colonel, didn't seem like that kind of person, but there's no telling what others might think.
Whatever Levin might say, if the Regimental Commander insisted, he would have no choice.
And as if to confirm those suspicions, the very next day, Ernest was promoted to lieutenant.
He might have accomplished something, but there had to be some ulterior motive behind such a rapid promotion.
No doubt about it
"So now we're finally even, Ernest."
Ferdinand came to see Ernest, who had just been promoted to lieutenant, and said something that Ernest couldn't quite tell was meant to tease him or pity him.
"…Damn it."
With his face buried in his hands, Ernest could only curse under his breath.
Did they really think it was time to gut him now?
This fast?
Not even a month had passed.
"Idiot… You got promoted because you earned it…"
Yurgen looked at Ernest and clicked his tongue, shaking his head.
Under normal circumstances, it takes a considerable amount of time to rise from second lieutenant to lieutenant—even for nobles, depending on their house, it usually takes at least a year at best.
But in wartime, if you distinguish yourself enough, they'll promote you on the spot.
Anyone could see Ernest wasn't the kind of man to be kept at second lieutenant, and he'd accomplished far too much.
He was a new platoon leader who had only participated in three battles, but earned a Medal of Merit in his very first and the Bronze Star Medal in his third.
What would be stranger is if they didn't promote him.
The Bronze Star was awarded purely for his own achievements, and even the Medal of Merit was given because he'd done notable deeds.
If he'd just sat around and done nothing, he wouldn't have gotten anything at all.
"Then why didn't you get promoted, Company Commander? You earned plenty of credit."
"Listen to this clueless fool. Do you really think getting promoted from second lieutenant to lieutenant is the same as moving from captain to major?"
Ernest, burning with frustration, shot Yurgen a glare and voiced his complaint, but he had no choice but to shut up in the face of Yurgen's blunt but truthful retort.
Of course, Ernest knew well enough that becoming a major wasn't an easy feat.
He was just venting.
At some point, promotion had been imprinted in Ernest's heart as something dreadful and almost sacrilegious.
'I really must never get promoted to captain. Well, maybe if they pulled me out for staff duty, I'd do it.'
Ernest indulged in these meaningless thoughts.
You couldn't exactly refuse a promotion during wartime, and barring some extraordinary reason, as the son of a hero, the Emperor expected him to die gloriously in the field—there was no way he'd be pulled out of front-line duty.
Still, simply imagining it wasn't a crime, so he let himself think about it as much as he wanted.
"That's our Fox Platoon Leader! Isn't he amazing?"
No matter how Ernest felt about it, the 1st Platoon members were all delighted.
And, somewhat awkwardly, word had spread that the Rangers called Ernest "Fox"; before he knew it, the 2nd Company members had started referring to him by the nickname, "Fox Platoon Leader."
"This fox of a guy."
"No, not just like a fox—he's the real deal."
"..."
Robert and Jonas also teased Ernest by calling him Fox.
Ernest wasn't exactly happy about it, since being called a fox doesn't have the best connotations for a person.
A fox is considered an evil beast that sneaks off with precious chickens.
Calling someone a fox usually means they're sly, cunning, and untrustworthy—a term of reproach.
True, it can also mean someone is thoughtful, clever, and cautious, but most of the time, it's used in the negative sense.
Honestly, Ernest didn't dislike foxes.
In fact, he rather liked them.
Foxes are clever, cautious, and easily startled, so there's a lot to consider when hunting them.
Fox hunting is quite enjoyable—he meant real hunting, not the nobles' sport.
For Ernest, a fox was simply prey.
Hardly anyone enjoys being thought of as prey that's seen as sneaky, crafty, and suspicious.
"But when the fighting started, you were like a lion."
"A lion with the head of a fox, I mean."
"...."
"I meant you fought cleverly and bravely at the same time."
Gustav, who was old enough to be Ernest's father, chuckled as he teased him.
"We have to tell the Young Master of the Duke's House, too."
"Wilfried will spread the news to all our peers."
"No, don't!"
"Yes, he will!"
A letter was sent to Wilfried as well.
Of course, Wilfried was the one who would get the biggest kick out of this, so he had to be told.
And so, whether he liked it or not, Ernest was now officially known as "the Fox."
For reference, when the friends from the 1st Company heard the news, they all came running to tease Ernest too.
Ferdinand, who was usually reserved, seemed unusually excited, which put Ernest in a slightly sour mood for no real reason.
For a brief moment, everyone felt as if they'd escaped reality and had gone back to their Military Academy days.
But even as he laughed and joked with his friends, Ernest never forgot that, in this very moment, countless people were dying.
He hadn't forgotten that he'd already killed dozens, or that dozens of those who'd fought alongside him were dead.
Despite all that, he realized—almost to his horror—that by now, he could hardly feel sad about their deaths anymore.
Ernest felt a sense of self-loathing.
Not the kind that comes naturally, but the kind you force yourself to feel because you think you ought to.
Laughing and chatting with his friends, Ernest realized just how irreversibly damaged and twisted he'd become.
Maybe Ferdinand was right.
Sometimes, maybe it's better not to know.
Because knowing only brings pain, and does nothing to help.