Chapter 306
Chapter 306
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 306
Chapter Title: Training Like the Real Thing, Real Combat Like Training (5)
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The reconnaissance troopers of the 18th Division froze for a split second upon hearing they were friendlies, but they quickly snapped into action just as they'd been drilled beforehand.
"Flash!"
They posed the challenge to Sergeant Filzen and trained their weapons toward the sound of his voice.
But while Sergeant Filzen had their attention, the 7th Division search squad slipped behind them and swiftly took them down.
The monitors assigned to both squads took note of the scene and quietly announced that the 7th Division had captured the 18th Division soldiers. Sergeant Filzen approached the prisoners and asked,
"What's your challenge and password? Tell me what follows 'Flash,' and I'll let you go free."
"...... Can't tell you."
If these had been actual enemy troops from a hostile nation, he'd have pressed a blade to their throats and threatened their lives for the intel. But with monitors watching and no stomach for torturing fellow countrymen in a mock battle,
Sergeant Filzen lit a torch to illuminate himself, then pulled some coins from his pouch.
"Be straight with me, and I'll give you four silvers."
"...... Just disqualify us instead."
Coercing info was fair game in training, but no physical interrogation tactics allowed, so the sergeant sighed in defeat and disqualified them.
"From here on, we're heading to the base of that hill where the lights are clustered—but don't get too close. Keep a safe distance, and when you spot some idiots wandering around with a few torches, approach naturally and shout 'Flash.' First off, strip out of your uniforms and swap into the clothes from these disqualified guys."
".....? Isn't that against the rules?"
"Captured enemy gear is yours to use. Look, even the monitors over there aren't saying a word."
The troopers quickly changed into the enemy uniforms and pressed on with their recon.
The disqualified men obediently headed to the collection point as instructed, while Sergeant Filzen signaled his squad to move toward the cluster of torches at the hill's base.
In the dead quiet of night, making noise or lighting torches would alert the enemy and spell disaster, so they maintained strict noise discipline and moved stealthily.
"Three torches ahead."
"Got it."
This time, Sergeant Filzen steeled himself, barely hiding his pounding heart from the tension, and issued the challenge.
"Flash."
"Thunder."
Sergeant Filzen and his search squad inwardly cheered—they'd secured tonight's challenge and password. But knowing it wasn't enough to just have it; they still had work to do.
The troopers masked their excitement and put on a show of hunger pangs. Truth be told, after days of hardtack and salted meat, they really were starving, which made their famished act all the more convincing.
"Loyalty, Sergeant! That down there—is that the supply unit?"
"It is. But if you're recon, shouldn't you report back as planned? Why go hunting for supplies?"
"We're starving, sir. Days without a proper meal. Head to the supply folks claiming that, and they hand out black bread and a mug of beer, right?"
The sergeant eyed Sergeant Filzen with a mix of pity and disdain.
"It is the supply unit, but the main body's only three hours' march along the road if you hustle. Head back and eat there."
"Got it. Got lost on recon, sir."
"Don't put it like that, or your platoon and company commanders will rip you a new one. Embellish it a bit."
"Yes, sir. Thanks for your time. Loyalty!"
Filzen briefly considered engaging them but decided reporting the password to the battalion commander took priority.
Judging a pointless skirmish could lead to total wipeout, the search squad withdrew straight to their battalion lines.
"Reporting to the battalion commander, sir. 18th Division challenge is 'Flash,' password 'Thunder.' And according to that 18th Division sergeant we met an hour ago, that's their supply unit below, with the main body about three hours away on foot."
"...... Good work."
Major Flugel mulled it over.
An army on the march covered about 15 kilometers a day, but a soldier on his own, unburdened by wagons or livestock, could make five per hour easy.
Three hours meant roughly 15 kilometers—a full day's separation from the 18th Division main body.
Raiding the supply unit now would deal a massive blow, crippling their food situation badly.
It was a huge win already, but soldiers always hungered for promotion when opportunity knocked, fueling endless greed.
...... Hit the supplies, borrow their uniforms, and raid the main body too? But if this reckless stunt backfires, my post-training eval goes up in smoke.
After fierce deliberation, the battalion commander summoned his officers and issued orders.
"Sergeant Filzen's search squad has the password and enemy positions."
The officers gaped silently, screaming cheers in their heads.
They ached to celebrate the battalion's collective feat with cheers, but yelling in ambush would draw poor marks from the monitors, so they held back.
"Password changes tomorrow night, so we're hitting their unit tonight. Your thoughts?"
The battalion officers replied with steely resolve.
"As men of the 7th Guards Division, passing up an enemy with their backs turned would shame Captain Jaeger!"
"Unless they're disguising their numbers, they're outnumbered."
"When else do we get a shot to wipe their supplies? Just give us the word."
With unanimous backing, Major Flugel declared firmly,
"Gag the entire battalion. Minimal torches only. Load crossbows—arrows first to sweep them, then we charge."
At the major's command, the ready troops set off toward the enemy supplies in just thirty minutes.
Moving gagged and cautious, 1st Battalion avoided early detection.
Hours later, the supply camp came into view for the whole battalion.
Late hour meant most were snug in field tents, save for sentries on strict watch.
Flugel clocked it: Captain Jaeger's blind charges wouldn't fly here.
"...... Light the arrows on your crossbows. Mages, prep Light Ball. On my mark, crossbow and mage units provide covering fire from here, torching their supplies."
Crossbowmen affixed yellow-dyed cloth pouches marking "fire" to mock arrows. Mages aimed wands at the visible wagons.
"Pikes are dead weight here—drop 'em. Pikemen draw sidearms; flailers up front."
The command rippled through the disciplined battalion in seconds. Soon, Flugel signaled with his hand.
Mages chanted Light Ball, hurling glowing orbs at the wagons, followed by arrows.
The orbs burst on impact, flooding the area with light before vanishing; arrows left yellow blotches.
Sentries bellowed,
"Damn it, up and at 'em! Enemy raid! Guard the supplies!"
"...... No raids allowed! Shit!"
"Crazy bastards from 7th Division—how'd you sneak up without a sound?"
Regardless of the sentries' cries, monitors from non-18th units whipped out notebooks and called out,
"Three supply wagons fully engulfed—total loss inside. Two at half. Three minutes more, all gone."
"Three field tents hit, two tents direct magic hits—injured if personnel don't evac in one minute."
"No fire suppression? Fifty percent supplies lost."
The supply commander felt his world crumble at the monitors' words, but he knew exactly what to order.
"Damn it! Damn it! Split the unit—1st and 2nd Companies, extinguish! Rest, defensive posture!"
The supply troops responded capably, no rabble, but faced a tough foe.
Under Major Flugel's lead, 7th Division 1st Battalion spearmen and infantry charged with momentum, covered by distant fire.
They battered mercilessly with padded clubs and flails instead of blades.
Monitors plentifully assigned to both sides tagged the struck soldiers as dead and sidelined them swiftly.
Thus, that night's raid let Major Flugel wipe out two days' worth of the 18th Division's supplies.
"I'd love to push for the main body, but too deep risks detection. This is it—we're pulling back."