Chapter 38
Chapter 38
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 38
Chapter Title: Fake Information (1)
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Our Empire might be the strongest nation on the continent, but that also means we have plenty of enemies.
The folks around us don't look on us too kindly.
Thanks to that, I got to see Lieutenant General Chaplin again after returning to my regiment—just one month later.
"I figured war was coming, but this is too damn fast, isn't it?"
"Yes, sir. I wonder if the national economy can hold up..."
"Economy, economy. You sound like some Ministry of Finance bureaucrat. Well, war can't even get off the ground without money and supplies, that's true enough."
There was an old adage that went something like this:
To win a war, you need three things.
Money, money, and more money.
Money makes the world go round.
Of course, war isn't fought with money alone, but if you've got piles of it, you can solve 95% of your problems.
If morale is low, just jack up the pay and bonuses.
Or hand out meat and booze.
"Money backs a war, but it isn't everything."
Once railroads and massive thousand-ton ships become commonplace for transport, that saying will eventually prove wrong.
But the Empire has neither railroads nor thousand-ton ships.
For now, it's spot on.
It'll take a few hundred years before my words become gospel.
"The Commander has arrived. Back to your seats."
The man in charge of this front slammed his fist on the desk the moment he reached his spot.
He scowled, grinding his teeth.
Thankfully, we weren't the targets of his rage.
"Those salted cod-munching, dried-fish-chomping country bumpkins dared to toy with our Empire! No disloyal idiots here who don't know the facts, right?"
"None, sir!"
"Good. This commander intends to give his utmost to carry out His Majesty the Emperor's glorious order: to ram iron boots right into those cod-head bastards' skulls."
The Commander seemed like a hot-blooded type.
In a modern army, guys who talk like that would get blacklisted in a heartbeat.
But this was a macho world straight out of the Renaissance era in a fantasy setting, where a real man was expected to have three or four women at his side.
If you've got the skills to back it up, folks respect that kind of rough-and-tumble man.
Otherwise, you're just a loudmouthed fool.
"Those wicked Ortz Kingdom scum tried to assassinate an Imperial royal, and now they're yapping that it was all the Empire's conspiracy. And to top it off, they've declared war alongside the Marco Kingdom."
The other officers ground their teeth.
But not me.
War is something only madmen engage in.
It's a place where child soldiers are thrown into the meat grinder, where men who wouldn't dream of raping women in peacetime commit sexual atrocities without a second thought, and where killing becomes second nature.
The politicians lording over those lunatics can't be right in the head either.
I never expected any human conscience from them, so there was no disappointment to be had.
"That's why we're striking first, before they can come at us. Our strategy is dead simple."
The top commander shot me a glance.
When our eyes met, he flashed a grin.
"We march the army straight to Obern. They won't have expected us to hit them this fast... so it should be a cakewalk."
Another officer raised an objection.
"Isn't that strategy a bit too bold?"
"It looks like a reckless offensive, but if our 60,000-strong force splits into smaller units and advances at top speed, they'll be caught flat-footed."
The Commander pointed to the cities along the route to Obern.
None of them were particularly large.
It wouldn't be easy to station significant forces in places like that.
"We need to push forward as fast as possible to stop their frontline defenses from massing. Everyone clear up to here?"
It was so straightforward, it sank in immediately.
Basically, just charge straight ahead, no holds barred.
If you can't grasp that, you should hang up your uniform.
"Clear, sir."
"Good. That's the basic plan. Our expeditionary force will assemble in Obern City. Rendezvous in 33 days from now."
33 days to Obern... not insanely tight, but not exactly leisurely either.
Factoring in potential clashes along the way...
'They're telling us to just steamroll ahead?'
"Major Schumacher."
My name came out of nowhere, catching me off guard.
Even as my thoughts stalled, my body snapped to attention on reflex.
"Major Michael Schumacher."
"I hear you're pretty good at this kind of mobile warfare. Word is you smashed a division-level enemy supply unit from the Dolce Republic last time. That right?"
"Yes, sir."
"What do you think of this commander's plan?"
It's extremely risky.
But it has solid potential.
"I think it's feasible, sir. However, sticking to this timeline will demand forced marches from the troops."
"Fair point."
"I'd suggest rotating the men onto the reserve combat horses assigned to each cavalry unit. It'd ease the fatigue a bit."
"Smart thinking. Those spare horses aren't carrying anything during the march anyway. Might as well put soldiers on them."
Imperial medium and light cavalry heading to war get three or four horses per man.
Horses can die, get injured, or tire out in combat.
Normally, the riders rotate mounts to manage stamina...
'But people matter more than horses.'
"Anything else you want to suggest?"
"No, sir."
"Alright, dismissed for today. Rest up. Expect orders from Expeditionary HQ soon—make your preparations thorough."
Not long after, mobilization orders came down to our battalion as well.
Be it the last war with the Dolce Republic or this one...
Every commander I've met loves splitting forces into small units for the advance.
Even if it's the right call for moving large armies—due to supply limits, disease risks, road congestion, and such...
'Isn't this a bit dangerous?'
Lost in thought, a hussar cavalryman newly attached to our unit came galloping up in a hurry.
"Battalion Commander, there's a village 5 km ahead."
"Got it. Any villagers still there?"
"When I scouted, there were still people in the village."
The first thing countries do in wartime is conscript young men—or so you'd think.
That became standard only with modern warfare.
Conscript too many without weapons or food, and you just starve them.
So nations on this continent, Empire included, do their best in war to requisition supplies so soldiers don't go hungry.
If only supplies were plentiful.
No way the Ortz Kingdom skipped requisitioning right before war unless they'd lost their minds.
"They declared war, but they don't think our forces are right on their doorstep. If they did, they'd have pulled the peasants into the cities."
In other battles, maybe not—but in a siege defense, every single person counts.
Women who are useless in open war famously bashed enemy heads with rocks at Haengju Fortress.
And peasants are valuable citizens.
Losing them cuts tax revenue and tanks soldier morale.
So when the enemy draws near, they hustle them into cities for protection.
Assuming they realize the enemy is that close.
"Looks like the Ortz Kingdom Army declared war but has no clue we've already struck first."
The enemy doesn't know we've invaded.
Meaning we've caught them completely off guard.
The plan is going exactly as expected.
'Things are working out even better than planned.'
"We'll head into the village as is. I'd love to take a city too, but it'd just waste time."
"The Ortz Kingdom forces in the city might try to cut our supplies."
Not a bad concern.
But nothing to lose sleep over.
With the Ortz Kingdom mustering troops from garrisons nationwide to the rear, cities only have reservists.
"The Ortz Kingdom's already pulled garrison troops from everywhere to the rear. Enemy cities won't have enough soldiers or officers. We passed several garrisons on the way here—none had supplies or men, right?"
"That's right, sir."
"As long as we don't poke them first—or lose—they won't touch us."
Routing troops are a disorganized mob.
Even a ragtag group of rural reservists can handle them.
Plus, the gear on fleeing soldiers fetches a nice payday.
"We'll overnight in that village."
The moment we arrived, I went straight to meet the village headman.
I had a few questions for him.