Chapter 17
Chapter 17
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 17
Chapter Title: Tail Chase (5)
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Whatever you do, the one who lasts the longest wins.
Patience may be bitter, but its fruit is sweet.
"Battalion Commander, the enemy's main force is marching past. With all those wagons, it looks like a supply unit."
Every officer and soldier in the battalion, myself included, clenched their fists tight.
I felt like shouting in triumph.
"We haven't been spotted by the enemy, have we?"
"They'd never dream we're here."
"Lead the way."
The scout guided me to a spot overlooking the enemy's march.
The moment I laid eyes on them, a single thought crossed my mind.
'These bastards are out of their minds.'
"Look at those morons marching."
Normally, when we think of an army, we picture soldiers in crisp uniforms, rifles slung smartly over their shoulders, marching in perfect order...
That's only when they've entered enemy territory.
In areas they consider safe, they march without weapons like muskets or spears for convenience.
'A single musket weighs 5 to 10 kg, right?'
"Second Company Commander, do you see those fools scrambling around?"
"Yes, sir. They aren't even maintaining minimal vigilance. They haven't considered an ambush here at all."
"An army unprepared to fight is just a rabble. Have all troops load their rounds and grab the pre-made cartridges."
I called them cartridges for grandeur, but...
They're just rounds made for quick firing.
Like MREs for fast, easy meals.
Just the right amount of powder and shot wrapped in paper.
'We used them last time to stop that cavalry company.'
"Understood, sir."
"To your positions."
We moved to our pre-assigned spots.
"Battalion Commander, do we fire now?"
"Wait until half the enemy column has passed, then volley fire and charge. The entire battalion charges together afterward."
The enemy was a full division.
As a supply unit, their actual strength might be less than full establishment, but...
Still at least 6,000 men. No matter how elite our battalion, we couldn't wipe them out completely.
'We need to inflict damage efficiently and effectively.'
We held our breath, waiting silently until half the enemy had passed.
I could even hear the non-coms from the distant republican supply unit barking orders.
"You worthless scum, hurry up! Whip the horses or whatever it takes!"
"If we miss the deadline, we're all dead meat!"
No place values time like the army.
Of course, they wouldn't give a damn about any deadline soon.
"About half the enemy has passed."
Waiting so long, my body had gone stiff as stone.
The seeds we'd tearfully sown were finally bearing fruit.
"Take aim."
I aimed my musket at the supply train.
If this were even a K2 rifle, I'd snipe, but...
Matchlocks past 70 meters still kill but accuracy drops to useless levels.
'Better to fire a lot, as fast as possible.'
"Signalmen, use flags for the fire order. After the volley, continue firing under each company commander's control."
Ambushes work best when the enemy is totally disoriented.
Strike like a storm.
Hit so hard they can't tell friend from foe, souls fleeing their bodies.
'As many as possible, as fast as possible.'
"Fire!"
At my command, our battalion—formed in a straight line facing them—unleashed a volley.
Ears ringing, I couldn't hear shouts, but...
No time to worry about that now.
"The enemy is panicking..."
"Reload, hurry!"
Hit once, hit twice, hit three times more.
We needed them in too much pain and chaos to think straight.
"Keep firing! Don't stop until they're completely broken!"
Matchlock infantry usually fire 3-4 rounds.
Then charge with bayonets fixed—or whatever passes for them.
After four shots, I paused to assess the enemy.
In case—unlikely—their supply commander was cool-headed and rallying them.
Charging into melee against a reformed line would send us straight to Fortuna's side.
'Don't want to die like a moth to flame.'
"Just as expected. Lucky."
Hard to hear exactly, but...
From up here, the situation was obvious.
Men abandoning wagons and carts to flee.
Others fumbling for weapons, glancing wildly left and right in panic.
Officers drawing swords, trying to calm the troops, but...
No formation, just drunken ants scurrying.
'Perfect for melee.'
"Cease fire!"
Flag signals went up, and shooting stopped.
"Signal the charge after the volley!"
Before assault rifles, field guns, or artillery, most battles ended in melee.
Draw swords when it's anyone's guess, when we're losing, when we're winning.
'Victory is firmly ours right now.'
"Charge! For the Empire! For His Majesty the Emperor!!!"
In modern warfare, a battalion commander leading from the front is insane.
In pre-modern fights, it's standard.
Even warlord kings charge upfront swinging swords.
'And it's still more efficient for now.'
Of course, kings or commanders-in-chief doing it isn't recommended even here.
Shoving such thoughts aside, I drew my sword, charged, and punched a hole in an enemy soldier's throat.
"Die, you pasta-munchers!"
Republicans good for nothing but boiling pasta.
No personal grudge, but die for the Empire.
Don't hate me.
War's just killing strangers and getting killed yourself.
"Argh, mercy!"
"Hold formation! Hold the line!"
"Hide behind the wagons!"
Caught off-guard, even officers lost judgment.
They get fat paychecks and respect for handling crises like this.
Instead, fumbling for textbook tactics.
Poor, pitiful souls.
Time to send them off gently.
Then I spotted a soldier grabbing sausages.
'I get wanting food when hungry...'
"When this war ends, I'll dip into my own pocket for generous bonuses!"
Pre-modern troops are all like that.
Sergeant pay's 20,000 marks; one lucky loot haul feels like billions.
Of course they'd ditch victory for plunder.
That's why I squeezed the Margery notables.
'Imagine the regret if they lose.'
"Soldier."
"Corporal Ein, sir!"
"Drop that and focus on fighting, and I'll pretend I saw nothing."
"Thank you, sir!"
The corporal grabbed his weapon and bolted toward the enemy.
Observing the foes, some didn't even have weapons.
'Total chaos.'
Time for some psychological warfare.
I dashed about, ordering troops.
"Shout that left, right, and front are surrounded by the enemy!"
Normally, they wouldn't fall for it.
But now, cornered and desperate.
'They'll buy it.'
Troops yelled; panic deepened.
"Back! Flee to the rear!"
Officers and men alike bolted for their lives.
Abandoning wagons, horses, everything.
We smashed their skulls one by one.
"Open the rear a bit! Don't let them form a last stand!"
Even desperate fights can turn with resolve.
No needless losses.
Is killing troops for more glory human?
"Don't chase stragglers needlessly!"
This is enemy territory.
Die showboating here, you're not a hero—you're an idiot who died like one.
Like crashing drunk on a bike.
"They're terrified, we're invincible!"
Proclaiming that, I beheaded an enemy officer lacking fight.
Capturing prisoners is the rule... sort of.
'Mid-ambush? Capture?'
No chance.
As we focused on slaughter, signs of enemy regroup and counterattack appeared.
"Withdraw! Fall back!"
Know when you've eaten your fill.
This was plenty.
"Set the supply wagons ablaze!"
Dry-wood wagons ignited instantly.
"Run, hurry!"
As we retreated, powder exploded behind us.
That'll break their spirits.
I was immensely pleased.