Chapter 12
Chapter 12
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 12
Chapter Title: The Beginning of the Crisis (3)
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It might sound out of left field, but in a situation like this, news of our allied reserves joining the fray was a welcome development for both our side and the enemy.
Anyone hearing that might think it's bullshit.
For our troops, who were being relentlessly pushed back by the enemy, the reserves' arrival was like a lifeline opening up.
For the Franco Republic forces, it meant our battalion's final line of defense had appeared right in front of them, signaling that we'd soon be wiped out entirely.
And sure enough, the moment our company arrived to support the beleaguered 1st Company, we got a far warmer welcome from the enemy than from our own side.
"Those puny-dicked sausage-munchers are here! They're dead meat now!"
"The Reich Empire bastards' units are mostly smashed! Kill all these guys in front of us, get promoted, and ship out!"
They were acknowledging the tide had turned in their favor, so their excitement was understandable, even if it grated.
But seeing these Franco weaklings—who'd been getting their asses handed to them by our company just days ago—talking so big made my blood boil.
The company commander must have felt the same, because he signaled the advance to the whole unit and bellowed out:
"You snail-slurping cowards think you can push with numbers and run your mouths like that? Chattering away like a bunch of women. Show them the spirit of a true Imperial man!"
With that, our company and the enemy's vanguard charged straight at each other.
Just before our platoon's spears clashed with theirs, I gripped my spear tight and gave the order.
"When our spearmen make contact, crossbowmen, snipe a few of the bastards blocking our platoon. Then signal Squad Leader Mage to blast their front lines!"
If we were tangled up with friendlies, firing magic would risk friendly fire and land us in a military tribunal.
But right now, our company's front was enemy-only—no issue with unleashing spells.
Shortly after my command, my platoon's soldiers nailed a few foes with crossbows, killing their momentum.
At the same time, Squad Leader Mage and three other mages slipped through gaps in our formation, pointing their staves at the enemy.
The enemy troops and officers stared in horrified shock.
They'd never used mages in a frontline scrap like this, so they had no clue how to counter.
"Fuck, why mages here?!"
"These cheating dog bastards. Their tiny dicks match their sausages, Reich scum!"
They rewarded me with the choicest curses, which suited me just fine.
In response, Squad Leader Mage and the others unleashed Stone Bullets, mercifully ending the cursers' miserable lives in an instant.
The enemy soldiers gaped in horror at their freed comrades and started panicking.
Who'd believe these were the same pricks mocking our "thumb-sized Imperial sausages" moments ago?
It was a sight for sore eyes.
"Spearmen, keep pressing them—no time to regroup! These are the bastards who tormented our battalion mates to death. Kill 'em all and make them pay!"
My platoon roared in response, and the enemy—hit with this unexpected ambush—plunged into chaos.
"You idiot! They're charging—no more magic coming!"
"They're human too! Don't fall back just 'cause a few mages killed some buddies!"
"Squad leader, you want that? Then you lead the charge against those dogs! How do we beat that momentum?"
Seeing them devolve into infighting with zero proper response, our company saw their chance for glory.
At my order, they surged forward with ferocious momentum, carving through the enemy.
"Four more heads and corporal's locked in! Fuck yeah!!!"
"Flora, bro's hitting sergeant in a month, shipping out for the wedding!"
"Ship out!! Shut up and hit sergeant—ship out!!!"
The Reich Empire and Korea might differ by centuries in tech, society, and culture.
But soldiers anywhere, any era—discharge is king.
Otherwise, no way they'd risk death with such frenzy, even riding war's high.
And as their platoon leader, I had to deliver on expectations.
"Platoon, attention! If we rack up big merits today, the top headhunter in our platoon—excluding me and assistant leader—gets my recommendation to the company commander for promotion. Wanna ship out ASAP? Fight like you mean it!"
The troops went wild with cheers, charging with even fiercer zeal, slaughtering the enemy in a bloodbath.
After about ten minutes of combat, we'd naturally crushed half the enemy company facing us.
Even the company commander, burning to snag merits for major, led from the front, shouting:
"Company commander leads the van this fight! Follow if you can—other platoon leaders, catch up if you're jealous!! Haha!"
