Chapter 20
Chapter 20
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 20
Chapter Title: Sometimes the Truth is the Most Cruel (3)
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Disasters like natural calamities only need to happen once.
I figured they wouldn't strike twice before the real battle even began.
If Fortuna truly existed, horrors like this shouldn't befall us.
The Dolce Republic garrison commander was deeply disappointed by this turn of events.
"What the hell is this nonsense?! How could this happen?!"
"We're sorry, sir!"
"Sorry doesn't cut it! Can't you keep your soldiers' mouths shut?!"
"Anyone spreading rumors—no, lies—that one of our quartermaster commander's divisions was toyed with by a single battalion will be executed by firing squad immediately."
It wasn't anything special.
Under military law, you could be shot for laughing too loudly in camp or even for sadly reminiscing about home, claiming it lowered morale.
Those spreading unverified nonsense that could sap morale.
No, even if it was true, it was an act that demoralized the entire army, so execution was justified.
It was the best measure we could take in this situation...
Deep wrinkles creased the commander's brow.
"Seal their lips right now!"
"Yes, sir."
The commander knew it all too well himself.
Rumors were like alcohol—once you got a taste, you could never quit.
This rumor would undoubtedly keep circulating among the troops.
At least reducing how often it was mentioned might help curb the drop in morale.
"Damn it all! What's the state of the troops right now?"
"Over 60 soldiers deserted just today. We managed to capture about 30 of them."
"Desertions happen in war, but attempting 60 in a single day? The discipline and honor of the Republic's army are in ruins. How do you plan to overcome this crisis?"
The staff officer cursed inwardly.
With four stars on your shoulder, take responsibility yourself instead of dumping it all on your subordinates.
But the army was a place where rank was everything.
Swallowing his frustration, the staff officer offered what he thought was the best response.
"I believe the best approach is to tell the soldiers the rumors are false and then increase their rations."
"The next supply convoy is 20 days out! We're already scraping by on food, and you want to increase rations now? Have you lost your mind?"
The commander kicked the staff officer in the shin for that remark.
It was the kick of a 70-year-old still insisting he was fit for active duty.
The staff officer winced, his face twisting in pain for a moment.
Undeterred, the commander continued berating him.
"Fine, say we increase rations. The troops might like that. But if we bump them up to normal levels, we'll have to starve them for five straight days later."
"If we settle this within 15 days..."
"What if there's a spy here and the enemy finds out? Can we handle a full assault right when our men are starving?"
Even the staff officer knew it was a ridiculous idea.
A slightly hungry soldier might have low morale but could still fight.
Starving ones could barely hold their rifles, collapsing one after another.
With morale in the gutter, how could they fight?
"Damn it, what good is a staff officer who knows nothing."
The commander clicked his tongue and issued a new order.
"Spread the word that the wicked Imperial Army scum are raping our Republic's women, and the poor girls are hanging themselves in shock! And if we lose this battle, you and your families could suffer the same fate!"
This only worked when you were feeding them properly, though.
Hungry soldiers might flare up briefly and boost their morale for a moment...
Better than nothing, I suppose.
"To be played like this by a single battalion commander... damn it all."
Michael's name was etched once more in the commander's mind.
In the worst possible way.
The division commander summoned me again.
Major wasn't a low rank, but being called around like this by someone who wasn't even my dedicated aide was starting to draw eyes...
Regardless, he poured me a generous mug of beer.
"We have to smash those Republic bastards tomorrow, so no whiskey or brandy... but beer isn't booze, it's a beverage. That's fine, right?"
In the Empire, beer really was treated like a beverage.
Kids as young as seven or eight would have a cup or two with meals.
Of course, drink too much and you'd get drunk, so moderation was key...
"Yes, sir."
"His Excellency the commander speaks highly of you. Predicting enemy false propaganda is something anyone could do... but using that propaganda to spread the ugly truth far and wide? Not just anyone could pull that off."
"Thank you, sir."
"I expect great things from you in tomorrow's battle."
Tomorrow, we'd finally clash head-on with the Republic forces.
As battalion commander, I'd done my utmost, achieving feats beyond what a single battalion should manage.
But one battalion's heroics alone couldn't turn the entire war.
If our odds of victory were 50% without me, I'd bumped them to about 55%.
Not insignificant, but not a game-changer either.
"Intelligence says the Republic troops are fighting on empty stomachs. Their commander isn't an idiot, so he'll feed them well today... but a few days of starvation don't vanish with one big meal. Stamina doesn't recover fully."
"Yes, sir. Better than nothing."
"If our lines hold steady, it's a win. We'll dominate in close quarters, barring disaster."
The division commander lit a cigar.
Then flashed a leisurely smile.
It was the easy confidence only someone utterly assured could show.
"Your battalion leads our division."
"Thank you, sir."
"His Excellency also asked if you wanted anything. If so, pass it through me."
I already got a 100 million mark pension yearly, plus a capital mansion rivaling 99-kan tile-roofed estates.
No family to provide for, no reason to get greedy for cash.
To survive long as an officer and climb higher, now was the time to look after my men, not myself.
"Then, could you deliver these documents to His Excellency?"
The division commander tilted his head.
"What are they? Doesn't seem like you're asking for a personal favor."
"It is a favor, in a way."
"Well, a man needs to look out for himself sometimes..."
He grinned and started reading.
His eyes widened more with every line.
"......It's just a list of merits by your officers, NCOs, and soldiers."
"They trusted and followed me—that's how I made it this far. His Excellency already recognizes my achievements. Now, I ask that you reward theirs."
The division commander chuckled at me.
"You're insane."
Then, with a warm gaze, he continued.
"Your men are lucky bastards. My grandson graduates the academy soon. I'll pull strings to get him under you. Learn from the best, I'll tell him."
"High praise, sir. Thank you."
"Dismissed."
"Loyalty."
Nearly 100,000 troops arrayed across from us was a sight to behold.
The Republic's red uniforms made it feel like a crimson wall barring our path.
This was my second time in a clash of tens of thousands—once as platoon leader, now this.
I should be getting used to it by now...
But this pressure never quite lets up.
"Your battalion commander has a few words before battle."
Yet we mustn't lose this pressure, this fear of the enemy.
Forget the terror that a commander might die mid-war, and you'd let your men die needlessly.
The 'human herbivore Hosoin,' under reasonable suspicion as Dark Independence Army, botched an entire division doing just that.
"We have already won."
I had no ironclad certainty of victory myself.
But sometimes, commanders must lie.
Shouting victory in hopeless fights, standing and battling alongside their men.
"Your battalion commander will share in the great triumph of this already-won war, and divide the glory with you all."
Speaking uncertain truths as gospel...
But this was how I wanted them to remember me.
Not a liar, but a prophet who saw victory a step ahead of them.
"I won't tell you not to fear. But follow my orders, suppress that fear for now."
I shouldered my rifle and walked to the battalion's front.
All eyes turned to me.
"We will win."
My words ended just as the advance order came down.