Chapter 22
Chapter 22
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 22
Chapter Title: Masterstroke (2)
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War is much like a woman's heart.
Sometimes it ends the moment a single shot is fired, and other times it rages on fiercely for nearly a week.
"This war is massive in scale, and since the Dolce bastards are the ones being invaded, their morale is holding up decently, which is why the battles are dragging on."
Soldiers find it hard to fight properly without enough food.
They're hanging in there through sheer spite because their homeland is under attack.
But mental fortitude has its limits, so in a prolonged war, they'll start to falter.
As the fighting drags on and exhaustion sets in, the rumors I've spread will creep back into their minds.
People tend to dredge up all their worst memories in grueling, miserable conditions.
I was meticulously analyzing the current battlefield situation, but my officers and men were too busy reveling in the pure joy of this victory to do the same.
Some were chugging water like it was going out of style, while others rummaged around looking for booze.
"Wouldn't it be perfect if we could just have a single beer right now?"
"Win this war, and you can drink until your gut bursts."
"Hey, the sergeant major says if we win this war, he'll treat the squad to a feast!"
The officers were speculating whether they'd get promotions based on their achievements so far.
"The 1st Company commander is definitely getting promoted, right? If we win, he should at least snag an Iron Cross."
"Yeah... I think the 3rd Company commander could aim for one too."
"He's only been a captain for a short while, so it might be tough..."
"Are the merits we've racked up just average ones?"
In my view, all the company commanders would get promoted.
From the start, assigning me—a war hero—as a major battalion commander was a deliberate move to use me as propaganda.
Once the war ends and we return, they'll all be hailed as brilliant commanders who served under a war hero.
But none of that mattered right now.
I had more than enough to focus on what was right in front of me.
'Victory matters more than rewards.'
I pulled out the notebook tucked inside my uniform.
It was to jot down what I'd done poorly and well in this battle.
They say the best way to excel in studies is to review for ten minutes during breaks after class.
If you want to become an outstanding commander, you can't skip reviews even during rest time.
As I recalled the recent battle and organized my notes, someone called out to me.
"Major Michael Schumacher."
"Sir!"
"While all the other officers are resting, what on earth are you doing? Writing a letter to your fiancée or lover?"
"No, sir. I'm reflecting on my shortcomings in this battle by writing them down myself."
The regimental commander looked at me like I'd shocked him.
Then he shook his head.
"You smashed the enemy battalion to pieces and you're still reflecting on your shortcomings? As expected of a young war hero—different from the root."
"You're too kind, sir."
"So, what were your shortcomings?"
"If I'd given the fire order when our battalion had advanced just one step further, we could have killed a few more enemy soldiers. But my hasty judgment reduced the damage we inflicted on them. I'll make sure it doesn't happen again."
Line infantry tactics are a game of chicken.
Victory depends on who flinches first.
In the fight against that Dolce Republic battalion, we won because they panicked and fired first...
'We could have fought even more efficiently.'
"I see."
"Could you tell me about the Imperial Army's current situation?"
"Despite your exploits, the overall situation is still evenly matched. But the longer the battles drag on, the more those poorly fed Dolce Republic pasta-munchers will start to give way."
Even though line infantry's main weapon is the matchlock musket, battles always end in close-quarters melee.
No one minds firing a musket, but when it comes to swinging swords and brawling, stamina is key.
We're at a huge advantage compared to them, having eaten relatively well.
"Unless we get separate orders, our regiment—no, the division—will catch our breath here for 30 minutes to an hour before heading back into the fray."
"Understood. Thank you for the details."
"It's only natural for the regimental commander to share that much."
This world is full of idiots who can't even do the bare minimum they're supposed to.
Like that traitor battalion commander who abandoned me when I was a lieutenant and ran off.
"I saw you were deeply analyzing the combat and operations. Do you have any tactical proposals for the regimental commander?"
"If the battle continues for another hour..."
Both friendly and enemy units alike will be ragged.
Not complete rags, but like clothes full of holes here and there.
In other words, plenty of openings to penetrate deep into the enemy lines.
In war, you exploit the enemy's weaknesses to the fullest.
'A little trickery would be perfect.'
"How about spreading out the regiment's formation wide? And please position our battalion in the rear."
"Your battalion has taken the least damage, and you want to pull back to the rear?"
A flicker of displeasure crossed the regimental commander's face.
But it quickly faded.
He crossed his arms and began listening intently to what I had to say.
"To put it simply, line infantry formation is like holding a 50-meter spear and fighting head-on, right?"
"That's right."
"According to what I learned at the officer academy, back in the days when armies fought only with spears and arrows a century ago, engaging troops could only see right in front of them. And based on my experience so far, that hasn't changed from past to present."
The human brain is a truly efficient and brilliant computer.
But like any computer, it has storage limits and restrictions on how much data it can process at once.
Our brains have an instinct to block out other information once they focus on one thing.
Like how you don't notice your mom approaching from behind while gaming or watching videos with those red thumbnails.
Let alone in war, a terrifying place flooded with dopamine and adrenaline.
'In this environment, most people can't keep an eye on their flanks.'
"The Imperial Army's line infantry normally fights in four ranks, but even if we temporarily switch to three ranks, the Dolce Republic commanders won't easily notice anything amiss."
"While we're engaging the enemy, your battalion will strike their flank directly. They'll be unable to respond to a blade slipping into their unguarded side."
"Yes, sir. After routing their regiment that way, we should support other regiments or divisions and gradually shift the tide of the war."
In war, there's almost no such thing as a single 'click'—a perfect move—that decides victory or defeat.
It starts with the tiniest hole, like an ant's burrow.
By the time everyone notices, the losing commander orders a retreat.
"I approve your plan. I'll send a messenger to the division commander to report we'll proceed as you suggest."
"Thank you, sir."
"Rest up for the battle ahead."
With that, the regimental commander left.
The moment he was gone, Lieutenant Lina hurried over to me.
In her hands was a stew made with cheese and milk.
"Battalion commander, sir, I've brought rations from the rear unit."
"Thank you, Lieutenant Lina."
One spoonful, and strength surged back through my body.
You really do need to eat to do anything properly.
Is that why they say war—and work—are all about surviving to eat?
"Sir, what were you discussing with the regimental commander just now?"
"He praised our battalion's achievements. And he said we're deploying again in an hour."
"The battle seems to be dragging on."
"A prolonged fight favors us. The enemy hasn't eaten properly and their stamina is waning."
The current situation wasn't bad for us.
"Speaking of which, sir, are you alright?"
"Even this battalion commander's body is feeling a bit worn. But a commander can't neglect his duties just because he's tired."
Hundreds of lives hung on my shoulders.
If I slacked off because war is exhausting, hundreds would die.
No—war is like dominoes.
It could lead to the slaughter of thousands or tens of thousands because of me.
"Allow me to give you a special restorative tonic passed down in the Chaplin family. It's good for stamina recovery."
"Is it good for the body too?"
"I'm not sure if it's good for you overall. But the effects are quite reliable."
Lieutenant Lina poured me a glass of water.
A slightly cloudy white liquid.
What the hell is this?
It felt a bit unsettling, but I drank it anyway.
"Ugh, salty... What is this stuff?"
"When I finished grueling physical training at home, our maids would mix salt and a bit of sugar in water for me. It worked wonders."
It tasted exactly like an ionic drink doused in salt.
Replenishing electrolytes and salt does boost stamina effectively.
"Tastes awful."
Lieutenant Lina whipped her head away.
"Medicine is supposed to taste bitter."
And soon enough, the order to advance came down to us again.