Joining the Battle (5)
"Lord Dirk has fallen."
Those few words carried devastating weight. They raced through the ranks, and the imperial army's morale plummeted straight to the ground.
"What are you standing around for? They're nothing but scarecrows now!"
Still gasping for breath, Ellen shouted at the top of his lungs. The soldiers of the Prode Kingdom answered at once. After everything they had just witnessed, his voice carried the force of a marshal's command from the Fifth Army itself.
"Aaagh!"
"Somebody save me!"
From that moment on, it was a one-sided slaughter. The imperial side still had capable knights, even if none of them matched Dirk. Dirk's defeat had shaken them, true—but they were not so fragile that shattered morale alone would drive them from the field.
"We have to run…"
"That monster of a mage is going to kill us all!"
"Get out of my way!"
The real problem was the common soldiers. Less trained than the knights, they felt the collapse of morale more keenly than anyone. Once the bulk of the army began to fall back, the knights had no choice but to retreat with them.
"Anyone who falls back dies by my blade!"
"Hold your weapons and fight, damn you!"
The knights fought desperately to keep the lines intact, but the press of panicking soldiers turned every effort to foam. There was no easier prey than a fleeing enemy. Prode's troops, flush with triumph, chased them down with savage glee.
And so the battle of the Tramore Plains unfolded in a direction completely opposite to the original history.
"Take a full head count of the unit."
The moment the pursuit ended, Ellen's first order was to account for every survivor. He had only trained them for a month, but he had poured everything he could into them. Losing any of them would be a serious blow.
A short while later, Daz finished the tally and reported back.
"Four dead, three wounded. Carrick is among the wounded—he's in critical condition."
Fewer than I expected.
When the formation had broken, Ellen had braced himself for at least seven dead. The squads, however, had worked together far better than he had hoped.
"Well done, all of you. Daz, take charge—get the wounded to the medical corps and have everyone else fall in for refit. I need to go deliver the report."
"Yes, sir. The wounded have already been moved. I'll see to the rest of the men."
"I'm counting on you."
Even after Ellen left, the platoon stood frozen for a long time.
"We're… actually alive, right?"
"Seems that way."
"It's all thanks to the platoon leader."
"It really was insane."
None of it felt real yet. When the barrier had shattered, every one of them had been certain they were about to die. Experience or not, none of them had ever fought a battle this hopeless—and yet they had survived.
"If we just stick with him… maybe we can always make it out like this?"
No one answered the man who said it. Every member of the Third Platoon simply nodded in silence.
"That concludes the casualty report for the Second Company."
In place of the fallen Hector, First Platoon Leader Mogle finished the briefing.
"You all did well. The losses this battle were heavy. If it hadn't been for you, Remy, I doubt we would have escaped defeat."
Ellen bowed his head at Jett's words.
"Thank you, sir."
The more I see of him, the more remarkable he is. Excellent in combat, and every bit as sharp on the administrative side.
Jett had completely rewritten his assessment of Ellen. Fresh mages usually needed time just to learn how the army worked. Unfamiliar with the machinery of a military organization, they took forever to master even the basic procedures.
I've seen rookie mages study tactics and put them to use in battle. But a rookie who, the instant the fighting ends, accounts for his people and files a report through the proper chain—have I ever met one of those?
Jett shook his head at his own question. No junior mage had ever executed his duties with such certainty. Measured against anyone else in this conference room, Ellen fell short on neither front.
"Your achievements deserve proper recognition."
Jett was a man who rewarded merit without fail. The other officers, well aware of that reputation, swallowed hard. Everyone had seen what Ellen had accomplished. A matching reward was inevitable.
"I'm giving you command of the Second Company. The post is vacant now."
Every mouth in the room fell open. Even allowing for Ellen's accomplishments, the decision was nothing short of outrageous. He was a newly arrived junior mage, officially nothing more than a 4th Circle user. Elevating him to company commander was bound to spark controversy regardless of his actual ability.
"Viscount Jett, that is far too drastic."
"Remy has been enlisted less than a month. He lacks the experience."
Objections erupted from every side. A deep crease carved itself between Jett's brows.
"Experience, you say?"
Where magic was concerned, Jett was a layman and had always listened to his adjutant and officers. But he was a soldier down to the marrow. On everything that was not magic, his will was iron.
"We were thoroughly defeated in the grand magical exchange with the Empire. We went blind because of a handful of earlier victories. In that crisis, who turned the tide?"
The officers shut their mouths under the force of the rebuke.
