Chapter 305
Chapter 305
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 305
Chapter Title: Training Like the Real Thing, Real Thing Like Training (4)
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Upon hearing that the enemy's position had been discovered, I hurriedly gathered all the field-grade officers and above from the division. The assembled group stared piercingly at the scout who had returned from reconnaissance, their eyes brimming with eager anticipation.
The scout, now the center of attention under the blazing gazes of me—a four-star general-like figure—the deputy division commander Laura, and dozens of field-grade officers, seemed utterly crushed by the weight of those stares. He stiffened up like a wooden log.
To get a proper report out of him, I figured I needed to loosen up this kid who was tense as could be. So, I decided to cast a bit of relaxation magic on him.
"This exercise is a simulated battle treated just like the real thing, so officers and soldiers who perform well will be duly evaluated and rewarded. If your report checks out, it'll rank you in the top twenty for the entire mock battle's merits. Imagine the gold that'll bring in. Relax and tell us in detail exactly what you saw."
The scout's eyes sparkled at those magic words—"top twenty reward"—snapping him out of his tension. He asked me,
"General, do you mean that? For real?"
The scale of this battle, combining both sides, was about two divisions.
And since it was just a mock battle, the rewards would naturally be much smaller than for equivalent feats in actual combat.
But in war, pinpointing the enemy's position and supply lines right before battle often contributes far more to victory than simply chopping off some star-adorned enemy's head.
Once you know the enemy's location and route, the commander can harass them en route with supply blockades or ambushes at their discretion.
That's why this kid's feat was easily top-twenty material.
In the Reich Empire's first-ever division-scale live-fire simulation, landing in the top twenty could launch him straight toward becoming a commissioned officer.
If his report matched reality, he'd just seized a life-changing reversal of fortune.
Plus, it was a perfect chance to boost the morale of our division's officers and men even higher...
"How did the enemy main force and supply units' alertness look?"
That question hit the scout, who'd just shaken off the pressure of rank thanks to the "reward" spell. His eyes lit up as he replied,
"The 18th Division's perimeter seemed pretty tight. When I spotted them, it was day two of their march, so they were still far from our lines, but they'd generously posted scouts out to 500 meters around. Discipline was ironclad—no one was chatting or slacking off."
Before I took command here, the Perosia Front Army had been a mess in every way, like some Tang Dynasty rabble.
But I'd given them a light self-correction chance before arriving, then spent two months after fixing deep-rooted issues by drilling officers and men by the book.
When reports of barracks abuses came in, if they were severe, I'd flog the ringleaders and participants per military law or toss them in an Imperial Army stockade.
Those who let it slide or failed to inspect properly got court-martialed based on severity or forced to submit discharge papers.
For the rest who stayed punishment-free, I'd send over some 7th Division instructors to "guerrilla" them—teaching that if abuses popped up in a unit, everyone else got torn apart too.
That process boosted capabilities and forged razor-sharp discipline, leading to textbook-perfect vigilance like this.
"How many troops were escorting the supply convoy?"
"Two or three infantry companies bringing up the rear. Even from afar, I could tell their escorts were on high alert."
"...I see. The past two months of instilling proper discipline are paying off. Good work. What's your rank and name, soldier?"
I opened the exercise logbook where everyone could see and pulled out a pen.
All eyes locked on the notebook. The scout, who'd never drawn this kind of envy from the brass, gazed at me with tears welling up from surging joy and gratitude.
His voice trembled slightly as he bellowed,
"Corporal Tor Kell, 3rd Platoon, Reconnaissance Company, 7th Guard Division!"
"I've noted your name and deed in my exercise log. If the intel's wrong, you'll face punishment—but if it's spot-on, expect a hefty reward, merit points, and commendation leave. Since I'm commanding the 7th Guard Division as division commander for this drill, I won't forget or skimp on your payout."
"Thank you, sir!"
I handed Tor Kell a field-grade officer's midnight snack voucher.
"You've pulled all-nighters for days—must be exhausted. Take this to the cooks for hot soup, steak, and a glass of wine. Eat up and rest easy."
"Corporal Tor Kell! Thank you, sir!"
Seeing a mere corporal promised top-twenty merits—and logging it right there—lit a fire in every officer's eyes as they stared at me.
They were burning to seize command for a raid on the enemy main and supplies to rack up merits themselves.
"General! Send my infantry battalion! I'll show more guts than I did holding off those Austrika knights!"
"Hold on, Major! It's our battalion's turn this time—veterans from Lichten Hill. We need max speed in extreme conditions; we're perfect for it."
"Give it to my cavalry company! We'll swing around their rear, torch the grub, and bolt back like arrows!"
Sprinkling generous rewards on the scout to fire up the 7th Division officers was working like a charm. Felt good.
I calmed the excited bunch while using Tor Kell and the other recon teams' intel to place wooden markers on the map.
"Recon from Tor Kell's team shows the enemy marching along the Mirkel Highway toward Manfel Plains. They're moving about 16 km a day with supplies in tow, under tight security. That means short sleep for the troops and heavy stamina drain."
To the uninitiated, an army crawling just 16 km a day sounds ridiculous. But there's good reason.
Marches in this era mean infantry on foot, supplies by horse or ox cart. Even pushing hard, distances stay short.
So in a spot with no rush to hurry the march, sticking to doctrine is smart—but locking down tight from the start, when ambushes are less likely?
It means lots of troops on perimeter and recon duty, cutting rest time per man.
By the time they near Manfel Plains, their stamina will be shot.
Plus, human mental limits mean around two nights out, complacency creeps in—"They wouldn't hit us now, right?"—and vigilance slips.
When armies are close, constant rear-threat fear amps up alerts, raising ambush failure odds.
"Troops burning stamina hard tend to drop their guard extreme-like a day or two before hitting the hot zone. Hit supplies and main force then for solid gains, I'd say."
I scanned all the officers, then pointed at one.
"3rd Regiment, 1st Battalion commander—heard your battalion has the best stamina in the 7th Division. Confident in endurance?"
The others grimaced enviously; the picked commander beamed, shooting to his feet.
"1st Battalion commander, Major Millicent von Flugel! My men's stamina is the Reich Army's finest, sir!"
"Move out at dawn tomorrow along their projected march route. Tail them for days, strike at the prime moment."
"Yes, sir!"
I spent an hour briefing march precautions and Manfel Plains tactics, issued orders, then hit the sack.
Two days later, deep in the woods near Brument Village.
"Major Flugel! Enemy recon squad spotted 100 meters to the right."
Flugel smirked and said,
"Night's got us hidden too. Send one squad their way. Play friendly, pump 'em for intel on cuttlefish. Password's for if we spot others nearby."
At his order, Sergeant Filson's squad from 1st Battalion moved out—and bumped into the enemy scouts.
"Friendlies!"