Chapter 161
Chapter 161
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 161
Chapter Title: Ritzen Hill Great Battle (4)
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Switchland Expeditionary Force Command Tent.
Including me, the six division commanders were racking our brains over how to retreat the troops in a way that would minimize losses while wrapping things up quickly and safely. We all felt the path ahead was long and uncertain.
A suffocating heaviness in my chest like a boulder perched there, the crushing weight of responsibility pressing down on my shoulders, a mental fatigue that made it hard to breathe.
This kind of pressure, with all those sensations crashing down at once... it was truly a first in my life.
"Truly not easy."
As I muttered that, the other division commanders nodded in agreement.
However, outside right now, my standout performance at the vanguard—holding off nearly 100,000 Switchland troops for a full day—was paying off.
Like popping a bottle of champagne, soldiers, NCOs, and officers alike were cheering wildly without distinction.
"So when I saw you fight in the first wave, Major General Jaeger swung his sword out wide to the side, and three Switchland bandits dropped dead at once."
"Even for the major general who took down that khan, that's a bit much, Sergeant."
"You didn't see it yourself, Lieutenant. Especially when he charged down the hill for a counterattack from behind, swinging that mace one-handed. The murderous intent pouring off him was so fierce, even I watching got goosebumps all over."
But given the situation, I hadn't allowed any drinking among the troops. Just to ease their mental and physical fatigue and boost morale,
I'd instructed each division's regimental commanders to let everyone except those on guard duty chat freely until lights out. That's why they were carrying on like that.
Talking up my feats like that kept the creeping fear at bay in their hearts and lifted their spirits.
So the mood inside the command tent and out couldn't have been more different.
As I mulled over the escape plan, Major General Falken approached, patted my shoulder, and said,
"I've been an officer for 40 years. Met plenty of genius commanders in that time, including His Excellency Otto Moritz. But even he couldn't pull off what you're doing at your age."
"Hah, among the star generals I know, the only one who ever took point risking his neck like that was General Patton. So honestly, when the first wave fell back, I even thought about going myself to drag you out. Never dreamed you'd counterattack in that spot. True genius is another level altogether."
"If we pull off this retreat and make it back to the Empire in one piece, how about meeting my granddaughter? Of course, since you've got a proper wife already, she'd come in as a concubine."
At major general rank, even with just a knighthood, you're treated as baron-equivalent until you retire and die.
So for him to offer his granddaughter as a concubine, the match would need to be at least a duke's house.
Was he already rating me that highly?
The other generals, too, were hinting without saying it outright that I was next Field Marshal material.
Even in this dire crisis, being on the receiving end of such genuine praise felt pretty good.
"Thank you, sirs. I just did my best."
With that, we traded compliments for a bit to shake off the mental strain.
Once the atmosphere had warmed up nicely,
"I'd love to keep the good vibes going with more praise, but time's short. Let's cut to the chase. So far in this retreat battle, we've cleared the two biggest hurdles."
The first was safely evacuating His Highness the Crown Prince with over 2,000 knights via Ticino Canton.
The second was reigniting the fighting spirit in our 50,000 troops, whose morale had hit rock bottom amid the desperation.
"But our food and supplies are finite. And unless the Switchland Duke is an idiot, he'll throw every last soldier he can scrape together at blocking our path back to the Reich Empire via Ticino Canton."
Because right now, that duke was pulling out all the stops—body and soul—to muster troops and wipe out His Highness and the entire Reich Empire army.
The Empire forces had marched right into Switchland's natural fortress oblivious, so if he skimped on a handful of troops or some coin and let them slip away, every bit of investment so far would go up in smoke.
He'd absolutely seal off Ticino Canton.
If push came to shove, he might even conscript women, who were rarely used as battlefield fodder.
"So we have to slip the army through Ticino Canton as fast as possible, saving as many troops as we can without getting spotted. At the same time, we'll need to block every spot near our route where they could rally local forces."
"Right on the money. What's your plan?"
"Simple answer. Switchland's terrain is brutal, with few plains. Unlike the Reich Empire, you can't build villages off the beaten path of major roads people can actually use. And typically, those nearby villages supply the enemy with troops."
At my words, the other division commanders looked tense, like they'd guessed my point.