"And how many of you filed your reports through the proper chain once the fighting was over? Remy is a junior, and he still followed every single procedure without fail. Are you still going to tell me he has no experience?"
He clicked his tongue at the officers, then extended a hand to Ellen.
"I'm appointing you company commander—wartime commission only. I look forward to working with you."
Ellen took Jett's hand in a firm, brief grip. A faint smile touched his face. Sixty-odd Magic Assistants would now fall under his command. The range of tactics he could field had just expanded dramatically.
"Thank you for placing your trust in me. I'll give it everything I have."
And with that, the after-action report—having stirred more than a little uproar—came to a close. The moment Ellen stepped out of the conference room, the platoon leaders fell in behind him.
"Congratulations, Company Commander."
"We only survived this battle because of you, sir."
They were mages with no money and no patrons, assigned to a Magic Assistant unit on the very front lines. Throughout the war their unit had drawn the kind of duty where dying at any moment would have surprised no one. Then they had watched Ellen's overwhelming prowess with their own eyes.
Is this what Hameron, the so-called Talent of God, looks like?
His name was famous enough to have reached even a backwater unit mid-war, though none of them had ever seen the man. On the battlefield, though, Ellen looked every bit worthy of that title.
To stay alive—no, to climb higher—we have to follow him.
That thought was shared by all of them.
"It must be unsettling, having a raw junior take over the unit out of nowhere. I'll be counting on you going forward."
"Not at all, sir. Please, speak comfortably with us."
That was Second Platoon Leader Gletter.
"But I'm the junior here. How could I?"
"We're at war," Mogle put in, backing Gletter. "Rank has to come first now more than ever, doesn't it?"
"Well… if you insist."
Ellen scratched his head, a little at a loss.
"All right, then. If that's how you want it, so be it. But I'll always respect your experience."
"Yes, sir. Thank you."
Both platoon leaders saluted him. In their minds, they had just secured both their survival and their prospects for promotion.
"I'll need to greet the company, so everyone head back to the barracks."
The door rattled open.
"Salute to the Company Commander!"
The roar hit him the instant he stepped through.
"How did you all already know?"
He had never imagined the men would find out this fast. Mogle and Gletter, standing behind him, looked just as startled. Sharp as they were, they had sent a runner to the company barracks the moment the meeting ended—but they had not expected a welcome like this.
"All right. I'll be counting on every one of you. I'm a junior mage who's only been enlisted about a month. I know some of you will have a problem with that. But I will do everything in my power to keep you alive in battle."
"Waaaaaah!"
Cheers exploded from every corner. Even the two platoon leaders had never seen a reaction like it. Ellen possessed terrifying skill, and he always fought at the very front. The lives he had saved were more than anyone could count on two hands. To the Magic Assistants, he was not merely a mage. They recognized him as their commander.
"It's been a long day. Rest well tonight. Tomorrow we start reorganizing the unit in earnest. Platoon leaders and Daz—assess your platoons' combat strength and report to me in the morning."
"Dismissed!"
"At this rate, that bastard's going to walk away with every scrap of credit for this victory."
A week had passed since the battle of the Tramore Plains. In the Fifth Army's conference room, a man whose bulk alone seemed to fill the chair was seething. He slammed a fist down on the armrest and pressed on.
"Tell me. Was this victory really all thanks to that one man?"
He was Germil, marshal of the Fifth Army. His plump face had flushed an ugly red.
"When defeat seemed certain, his performance held the line and let us counterattack. He also stopped Dirk, the Empire's Sword Master."
"So what you're saying, Jett, is that I did nothing on that field? That you think I only got this far because of my family's influence?"
Germil's face darkened further at Jett's answer.
"Not at all. It is a fact that he somehow checked the imperial assault. But without your command, Marshal Germil, a counterattack would have been nothing more than a dream."
The First Infantry commander jumped in without missing a beat.
"Is that so? Well, of course. Without my leadership it would have been impossible. Draft the report to the capital along those lines."
Germil's scowl melted into a beaming grin, as if the anger had never existed.
"I'm sure your father will be delighted when he hears of the marshal's exploits."
The cavalry commander spoke, and Germil's mouth stretched nearly to his ears.
"Father will finally acknowledge me."
His yellowed teeth were enough to sour anyone's mood on sight.
How did things come to this? How are we supposed to win a war against the Empire like this?
Jett looked at Germil and the commanders under him and shook his head.
"You, get that report filed at once. Every unit is to resupply and refit, then prepare to advance the moment you're ready. When you have the upper hand, you press harder."
Germil spoke with a thin, self-satisfied smile. The thought of the further glory waiting ahead kept him grinning without end.