Chapter 4
Chapter 4
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 1
Chapter Title: Using Others' Misfortune as Capital (3)
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The commander's bullshit didn't end there.
"I'll put in a good word for you, so select only the best from the battalion. Assemble a squad of elite troops. I'll grant you full authority over the operation. It's all up to you—where to strike and how. If you need more forces, I'll provide reinforcements."
In a situation where the fortress was getting pounded to hell, what the fuck was he expecting from just about twenty cavalrymen?
The area around the fortress had been completely churned up by the bombardment. Pits and hills everywhere made it the worst possible terrain for cavalry maneuvers. Forget a squad—even a company or a full cavalry battalion wouldn't make a dent in this mess.
"I don't expect miracles. What our troops need right now is just a tiny spark to shake off their sense of defeat."
Easy for him to say. If it were that simple, he would've done it himself ages ago. After trying everything and failing, now he was dumping this on a brand-new lieutenant fresh to the fortress. All while spouting pretty words.
"I know it's a tough ask. If cavalry alone could turn the tide, we wouldn't be hunkered down in this fortress."
So, if I refused, there'd be no repercussions.
"..."
There was no need to agonize over it.
This wasn't a choice.
Different packaging didn't change the contents.
In short, anyone who took the commander's word at face value that there'd be no backlash was a fucking idiot.
"...I'll do it."
And since I wasn't an idiot, I answered immediately—right as I noticed the faint twitch in the commander's facial muscles, his seemingly affable expression cracking just a bit.
"Your decision will go down in Thracia's military history as an example for all!"
The commander grabbed my shoulders and showered me with praise.
Whether I'd be recorded as a role model soldier or a fool played by his superior's sweet talk remained to be seen!
But on second thought, this was an opportunity.
Cavalry couldn't choose the battlefield.
The old generals like the one in front of me set the stage.
When the bugle sounded, cavalry charged—whether into fire or flowers.
Hell, if he ordered us to charge out of the fortress straight at the Astoria lines right now, I had no grounds to refuse. (For reference, Thracia's discipline was strict even compared to other nations, and disobedience or mutiny were punished most harshly.)
Instead of dancing a jig on someone else's hot plate—like those peasant dances where they stomp around—it was better if I set the stage myself.
Especially when the commander was such a moron.
"Can I count on support from the mage corps?"
"Our mages took near-total losses in the early days of the war. Now, not just in Schrelgrad, but across the entire front—there's hardly a mage left."
I'd asked just in case, but it was as expected.
No, even if Thracia had traditionally focused on infantry and cavalry, could a whole nation's mage corps—hardly a bunch of circus rejects—really get wiped out right at the war's start? It was ridiculous.
"You might not know this, but among frontline commanders, quite a few highly rate the creativity you showed in Gaillard. I'm one of them."
"...Thank you, sir."
I feigned humility outwardly, but inwardly, I scoffed.
How many had fallen for such flattery and ruined themselves?
Besides, the commander was lying through his teeth.
Highly rate me?
Despite headquarters' efforts, evaluations of me among Thracia's officers—especially the high ranks—weren't glowing.
Opportunist who sold out his superior to the enemy for personal gain, or some such bullshit.
"I'll find a way."
"A week enough?"
"...I'll find a way within that time."
I got a bit of leeway and slipped out of the commander's office.
Then headed straight to the barracks of my assigned cavalry battalion.
First priority: select the men I'd lead.
I flinched.
Stepping into the barracks, I saw men looking like ragged stragglers.
Apparently, the mage corps weren't the only ones hit hard at the war's outset.
Otherwise, Thracia's pride—the Bluecoats—wouldn't look like whipped dogs with their tails between their legs.
"Ah."
Depressing. Truly.
But the real despair was something else.
"Well, damn. They've scraped together quite the motley crew from everywhere."
Calling it the Schrelgrad Cavalry Brigade was generous; it screamed hastily assembled unit.
Even the unit patches on their shoulders were all different sorts.
He'd given me authority to pick elites, but what I found were battlefield scraps from across the front, strewn about like trash.
"Second Lieutenant Yannick reporting. I need to see the battalion commander."
One of the gloomy stragglers, not even noticing my entrance, staggered to his feet.
He seemed the least broken-eyed of the bunch.
"If it's Lieutenant Colonel Otson you're after, he fell leading a night raid two weeks ago."
"The deputy commander?"
"Blown up in a bombardment a week ago."
"Company commander, senior platoon leader—anyone."
"All commissioned officers are dead."
"..."
I was speechless.
Cavalry units, by nature, exposed leaders at the front, so officer casualties were always high.
