Chapter 39
Chapter 39
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 39
Chapter Title: Fake Information (2)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
The village chief, upon seeing soldiers from an enemy nation, froze up solid.
He probably figured we might do unspeakable things to him.
In a world without the Geneva Conventions or human rights...
I could authorize unlimited war crimes just to boost troop morale.
But that's not only ethically wrong—it's especially something you should never do on the march to war.
Once soldiers get a taste for war crimes, they get addicted.
Beyond reasons like that, there are thousands more reasons not to do it than reasons to.
'Absolutely never.'
"I'm Elias, the village chief here. What brings you to see me?"
"I want to buy whatever milk or cheese you've got left in the village. A few cows too."
"You're going to pay money for it?"
"Win the war, and you'll be Imperial citizens. Does the Ortz Kingdom have its soldiers massacring or robbing their own people?"
"No, sir. Thank you for your mercy."
Soldiers march better on full stomachs.
But the Imperial Army lacks refrigeration or freezing tech, so technical limits mean they can only supply stuff with ridiculously long shelf lives.
Tasteless brick-hard biscuits you could use as actual bricks, rock-solid cheese, salted meat—that sort of thing.
'Can't feed 'em fancy, but fill 'em up at least.'
Soldiers in this era would risk their lives just to eat their fill.
Of course, on the battlefield, full bellies alone won't maintain morale—you've got to focus on feeding them well.
One way to do that is procuring perishables locally.
"400 marks per kilo of cheese, 50,000 per cow. Pigs or anything else like that, sell those too."
"You'll really pay that price?"
"I don't say one thing and mean another. In return, can you round up the village women to whip up something simple?"
"Of course. After you've shown us this much consideration, it's the least we can do."
A smile crept across the chief's face.
He'd been terrified of plunder, but not only no looting—they were paying full price...
Touched by the unexpected kindness, no doubt.
"How much flour's left in the village granary?"
"......Right now, just a month's rations. Even stretching it, not sure it'll last a month and a half."
Pre-modern wars don't drag ordinary folk or reservists into the fray.
Logistics can't handle it.
Instead of conscription, they seize 20% to 60% of private property.
From the easiest marks: commoners.
"We don't have spare food to share either, but answer a few simple questions and I'll offer a little help."
"Understood."
You can buy human goodwill with cash.
Take it to extremes: asking "When you gonna get married?" during holidays turns stomachs, but slip 'em 300,000 won in holiday money first and ask the same—it's a blessing.
No wonder the world's wisest king told his men that in human relations, giving bribes generously is the key to survival.
'Money's usually right.'
"How long ago did the Ortz Kingdom last requisition food?"
"Two weeks back, they took our flour, cheese, salted meat. Not a penny—just hand over the goods."
"I see. And any other military units passed nearby lately? Excluding our Imperial Army."
"A month ago, battalion-sized group heading to Obern."
Buying food with money bought goodwill—smart move.
Info they'd only cough up under swordpoint, they spill for pocket change.
Life's give and take.
Build a little more trust from here, and they might even follow simple ops orders...?
"How'd those soldiers heading to Obern look?"
"Dragged off to war, faces like death. Officers were hyped among themselves, yapping about finally crushing the evil Empire."
Intel gleaned from the chat:
1. Low odds of our battalion getting ambushed en route to Obern—or Imperial detachments picked off piecemeal.
2. Ortz Kingdom troops aren't buying into the "overthrow the Empire" rallying cry.
Valuable stuff.
"What do you think of the Empire?"
"For guys like us, Empire citizen or Ortz subject—what's the difference? Life's the same either way."
The chief spat that out, then hung his head.
"Actually, Empire might be better. Least they pay when they requisition supplies."
"Thanks for the answers. Here's a token of appreciation."
I handed him 50,000 marks.
His eyes lit up taking it.
Food-sale cash gets split with the village, but these 50k are all his.
Nice chunk of change—he's thrilled.
"Anything else I can do to help?"
"Helping me could bite you later."
"Ortz bigwigs don't give a damn if we live or die. Food's gone, so gotta scrape some coin to survive winter."
Pre-modern peasants have it way tougher than modern folk.
Modern people plan for retirement; peasants can barely prep for winter.
No slack in lives like that.
Cooperating with me now? Pure survival.
Risking their necks.
Die cooperating, die not—pick your poison.
"No day laborers or unmarried girls in the village? Ones whose folks didn't pass on tenant plots."
"Plenty."
"I'd like to take some."
"Suits us fine. Fewer mouths means better winter odds, and grown kids gotta fly the nest anyway."
Locals you recruit? Versatile tools.
Less suspicion slipping into Ortz army innards.
Poison a well if you train 'em right. Scout detailed intel, situations.
"Anything more?"
"Lend some houses? Want the men resting comfy, even one night."
"As many as you need."
And I paid up front for the houses too.
Heading back with solid intel from the chief, I spotted Lieutenant Monica.
She was knocking back beer with the other cavalry, mug in one hand.
"So I looped behind the retreating Dolce Republic bastards... spotted this guy in an ridiculously flashy uniform."
"No kidding?"
"Flashy threads? Means bigwig, right?"
"Yeah."
"Spurred the horse like hell, grabbed the fleeing prick by the nape. Meant to take him alive... but neck snapped unlucky. Beheaded him on the spot."
Odd scene.
Empire Army enforces rank hierarchy strictly.
Enlisted drink with enlisted, NCOs with NCOs, officers with officers.
Joke goes if an officer dines casually with grunts, it's courts-martial time.
Yet here was Lt. Monica, boozing without a care amid mixed NCOs and officers in the cavalry crew.
'Border region stock—lenient on protocol?'
"Captured proper, ransom'd been fat stacks... Shame I botched the grab."
"Still scored a hefty bounty though."
The cavalry froze at the sight of me.
"Loyalty!"
"At ease."
"Lieutenant Dorothea, you get along well with the NCOs."
"In Lichten, we treat all cavalry as comrades, with respect. Might seem improper from an officer's view..."
Each branch has its culture.
And I reckon this one's better.
Officers and enlisted can't be truly equal, but staying close boosts combat effectiveness.
"Can't erase all hierarchy, but no ban on swapping war stories over beers. I encourage it."
"Every superior I've had hated it."
Rank obsession hurts armies.
Heard tales of some highborn lieutenant sneering at his company commander as "lowliest noble."
Never crossed my path yet...
'Get trapped in class, and the army's toast.'
"Commanders can't just jaw at troops. Lead from the front, set example. While mingling."
"Thanks for the understanding."
"That aside—that beer. Where'd it come from?"
"Bought off villagers."
"Pace yourselves. Beer's light, but overdo it and you're sloshed."
Then I rounded up the idlers the chief handed over.
To try something fun with them.