Chapter 28
Chapter 28
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 28
Chapter Title: Battalion Formation (2)
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The officers stared at me blankly, still in their uniforms.
"Having seen all of Instructor Ben's movements, now follow along exactly to the commands."
"Battalion Commander, I have a question."
I turned my gaze toward the source of the voice.
Not a total screw-up, but a face that seemed to be struggling a bit to adapt to military life.
Phrenology isn't a science, but people do tend to live up to their impressions...
'A bit worrisome.'
"You may ask."
"What meaning does this training even have? It looks extremely grueling."
Even within the Imperial Army, such talk was emerging.
'Aren't modern battles fought solely with matchlock muskets, so physical fitness matters less now?'
It was true that melee combat—thrusting with spears, swinging axes, slashing with swords—had decreased compared to before.
No one could deny that fact.
The question itself wasn't wrong.
As long as it didn't come with that "extremely grueling" bit.
"What's your name?"
"Lieutenant Georg Hausen, sir!"
"The young master of the Hausen Count family."
"Yes, sir."
Judging people by their looks and first impressions isn't a good habit.
So I shouldn't assume he's a screw-up or about to pull some weird stunt.
But I would keep a close eye on him.
The way he tacked on "grueling" to a simple question about meaning... his head's not quite right.
"Even the officer academies these days talk a lot about how physical fitness has lost importance. But that's only because combat has shifted from melee brawls to firepower battles using massed gunpowder weapons."
These days, battles come down to who shoots better and who holds formation longer...
Back then, it was who could thrust more spears and hold formation better that decided victory.
Firing muskets does take less strength than melee, so fitness seeming less crucial is true enough.
"But the final decider in battle is still melee combat. Isn't it?"
"Yes, sir."
"And fitness training isn't just about building bodily strength. Enduring harsh drills builds the patience to hold out in extreme situations. You second lieutenants here probably haven't experienced real war firsthand..."
War in the line infantry era boils down to one thing.
Well, until breech-loading rifles come along, anyway.
Who can hold and endure in formation the longest.
"War ultimately comes down to who endures better. Through this training, I will push your patience and grit to the absolute limit. No more questions. Dismissed."
"Yes, sir. Understood."
"Guerrilla gymnastics No. 1, prepare."
All the officers assumed the position for exercise No. 1.
"No. 1 exercise, 20 reps! How many?"
"Twenty reps!"
"Voice too quiet! Thirty reps!"
"Thirty reps!"
"Good! Fifty reps, execute! Last command omitted."
With those words, every officer began the delightful guerrilla gymnastics.
Those well-drilled in fitness at the academy handled the early, easier exercises smoothly.
But what about No. 8?
The one that makes Republic of Korea soldiers want to hurl just hearing it.
"Thanks for following along so well."
"Thank you, sir!"
"From now on, all responses are 'Sir!'"
"Sir!"
"Now follow this motion. Execute!"
I lay on my back, pressing it to the ground.
With my pelvis slightly raised, I swung my legs from left to right.
It didn't look that hard on the surface.
But doing it, I felt a good stimulation ripple through my bones, joints, and muscles.
As expected of No. 8—the exercise made not to train the lower body, but to break people.
"No. 8 exercise, 30 reps! Last command omitted!"
The officers started the motion in time with my commands.
Up to 10, everyone was fine. By 20, they were dying.
And from 25, their faces brightened.
As long as no one called out the final count, No. 8 would end.
"One, two, three, twenty-eight!"
"One, two, three, twenty-nine!"
Their faces lit up.
They just had to skip the very last one...
But in every group, anytime, anywhere, there's always a screw-up.
As some sage said, gather five people, and one is trash.
"One, two, three!"
"One, two, three, thirty!"
The face of the pitiful soul who shouted "thirty" twisted in horror.
Lieutenant Hausen, it was you.
I hadn't trusted you, but that passionate desire for more training...
I'll remember you.
"Can't even skip the last call?!"
"Sir! No, sir!"
If you keep your head straight, it's not that hard.
The problem is doing that simple thing as a group.
I do it perfectly, but one always screws up.
"Get your head in the game?"
"Sir!"
"Fifty reps! How many?!"
"Fifty!"
"Voice small! How many?!"
"Fifty!"
"Good. Forty reps, execute."
This time, luckily, the officers finished 40 reps of No. 8 without issue.
Though no one mentioned their throbbing lower bodies.
They had reached the realm of communicating through glances.
"Good. Now, No. 9 exercise."
I said 9, but it was actually No. 11.
No. 11 after the torment of No. 8—with squat jumps to boot...
'Death.'
Of course, for officers in an era where everything's on foot, this was just right.
I knew it hurt, but it was efficient.
This wasn't me, from my cadet days marveling at human malice during PT, just wanting to share the agony.
It was for efficient, effective training.
"Now, follow the motion. Execute!"
The officers, eyes a bit glazed, mimicked my movements.
A few PT enthusiasts tossed in final calls midway, earning extra reps...
Anyway, after it all ended, the officers stared at me like I was a ghost.
"The Battalion Commander isn't human..."
"War heroes are different. He just... breaks people."
Technically, I could've skipped training myself here.
If they're jealous, they can be battalion commander.
But forcing subordinates to do what I can't would breed resentment.
Lead by example.
"Lieutenant Lina."
"Yes, Battalion Commander."
"You'll take the instructor role."
"Pardon?"
Lina tilted her head.
"What do you mean?"
"Exactly that. What's the point if only you suffer? Roll me instead."
At those words, all eyes turned to Lina.
I could tell from their gazes.
Desperate pleas for vengeance.
"Understood. No. 1 exercise, prepare."
"Sir!"
"Seventy reps."
Lina seemed to have a lot pent up.
Even factoring in the extra reps from that idiot's final call.
This wouldn't be easy.
"One, two, three!"
Calling the final one here would just add more reps, obviously.
Doing it solo and still calling it? Not human.
"No. 2 exercise, prepare."
Lina rolled me right in front of the others.
They couldn't laugh at their superior suffering, but wore satisfied smiles.
Seeing their boss share the pain eased something in them.
"No. 8 exercise, eighty reps."
After grinding through the long-awaited 80 of No. 8 and moving to the rest...
Their gazes shifted.
"Is the Battalion Commander really human...?"
"Not even out of breath."
The most important thing for an officer leading soldiers is setting an example.
That's why one lieutenant general joined a full-kit march from start to finish.
The trailing colonel cursed under his breath, and the soldiers behind got apocalyptic shock, or so the story goes...
But morale soared.
Learn what there is to learn properly.
"Dismissed. Guerrilla gymnastics over."
Thanks to my rigorous daily fitness routine?
Even after all that PT, I had energy left.
"If you never skip daily training, you can handle this level easily. And in that process, you gain the strength to endure any situation. From now on, our battalion trains fitness consistently."
"Yes, sir!"
Showing the example myself changed their attitudes.
But it wasn't enough.
"Everyone rested up enough?"
"...... Pardon?"
"'Pardon' in the army? Morale's slipping. All, prepare to run."
Fitness had indeed lost some importance compared to melee-heavy eras.
But line infantry still needed melee, so it mattered a hundred times more than in 21st-century armies.
"Light 10km run, then breakfast. Additional PT after."
My words turned the officers' faces sheet-white.
Chin up, though.
I'd dangle the carrot too.
"Finish today's training, then tomorrow do the same for the soldiers. Make them experience bodily what you learned today. Understood?"
"Sir!"
Suspicious smiles crept onto the officers' faces.
And the next day, the officers taught the soldiers just how wonderful guerrilla training was—with their bodies.