But a command structure this utterly collapsed? First time I'd seen it.
My vision darkened again.
Still, even a slapped-together unit like this had its upsides.
"...While our mages were getting bombed, Astoria's stayed silent. Command judged their main force lacked magical firepower."
Scraped from everywhere, just listening to them gave me the big picture of the battle.
An unexpected bonus.
Lowly officers like me couldn't access frontline-wide intel.
"Hmm."
I pieced together the situation from their rambling, incoherent testimonies, still shell-shocked from repeated defeats.
Conservative Thracia likely stuck to traditional doctrine: mages blast first for maximum damage, then infantry and cavalry seize initiative.
Not a bad call.
Mage firepower had been opening act for a century since becoming essential.
The problem? That dogma tripped us up.
Unleashing initial barrage exposed our mages' positions inevitably. Then enemy mages hammered us. Our depleted corps couldn't counter.
"We charged to break off, but the retreat was bombed to hell. Crossbowmen and pikemen hit our panicking rear..."
"Dodging maneuvers brought us right into their pike phalanx. That's when we realized we were being herded, but by then..."
No surprise Astoria targeted our vaunted Bluecoats next after devouring the mages.
I drew my conclusion.
Didn't know Astoria's supreme commander, but he was a formidable foe.
Seizing opportunities meant keeping cool while exposed troops melted under fierce bombardment—not for ordinary nerves.
Stragglers all testified to fighting shackled the whole battle.
Meant the field was under perfect enemy control; every tactic crushed.
"Ha."
My face soured instinctively.
They had a genius overturning doctrines; our commander betting on one cavalry platoon for reversal. What a fucking clown.
Ah, screw the pension—maybe just give up.
Of course not.
Beyond pension, my entire fortune was in Thracia royal bank.
If Thracia fell, so did my retirement.
"You there."
"Sergeant Jamal!"
The awkward Bluecoat finally threw a belated salute.
"From the look, you're the senior NCO here. Pick twenty usable men."
I delegated squad selection to Jamal.
Half-mad from shocking defeats, but wearing the blue coat like me guaranteed their skill.
Not just them.
Thracia troops weren't rabble.
Men surviving constant skirmishes amid power struggles.
Odd if individuals weren't top-notch fighters.
Even the fresh recruits I'd brought to Schrelgrad had crushed enemy guerrillas once deployed.
This time, I agreed with our idiot commander.
Troops needed a spark.
A small trigger to shake defeat and unleash true potential.
"This might actually work."
Maybe I could create that spark.
The next day, I went to the commander and requested the entire cavalry battalion be mobilized.
"Deploying the whole battalion leaves a gap in fortress cavalry defenses."
"In this situation, they're useless anyway. Better to use Bluecoats somehow than let them idle. Besides, it's barely company strength, not full battalion. Gap won't be big."
I persuaded the reluctant commander.
Bottom line: he was an idiot, but not one to flip-flop shamelessly.
"Fine. Request approved. But if it goes south, hero title and medals won't save you."
"Understood."
Had to stake my retirement—hero status and medals—but whatever.
If it failed, it'd be my neck, not just retirement.
Superiors shoving blame pre-start was routine anyway.
Post-meeting, preparations kicked off.
Fill leadership gaps with NCOs since no officers left; reorganize into two full squads and one half-squad, excluding the totally broken—took a day.
Brief ops and scout intel—another day.
Wait out enemy bombardments (every other day)—yet another.
Three days later, preparations complete, I sortied at dawn.
"Enemy scouts there."
Barely out, enemy recon tailed us.
Ignoring them, I wheeled the column rearward.
Retracing steps, I watched the scouts.
Some peeled off.
"Full gallop!"
I spurred hard, accelerating.
Tailing scouts vanished from sight.
"Enemy recon fully shaken!"
More like they bailed voluntarily.
Their job was spotting our target.
Soon, Astoria guerrillas raiding our supply lines would hear.
"2nd and 3rd Squads, split now—draw guerrilla eyes. No direct fights unless unavoidable. Otherwise, use discretion."
"For Thracia!"
One full squad and one half—thirty riders—split off.
Hitting rear guerrillas first wasn't the plan.
I'd seen they packed crossbows—bad matchup.
No intent to feed precious Bluecoats to crossbow bait.
Especially with morale in the gutter; unsure if they'd perform.
"1st Squad, about-face!"
Time to fight my way.
"From now, erase tracks max—bypass Schrelgrad, head north!"
Our piled-up misfortunes from defeats were my biggest stake.
"Destination: beyond our lines!"
Like Astoria's stretched supply route from our retreat.