Chapter 162
Chapter 162
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 162
Chapter Title: Ritzen Hill Great Battle (5)
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Even after Major General Zeppelin's division withdrew, our remaining Switchland Expeditionary Force continued holding our position on Ritzen Hill and pressing on with the defensive battle.
I stood at the forefront every single day, encouraging the soldiers and carrying on the fight.
As the days dragged on, my body grew heavier and heavier, until I started thinking I wouldn't die in battle but simply collapse from exhaustion.
No, when the three divisions stationed here with us pulled back all at once, I even toyed with the idea of just keeling over and dying from sheer fatigue.
It was that brutal—even at rest, I had no desire to lift a spoon or knife, yet every morning I had to strap on armor weighing over 20kg and head into the fray.
But there was at least one silver lining...
'Major General Falken, who led the 19th Division and stayed until the bitter end, withdrew three days ago. Now we can finally escape this hellhole.'
So even in my bone-tired state, I managed a smile laced with hope.
Though fleeing wouldn't be easy—we'd have to fight the soldiers the Switchland Duke had scattered along the route through Ticino Canton.
Still, no matter how grueling the escape path, it had to be easier than clinging to this hill, fending off around 100,000 Switchland troops with nothing but the narrow terrain.
And right on cue, Charlotte stepped in, her maid outfit stained with the blood of the wounded.
"You haven't smiled once these past few days, but today you're wearing one. Has something good happened? Or are you thinking of Madam and Young Master back in Reichburg?"
If Laura had given birth ahead of schedule, the baby might already be here by now.
His Highness the Crown Prince, gathering troops at the border and awaiting my return, would surely have dispatched a messenger with updates on the situation and the name he'd chosen for the child.
That notion brought a grin to my face, distinct from the relief of our escape route.
"No, it's not that. It's just that we can finally flee this hellhole. The thought of surviving and going home brings a smile."
She hadn't fought in a single battle, but the terror and dread of dying on this field must have gripped her just as fiercely.
So my words would surely lighten her load immensely.
As expected, Charlotte teared up—overjoyed at the prospect of making it home alive.
"Then Master won't have to lead from the front anymore? No more anxious nights on the field bed, grieving for the fallen before sleep..."
I figured she'd rejoice at safely rejoining her family.
I never imagined she'd prize my survival over her own.
Flustered a bit, but deeply grateful to be cared for so profoundly.
With pure, heartfelt thanks—and no hidden intentions—I stroked her head and said,
"Thank you for worrying about me so sincerely. Thanks to you, I'm certain I'll make it back alive."
Finishing up, I shed my armor and headed toward the soldiers.
Keeping our final ploy to tie down the Switchland Duke firmly in mind.
Switchland Expeditionary Force, camp square.
"If it weren't for the Division Commander, I'd have deserted for real. Holding off nearly 100,000 for almost a month? That's a damn miracle."
"Sergeant Jacques is spot on. Fuck, sure, this spot's great for defense, but the numbers are insane—and we've held this long. Every time I see our Division Commander, I question if he's even human like us."
"Heard from Sergeant Tilly on records duty: Division Commander's personally bagged nearly 200 all by himself. Even knights from bard tales couldn't match that."
He was right—if I hadn't led from the front alongside the men, our expeditionary force would've been wiped out.
No matter how His Highness the Crown Prince slipped away, the other divisions would've scattered in chaos, slamming into Switchland's treacherous terrain and ambushes.
The units would've crumbled in the process.
Side note: Unit clerks typically log fewer kills for me than reality.
Ambiguous cases—like group kills or arrow deaths—get tricky for merit shares if credited to me.
So I've likely dropped closer to twice that—nearly 400 foes.
I lost count once beheadings blurred together; even I don't know the true tally.
Thoughts swirling, I wove through the square where soldiers shot the breeze, wagering jerky scraps and hardtack chunks on dice.
All eyes locked on me, naturally.
Hitting the center, I boomed,
"Men of the Reich Empire's 7th Division, I am truly proud of you. Without you, even hurling myself into the inferno at the vanguard wouldn't have saved us from defeat."
Then, drawing a deep breath, I bellowed,
"Officers, NCOs, soldiers of the 7th Division—we never quit, and we made it here. Thanks to you, all other units withdrew safely."
But if the enemy catches wind of the retreats, every last Imperial here is at risk.
So for porridge from flour and barley, we used one pot per man to fake smoke from 50,000 camped.
Tents and facilities for 50,000 still see maximum use by our troops.
Of course, it won't convince the Switchland Duke we're all still here at full strength.
But it can trick him into thinking it's several times our 8,000.
"And we withdraw in two days. So steel yourselves to hold just two more days—fight at my side with your lives on the line."
Any other general spouting this? Soldiers would've scoffed inwardly, "What bullshit?"
But I've earned trust matching words to deeds with my men.
"If the Division Commander says it, we believe! Two days— we'll gut it out till the day after tomorrow. We'll live and go home!"
"You got it—leave it to us!"
"Time to head home!"
Just as anticipated: If Peter Jaeger says it, the 7th Division buys in.
Now for proper prep.
"Exactly two days from now, we leave this place. Even that thick-skulled Switchland Duke will sniff it out. He'll itch to lop off my head—and yours—before we bolt."
Duke's no fool; he knows His Highness the Crown Prince is gone.
He’ll settle for massacring our 7th Division and expeditionary scraps as consolation prizes.
Leverage this "crushing victory" for sweet post-war deals.
"Tonight, max out hill defenses and pack to flee. Every 7th Division trooper mounts horses bequeathed by other units—flee as one. Saddle up days' worth of jerky, grain flour, water skins ahead."
Fighting with jerky, flour, water aboard? Mongols conquering the world on horseback.
Here, it's staple Northern battle rations for Anastasia's cavalry.
"I'll pitch in on fortifications—everyone, lock down defenses best you can. Plant spears from fallen brothers in the dirt, stack wagons atop. Wagons alone? Switchland scum topple 'em easy—heap 'em with heavies: empty grain sacks, booze barrels, spare tents."
Saying that, I started sharpening stray long spears into stakes before even signaling go.
Officers doled out orders to units.
We hustled through the night productively, cobbling together a solid line.
But rationally? Announce retreat two days hence in our bind, then actually hold two? Only an idiot would.
Switchland Duke hears? Deploys 100,000 to seal escape airtight.
To bait his fool's errand, one hour pre-dawn, I commanded,
"7th Division—all mount assigned horses now. We're ditching this hell immediately. Every second counts—move!"
The whole division saddled up, kicking off the mass exodus. Rear guard watched 'em go, torched liquor-laden wagons and the full camp, then trailed.
Leftovers? Prime tinder. Hoped it'd snag the enemy one to two hours minimum.