A twinge of unease hit me.
These Franco Republic troops hadn't been this weak before.
Analyzing it: our unit's battle-hardened strength, plus this enemy battered from prior fights with our allies—made sense.
But reality rarely flows one way; it tends toward the bad.
As we broke their company and eyed the battalion push, my gut proved right—the Franco reserves didn't budge.
The troops, high on adrenaline, reveled in butchering foes while following the frontline commander.
"Slaughter 'em all!"
"Follow the company commander! He's at the tip!"
"No mercy for these helpless bastards!"
Veteran officers like me foresaw a trap if we pushed further.
All company officers, including the commander, raised flags signaling battalion regroup.
"Pushing more risks enemy trap! Full retreat and reform! Counterattack incoming."
"Battalion commander's approved regroup! Fall back 200 paces to reform ranks—evade their pushback!"
The troops grumbled at losing easy merits but prepped to withdraw on orders.
That's when a hail of enemy magic and arrows should have rained down.
But contrary to expectations, the barrage was surprisingly light.
They must've clocked we weren't biting the bait, redirecting ranged fire elsewhere.
Any commander above company level with real combat experience wouldn't fall for such a sloppy lure—unless their brain was mush.
So this ploy would just cost the Franco side.
Sure enough, our company withdrew safely, linking with the others.
The commander, oblivious to my worries, clapped my shoulder like always.
"Sorry to repeat, but who mistakes a stellar officer like you for a cadet? Honestly, Second Lieutenant Jaeger feels more like a staff officer slumming it in the ranks. Peel off those bars and bet it's a 40-something lieutenant colonel underneath, right?"
I set aside my unease, chuckling at the absurdity.
"Company commander, a commoner orphan as staff officer? Those are future generals-in-waiting."
"Else I can't buy it. Folks won't believe a cadet platoon leader shines like this without seeing it. Other cadet leaders are probably barely functional by now."
"Ha, yeah..."
I was about to quip back when it hit me—the key to all those nagging puzzles.
Even an obvious bait trap: bite once, and you're not just stuck—you're fleeced like a pig at slaughter.
Veteran commanders above company sense it instinctively and bail orderly; platoon leaders follow suit.
But compare to me? Student platoons of noble brats, egos tied to lifelong careers, brutalized for a month as subhuman?
They'd see a massive merit shot and go rogue.
Military law mandates beheading for unauthorized action sans huge merits—so maybe 1-3 of 10 cadet leaders bite.
But their companies and battalions? One mad platoon leader collapses the line, missing the counter window.
I muttered my conclusion aloud without thinking.
"...Fuck, the battalions with those cadet platoon leaders are gonna split in half and vanish. Worst case, the division gets wiped."
Shitty, but that's our reality.
With permission, I scouted and spotted student platoon flags way too forward in other battalions.
My nightmare scenario confirmed.
I wanted to urge the division commander to pull the cadets, but direct reports were beyond my paygrade—meddle and I'd just get disciplined, ignored.
So only one play.
Resolved, I got company commander's nod, then marched up to the battalion commander.
"Battalion commander, Second Lieutenant Peter Jaeger here with a direct report."
Even with permission, barging on a real noble and sky-high superior was ballsy.
Like storming the section chief's office sans invite or knock.
But he waved off his scolding adjutant, leaning in.
"What possessed you? I know you're capable, so I held them back. Academy should teach timing."
"Apologies. But this is dire—timing be damned. Scouted with company permission: adjacent battalion's deep in enemy bait. Likely cadet platoons going rogue—details unclear."
The battalion commander looked stunned.
"Cadets with academy tactics falling for bait and mutinying? Unbelievable. True?"
Normally, his doubt would irk, but now? I got it completely.
I wanted to deny reality too—hell, wish it a dream.
"Military law: false reports, willful omissions, or exaggerations minimum death. I'm no fool fabricating nonsense."
"...An officer scouting mid-battle, eyeing other battalions? Impressive. Understood—countermeasures now."
He signaled me to leave, but...
"And sir, I have operational suggestions."