They probably figured I was about to suggest slaughtering every man, child, woman, and elder who could fight in those villages.
Pulling that stunt would just tank His Highness's reputation for no reason and fire up the morale of our Switchland pursuers. Pure idiocy.
POWs might get massacred if there was no choice, but outright civilian slaughter was a massive ethical nightmare.
"Burn every village and food stockpile along the retreat route. But leave the grain in the fields—it's not ripe enough to harvest and eat yet. And this is the key part."
"Out with it."
"Give the plundered villagers a fortune. Enough to rebuild their torched villages and food stores with plenty left over."
The division commanders all stared at me, faces blank with disbelief.
"Normally, when you loot an enemy village, you don't compensate for a damn thing—it's standard. But if we torch the houses our pursuing troops might use for billets or bases, and the food they could eat, then hand over massive cash to the villagers? The enemy will think this:"
I pressed my right index finger to my lips and continued.
"That the villagers along the passes to Ticino Canton and the Reich Empire betrayed Switchland. That leaves the duke unable to conscript those potential soldier resources willy-nilly while chasing us."
Right now, he was scrambling to rush troops to Ticino Canton.
He'd count on local villages for food procurement, and draft their men for delaying actions if short-staffed.
We're smashing both assumptions, so any guerrilla ops they try will be tiny-scale at best.
"And we start this op right now. First up: Major General Zeppelin's 12th Division, which took the heaviest hits fighting alongside me today. Execute this on your retreat."
"Understood. Speed is life, so baggage to a minimum. Anything you want us to leave behind?"
"Leave the hard liquor, hardtack, jerky, cheese, grain flour—anything shelf-stable—plus arrows and armor. In exchange, every man in the 12th, pack mules included, gets a horse for the retreat. Move fast and scorch the earth on those villages."
Zeppelin nodded assent, and since he had no choice but to pull back first, I made one more request to salve his pride.
"Once you're there, dispatch urgent riders to mass every available trooper near the border. The lives of me and all of 7th Division ride on it."
"Got it. Consider it done."
"Every minute counts, Major General Zeppelin."
He clapped my shoulder and said,
"Damn, I'm jealous of you. For real. A plain old Joe like me might dream of holding here to block the enemy, but this kind of slick retreat? Never crossed my mind. Got the guts for vanguard duty, sure, but not the stamina. You with it all... yeah, envious as hell. One favor: make it back alive. On the honor of House Zeppelin, I'll roll out the red carpet."
With that, he bolted from the tent. The eyes of the remaining division commanders turned to me.
"The rest of us, including 7th Division, grind down the enemy here as much as we can. And barring major issues with my condition, I'll lead from the front tomorrow and the next day to rally the men. Count on you."
That wrapped it; the commanders headed off to their divisions.
I returned to mine for a quick inspection and resupply,
then took Charlotte to see the wounded.
Honestly, I was beat enough that my head hitting the pillow would knock me out on contact, but as the mental anchor for these 50,000 troops,
I owed it to at least one more man to wrap a bandage and murmur some comfort.
The wounded area reeked of blood from the injured, mingled with the groans of the dying, medics darting about in organized chaos.
I spotted one soldier on the brink, approached quietly, and asked,
"What's your name?"
"Lindell... Lindell, sir. Save me, Major General."
"Sorry, son. Best I can do is apologize and hear your last words. Anything on your mind?"
The soldier named Lindell, gasping his final breaths, rasped,
"Before I enlisted, I knocked up my wife by accident. If I go, she'll struggle to get by..."
He trailed off there and breathed his last.
I pulled out paper and jotted down his unit, rank, name, and what he'd just told me.
I had the same talk with several more dying men and meant to keep at it,
"Charlotte, what the hell are you doing! Get him back to the tent now and make him rest! He'll drop dead for real like this!"
"Lieutenant Colonel Kergitz, but the master insists it's something he has to do..."
"If the major general kicks it, every man here dies anyway. Drag his ass to quarters, now."
So Anya more or less hauled me back to my tent, and sure enough, the instant my head hit the field cot, I was out.
Just before sleep claimed me, though, I thought,
'Gonna keep pushing hard anyway, so starting tomorrow, bump meals to 1.5 times normal. Heavy on the salt...'