Chapter 4
Chapter 4
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 4
Chapter Title: Butterfly Effect (2)
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A shooting star had fallen.
Not a meteor crashing where we were stationed, of course.
A bigwig had come straight to our position, bringing along a slew of field-grade and company-grade officers.
"Platoon Leader, have we done something wrong?"
"No way, Sergeant Major."
We'd simply repelled a cavalry company with one platoon and held this spot with a handful of men.
If anyone's to blame, it was the battalion commander who'd forced us into a two-rank promotion (posthumous) for the sake of the nation.
The platoon I led had only earned commendations, never a single reprimand.
The bigwig strode toward me with a grin.
"Lieutenant Michael Schumacher! You've saved the Empire!"
He pulled me into a tight bear hug and let out a hearty laugh.
"Your superior, that bastard Lieutenant Colonel Mark, ignored orders to hold the rear and slunk all the way back to the second defensive line. But you—a mere lieutenant—held our army's rear to the bitter end. You and your men are the exemplars of Imperial soldiers!"
"Thank you, sir!"
"Ah, before we go further, allow me to introduce myself. I'm Major General Michael von Dreadnought, Deputy Chief of Operations at Imperial Army General Staff Headquarters."
To become a general in the Imperial Army, you had to pass through the General Staff at least once.
More precisely, you needed to graduate from the War College and successfully serve as a staff officer.
It was a super-elite group: standout performers got promoted to major general at minimum, and even average ones usually made brigadier general.
Serving as Deputy Chief of Operations there? That marked him as a future four-star candidate.
No way he'd come all this way just to praise a platoon leader.
"Relax, my boy. No need to be so tense. I'm not here for an inspection or anything like that. You think I've got time to spare?"
Major General Michael pressed on with a joke that wasn't funny in the slightest.
"The war with the Republic is over. The Empire lost over thirty thousand men, but thanks to your valiant stand, we avoided the worst."
"The worst, sir?"
"This is top-secret, not something to tell a mere lieutenant... but I'll make an exception. We were prepared to cede an entire province—or half of one—to the Republics in the peace talks."
A province. In Korean terms, that meant handing over a whole province—a massive defeat.
Considering casualties including wounded totaled thirty thousand... if it were just combat deaths, that number alone...
Factor in soldiers dying from wounds due to poor sanitation, and it equaled about forty-five thousand total losses.
'In a word, we were screwed.'
"Thanks to your efforts, the Empire settled for ceding just a few small cities in the peace deal. I salute your courage and devotion."
Major General Michael assembled all his officers and saluted me and my men.
Just one salute, and my chest swelled with emotion.
"His Majesty the Emperor sees you as heroes of the nation and the hope of the Empire."
War heroes are born for two reasons.
To honor feats beyond human limits.
Or to forcibly paper over a colossal tragedy.
In my case, both applied.
"His Majesty will personally award you all. Come with me to the capital."
And so we hurried to the capital.
A mere lieutenant or enlisted man like me couldn't enter the imperial palace.
Under normal circumstances, anyway.
But we were here as war heroes, summoned by the Emperor himself...
All eyes from the highborn were on us.
"Is that the Schumacher lieutenant?"
"He held our army's rear with just one platoon, so I figured he'd be some hulking brute."
"Before guns, maybe. But these days, even scrawny guys can drop a knight in one shot. It's brains that count now, brains."
They looked like old men in fancy, expensive clothes, but each was equivalent to a Korean congressman.
No—unlike Korean lawmakers who get voted out, these were lifelong, hereditary seats.
Having their attention felt like a punch to the gut.
"His Majesty the Emperor arrives."
As the Emperor entered, their focus shifted to him.
"Heroes, raise your heads."
I looked up, and a smile graced the Emperor's face.
"Grand Chamberlain, read aloud the brave and honorable deeds, exploits, and merits of these men, so all assembled nobles of the Empire may hear."
We had to keep up appearances in this solemn gathering before the nobles—no outright cheering.
Still, I couldn't suppress the shoulder twitch or the grin splitting my face.
I was just a lieutenant—a disposable officer A, picked by a battalion commander who'd abandoned us...
Yet here I was, praised by the Emperor as an example for nobles to emulate.
"Lieutenant Michael Schumacher obeyed his superior, Lieutenant Colonel Mark's orders, to cover the army's retreat—knowing it meant death—and fought valiantly. As a result, he annihilated an enemy light cavalry company with one infantry platoon."
I'd judged we could win and fought accordingly; that's how I'd written the report.
But they'd embellished it to better hide the commanders' cowardice.
Military's the same in any era: full of 'bullshit' expedients as standard fare.
"Moreover, by the grace of our one true god Fortuna, the Republic commander learned of this and fled, fearing an Imperial ambush. Lieutenant Schumacher and his platoon saved the Empire from crisis."
The Emperor paused, gazed at the nobles, and declared:
"These are the heroes who saved the Empire from peril."
Applause erupted from the nobles.
My nose tingled for no reason.
"Lieutenant Michael Schumacher."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"They say a lion sires a lion. Beneath a father who died for the Empire lies a fine son indeed."
"You overpraise me, Your Majesty."
The Emperor gestured, and an attendant wheeled in a golden cart piled with ornate little boxes.
"In honor of your merits, I bestow upon you the Imperial Golden Eagle Medal."
Did I hear that right?
Golden Eagle Medal?
That was the highest military honor, given only at a field marshal's retirement ceremony to commemorate their service.
And now to me.
"You prevented another catastrophe after the Empire lost thirty—no, over forty thousand men, and showed courage worthy of any Imperial soldier. This medal suits you."
"Thank you, Your Majesty."
Since these ceremonies were brag-fests, the Grand Chamberlain loudly recited the medal's privileges.
"The recipient of the Golden Eagle Medal is entitled to a salute from all save the Emperor, an annual pension of one hundred million marks, a hereditary barony, and a mansion in the capital."
One hundred million marks a year in pension alone, plus a capital mansion.
The Golden Eagle was harder to earn than the U.S. Medal of Honor, so wearing it meant top priority for promotions.
Incredible perks.
No fief with the barony was a slight shame...
But in our Empire, titles were just honorary plus hereditary council seats anyway.
"Per regulations for top-tier medals, you are specially promoted two ranks to captain effective immediately, granted a one billion mark bonus, a fine sword for elevating imperial honor, and permission to carry this blade in the imperial presence at all times."
Even carrying a sword before the Emperor signified absolute trust.
"Furthermore, Sergeant Major Yurgen, your platoon sergeant, is promoted to lieutenant, receives the First Class Iron Cross Medal and two hundred million marks bonus. Each subordinate soldier gets fifty million marks, the Second Class Iron Cross Medal, officer academy admission, and full scholarships."
Up to World War I, officer academies were for the filthy rich or nobles only.
So admission meant upgrading to lower nobility.
Iron Cross plus academy? Professors would drool.
Our Empire valued merit slightly more than birth, fairly enough.
"...That concludes the awards."
But now, I couldn't keep my promise to discharge the men.
Social upgrade—from dirt-poor to silver-spoon. Who'd refuse?
And I was promptly promoted and shipped to my new post.
"Effective today, you are assigned to General Staff Headquarters!"