Chapter 43
Chapter 43
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 43
Chapter Title: Bait Operation (2)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
In this world, no one wages war because they enjoy it.
Soldiers who stand to gain little even in victory feel it even more acutely.
In the Empire, where administration lacks digitization and systematic management is a pipe dream, becoming a deserter or completing your service makes no difference—identity checks simply don't exist, so there's no real penalty either way.
A fair number of soldiers attempt to desert.
To be more precise, it's easy for the individual to reinvent themselves, but news of the desertion spreads like wildfire through their entire village...
Most who enlisted had nothing to do in their villages anyway—practically semi-exiled—so that's part of it too.
Sergeant Raoul, one of the Ortz Kingdom's spies, had been waiting for just a single deserter to make his move.
"It's about time."
After waiting a little longer, he spotted a man sprinting away in his field of view.
Panting heavily, glancing left and right.
No one but a deserter would move so suspiciously.
'Finally caught one.'
"Got you."
He fired his handheld crossbow at the fleeing deserter.
The bolt struck the deserter's rear end.
"Argh!"
The deserter writhed in agony from a pain he'd never known.
Attempting desertion and getting caught by the Imperial Army meant execution, no exceptions.
He tried to hobble away on one leg anyway...
But Sergeant Raoul seized him.
"Fat chance, you traitorous dog."
"Please, spare me! I have a family back home who depend on me!"
"And I should care why?"
Raoul twisted the bolt lodged in the man's backside this way and that.
Each turn drew tortured groans of pain from the deserter's lips.
After a brief round of torment to break his spirit, Raoul pressed a knife to his throat.
"Answer truthfully, and you live. Lie, and you die. Simple, isn't it?"
"Y-yes, sir."
"What unit were you with?"
"17th Division, 1st Regiment, 2nd Battalion, 3rd Company, 1st Platoon."
"Quick on the uptake. I like that."
Raoul kept talking as if good answers would earn mercy.
Dangling the hope of survival was the most efficient way to extract information.
"Name?"
"Max, Private First Class."
"I see. Volunteering details I didn't even ask for. You're a model prisoner. I could let you walk."
"Really?"
"......One last question."
Private Max clung to the hope that he might survive.
He prayed to Fortuna.
If he could escape this hellish battlefield and return to the Empire, he'd live righteously from here on out.
'Fortuna, please. Just this once...'
"What's the password?"
"The octopus (holds the) torch. Reply: hat."
"Thanks for the info."
"So... you'll let me go now?"
"Nah. Die."
As a minimal reward for his cooperation, Sergeant Raoul sent Max swiftly to the afterlife.
Perhaps kinder than dying on the battlefield, steeling yourself against the terror of death.
Of course, his family might brand Private Max a cowardly deserter forever.
"You think we fight because we don't know desertion's an option?"
Raoul pocketed anything useful from Max's gear and headed toward the Imperial Army camp.
His heart nearly stopped when he encountered the sentries...
"Halt! Who goes there?"
"Private First Class Raoul, 3rd Battalion. Stepped out to take a dump..."
"You sadistic prick. Fine. Torch."
"Hat."
"Cleared. Same slop as us, and your gut revolts? Squad leader's name?"
"Cut me some slack this once, it's just the runs..."
"Scram. Next time, you're done."
Having passed the sentries' check, Raoul roamed the camp with perfect ease.
Even Imperial officers would mistake him for one of their own sentries.
Discipline was solid enough, alertness keen.
It was the hour when silence should blanket the camp and all men slept...
Yet a few NCOs could be heard drinking and talking.
"Big supply shipment due in a week. I can dodge it with seniority, but... what about our newbie sergeant?"
"Aw, supply officer... come on..."
"I just review papers and confirm counts. You'll be hauling crates with the grunts and wreck your back."
Raoul's ears perked up.
This spot was deep in Ortz Kingdom territory.
Cut their supplies once, and the Imperials would starve.
'Jackpot.'
If legit, he'd make sergeant at minimum.
If His Majesty was pleased, officer ranks weren't out of reach.
He'd have loved the convoy's route too, but...
Short of grabbing and torturing an officer, impossible.
This was the best he could manage now.
"Gotta head back."
Another bathroom excuse, and he slipped out of the Imperial camp fast.
This planted intel raced straight to Ortz Kingdom headquarters.
**
The Ortz Kingdom commander asked his subordinate commanders.
"Do you believe the report from Intelligence Sergeant Raoul?"
"Sir, excluding him, over ten spies sent identical intel. Consensus like that suggests it's solid."
Worldwide, intel from branding irons, waterboarding, and brutal tortures is often unreliable.
Desperate survivors babble consciously or not.
Cross-verifying multiple sources is ideal whenever possible.
Impossible for everyone to fabricate the exact same lie.
Same principle applies to spies.
"So it's true."
"What say you, Chief of Staff?"
The Chief of Staff pointed to the map spanning Imperial positions to the Empire's border.
"Send multiple cavalry platoons to scout. Between their border garrisons and current positions. More precisely, 30-50 kilometers out from their camp."
"Sudden strike at that range, Imperials won't react in time. Matches our scouting limit too."
He'd prefer farther reconnaissance...
But factoring cavalry speed and daily range, that was optimal.
Pushing beyond was overreach.
"Chief's plan sounds right. But what if the enemy anticipates us?"
The Chief of Staff shrugged at that.
A confident smile lit his face.
'I can pull this off.'
His self-assurance was plain as day.
"Even if they know, can they hold against thousands of cavalry?"
"Pointless."
Imperials weren't idiots.
Hated to admit it, but their army was the continent's finest.
If they had brains, they'd assign escorts to convoys.
But enough to repel thousands of cavalry? Constantly?
Escorts would burn through supplies faster than the convoy could deliver—worse than nothing.
No way they'd commit that heavily.
"I've got a junior cavalry commander who's a wizard at this. Major General Gustav Born... flops at other branches, but hand him a lance..."
"Lance-charge lunatic. Know him. He's your man."
Gunpowder revolutionized Imperial infantry tactics.
Cavalry warfare? Unchanged.
Grip the spear and charge.
Those with the heart of a savage beast excelled.
"Frontal clashes with Imperials sound fun, but quick and clean is better."
The commander was betting the farm on this play.
Success odds: over 95%.
Disrupt supplies, Imperials fold for sure.
95% win rate? Only a coward bets small.
"Mobilize 2,000 heavy cavalry, 4,000 light. When they pushed to Obern loaded with horse, weren't they begging for this?"
"Yes, sir."
"Chief of Staff, this war's ours. Time to trample those Imperial invaders. Kill 'em all and honor our fallen spies."
Long forgotten: their own plans for sabotage, riots, and terror in the Empire.
People—or armies—call others' schemes adultery, their own pure romance.
Shoot the 'husband' interrupting your beautiful love story? Obvious.
"Long live the Ortz Kingdom."
Soon after, the Ortz Kingdom dispatched thousands of cavalry to strike the Imperial supply trains.
At that moment, Major Michael Schumacher was moving with the decoy convoy.
"......Wonder how many will show this time."