Chapter 155
Chapter 155
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 155
Chapter Title: Tactical Victory & Strategic Defeat (2)
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A few days before the Battle of Jungfrau, in the Crown Prince's camp.
The one division and 2,000 guards under the Crown Prince's command were marching in a leisurely atmosphere, as if they were out on a picnic.
Thanks to running into some lenient company commanders, a few soldiers had loaded not only their armor but even their long spears onto company wagons, allowing them to walk comfortably—as long as they kept pace.
Senior officers, including the battalion commanders, clicked their tongues at the sight, grumbling that these young kids these days were hopelessly lax.
However, the enemies they'd encountered on the way here numbered only about 1,000 in total. Scout reports indicated no enemy forces within three days' march from their current position.
So, they didn't bother reining in the company commanders who'd loosened the rules.
"Corporal Tonz, sir, I've heard the women of Switchland have quite the impressive... assets. What do you think? We win this war and settle down here—great mountains, fresh air. With the money we've saved up by discharge, it should be doable, right?"
"You lazy private punk. Back in my day, a second-class private wouldn't even dare speak to a corporal. Tch, cocky little shit."
"Ah, but sir, word is you hooked up with Anna—the one whose leg I held up for you last leave—after a few drinks. Don't tell me you're already engaged?"
"Honestly, a girl like Anna is pretty enough to turn heads even among the nobles. So I've decided to stick with her. You go chase the Switchland girls, kid."
Chatting during a march was strictly forbidden by military law, but right now, for the sake of the troops' mental health, even the military police and officers were turning a blind eye.
No, even the officers were chatting as they marched. Still, they maintained strict vigilance, so there shouldn't be any issues.
Meanwhile, the Crown Prince was marching separately from Major General Peter Jaeger, accompanied by the young officers he was personally grooming.
"Your Highness, Liechtenstein Castle is just ahead, isn't it? Ha ha, this time, Your Highness's military talents will truly shine."
"Indeed. Though we had the advantage of Count Bern's cooperation, just as Your Highness predicted, reports from our other four divisions indicate they've only clashed with fewer than 1,000 troops in light skirmishes—no real resistance."
"Everything is proceeding exactly as Your Highness foresaw. We can expect smooth sailing from here on out."
Major Max, heir to the Venner Marquessate, and the other young officers eagerly praised the Crown Prince's strategic genius. The Crown Prince smiled bashfully.
And they had good reason to think so. In most wars, strategic operations were riddled with variables, making predictions difficult.
The less the initial plan deviated from reality, the higher the chances of victory.
They hadn't yet reached the decisive large-scale engagement—the most critical part of any war—but all their assumptions had held true so far.
Barring some major catastrophe, the Crown Prince's victory was all but assured.
"Now, now, we haven't received the 7th Division's report yet, have we? Didn't they teach you at the Academy and Staff College? A war isn't over until the peace treaty is signed."
His words sounded serious and stern, but delivered with a smiling face and relaxed tone...
"We've gotten a bit carried away, it seems."
"Ha ha, we spoke too soon when victory isn't even ours yet. Forgive us."
"We got a little excited in our eagerness for Your Highness's triumph."
The young officers' apologetic faces looked far too relaxed for actual remorse.
The Crown Prince appreciated these men who, despite their packed schedules with Staff College assignments and exams, had made a point of visiting him at night to pull all-nighters together.
"That's enough. How could I not recognize the hard work you all put in, led by Major Max, to formulate this plan? You barely slept, night after night, huddling together to refine the operation until the final version was set."
Hearing this acknowledgment of their efforts, the officers were deeply moved by the Crown Prince's gratitude.
"Of course, you made up for it with some fun after the plan was finalized. Still, it pales compared to that grind. So once I conquer Switchland, you'll all get promotions—lieutenant colonel insignia and a proper bender. Ladies on both arms, drink till you drop."
Lieutenant colonel before 30? Sweet music to the officers' ears.
Unless you were a once-in-a-generation genius like Major General Peter Jaeger, division commanders—one every two or three classes—didn't make lieutenant colonel before 30 in imperial history.
If the Crown Prince kept his word, they could realistically dream of general's stars and eyeing the marshal's baton.
To cheer them further, the Crown Prince grumbled good-naturedly.
"I'd love to bring Major General Jaeger along too, but that guy's loyal to Laura—won't touch another woman. Even his exclusive maid, Charlotte, wags her tail like crazy, but he holds firm like a rock. I was floored. So you're the only ones keeping me company."
Since the dawn of history, sharing leisure with those in power signified favor.
Just that meant gaining influence. Partying and swapping girl talk with the next emperor? An enormous privilege.
On that front, they didn't envy Jaeger one bit—they grinned happily.
As they chatted, a lieutenant approached, saluted the Crown Prince, and handed over a letter.
"Well done. Ah, from Major General Jaeger? This is just a small outpost, so take this and return to your post."
Expecting a routine all-clear report, the Crown Prince opened the letter...
If anyone but Major General Jaeger had sent such a letter, the Crown Prince might have torn it up in rage.
But he'd long marked Jaeger as his successor marshal, even willing to give him his favorite sister Louise without regret. Jaeger wouldn't spout nonsense.
He continued reading.
The Crown Prince—no, the 30-year-old youth Michael von Reich—felt a stiff chill grip the back of his neck.
Finishing the gist, the Crown Prince forgot his good mood, face flushing crimson with fury as he bellowed.
"Count Bern, you filthy son of Satan! All these years, pretending to abandon Switchland for the Empire alone—while gunning for my throat!!! Argh, fuck!!"
But Peter Jaeger wasn't one to bullshit on grave matters. Thinking rationally, piecing it with the letter...
Everything had gone too smoothly.
"Why, why! Deus, why plunge me into this chaos? Me, dancing like a monkey in the palms of Count Bern and the Duke of Switchland!"
The officers sensed from his reaction:
'Fuck, it's over. Life's done. Or... we might survive depending on how we play it. But what about our careers after this?'
"Major Max, fetch the deputy commander immediately. The rest of you, scatter and sound the alert across the army. Assemble all units near Liechtenstein!"
The once-relaxed atmosphere shattered in an instant. The Crown Prince cursed Deus for this tragedy befalling him.