Chapter 307
Chapter 307
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 307
Chapter Title: Train Like It's War, Fight Like It's Training (6)
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As if perfectly proving the saying that one person's happiness can be another's misfortune, the commander of the 18th Division under the Perosia Front Army was tearing his hair out.
"Argh, fuck! We beefed up security just like the division commander ordered, and this is the goddamn disaster we get! Colonel Checker, you son of a bitch! Give me back my supplies!"
The officers of the 18th Division lowered their eyes and bowed their heads in silence, offering no response.
Normally, they would have said a word or two of comfort to help restore the division commander's sanity, but with the supply convoy ambushed and two days' worth of rations gone, they knew no amount of talk would calm him down.
Usually, seeing a division commander lose his mind and rage like that would have everyone thinking he was pathetic inside, even if they didn't say it out loud. But no one in the army was ignorant of the fact that supplies were quite literally their lifeline.
Not a single person in the room mocked the division commander's outburst or cursed him inwardly for going mad.
Major General Hausen exploded in fury for nearly five full minutes before vowing that once training ended, he'd make Colonel Checker march in full gear around the parade ground for a week. Only then did he regain some composure.
"Deputy commander, how much supplies do we have left?"
The deputy commander shook his head slowly.
That reaction alone told every officer in the room that the situation was dire, and they steeled themselves mentally.
"......The supply convoy was due tomorrow, so by standard rations, we have one day's worth left."
They had braced for bad news, but learning that only one day's rations remained after the convoy was looted delivered a massive mental blow to everyone.
A low, heavy curse echoed through the conference room.
"Fuck, what do we do now?"
"......We're screwed, right?"
"The mock battle hasn't even really started yet. If we get wiped out like this, how the hell are we supposed to fight on the Manfel Plains?"
Major General Hausen listened to the officers' complaints, stared at the map with a look like he'd lost everything, and thought.
Spears, arrows, weapons, and armor were well-guarded at the main base, so even if they clashed with the 7th Guard Division, it wouldn't devolve into a total catastrophe of being unable to fight for lack of arms.
But if they couldn't properly distribute food on the march, it was obvious the starving troops wouldn't fight worth a damn.
The one silver lining for him was that this was just training, not real combat—but that fact offered little comfort to anyone present.
"Operations—what about the next supply convoy?"
"......It won't arrive for three days."
"Then we'll have to stretch one day's rations over three days. It's so fucked I can't even find the words. What the hell was Colonel Checker doing to let them get hit?"
As he spoke, the division commander firmly resolved to summon Colonel Checker to his office after training for a "pleasant chat" outside of any official evaluation.
The other officers watched, silently praying for the colonel's soul.
"Deputy commander, forget the rest. Start rationing immediately and make sure we don't starve after reaching the Manfel Plains. Send a messenger to the next supply unit and tell them to hurry the fuck up."
"Understood."
"Obviously, our command staff joins the rationing too. Cut meals and tough it out. I'd love to ease up on security to conserve energy, but our opponent's Commander Jaeger. Slack off, and who knows what else he'll pull. Maintain security posture as is. Dismissed."
The officers pondered how they would survive the next three days.
No one said it aloud, but they were all thinking the same thing.
'Fuck, we're done for. We should have known the moment we heard Commander Jaeger was taking over as corps commander.'
Still, Peter Jaeger rolled them mercilessly like a demon from hell when drilling, but his rewards were fair and generous by the book, so no one held a grudge.
As the meeting wrapped up, the 18th Division's soldiers, on a break, gathered in small groups to chat.
Normally, true to form for soldiers honest about their desires, they'd swap dirty jokes, talk about family back home, or gossip about their superiors.
But when disaster struck like the supply convoy getting looted, grim talk related to it spread far and wide.
"Sergeant Hans, who handles company logistics, said the whole convoy got wiped yesterday. Fuck. This training's fucked."
"......If the convoy's looted, doesn't that mean no food for the whole 18th Division? What happens then?"
A sergeant serving as deputy squad leader looked at the fresh-faced recruit with pity and said,
"What'd you do when crops failed and food ran out back home?"
"......Starved until the officials sent relief from the capital."
"Exactly. Same shit. Except the relief's three days out. Fuck, so we starve."
"......Marching's hell enough without food. How do we hold up?"
The sergeant spotted officers moving in the background, clamped the recruit's mouth shut, and whispered,
"Even in training, griping about supplies gets you flogged for undermining morale. Shut your trap and eat what they give."
The recruit vividly remembered a senior who'd been flogged and couldn't twitch a toe for a week, so he nodded furiously.
Meanwhile, each company's captain and platoon leaders relayed the division HQ's orders like emotionless dolls.
"Effective immediately, the 18th Division is on restricted rations. Per policy, food distribution is cut to one-third normal."
Soldiers needed double the calories of an average man just to barely endure the grueling march and battles.
Sometimes even that wasn't enough, requiring side dishes and snacks to keep fighting. On one-third rations?
They wouldn't just struggle to hold weapons—they'd barely stand.
The veteran NCOs, knowing this, took their shares with world-weary faces. The troops received theirs in ignorant terror of what was coming.
Normally, a squad's pot would brim full. Now, it barely covered the bottom.
The squad rookies sighed deeply at the sight.
"Fuck, if we serve this as rations, the vets'll kill me."
"March all day on this...? Dead meat."
"......Save me, fuck."
The rookies carried the food back. The veterans, aware of the situation, grumbled but didn't harass them.
"Fuck, this is what they sent for us to eat?"
"Platoon leader said restricted rations. Ears clogged? That's all there is. Eat it, fuck. Keep bitching and you're dead."
"......Yes, Sergeant Garn."
Meal times that should have buzzed with chatter and laughter were deathly silent—no one joked.
Morale across the division plummeted, eroded by physical exhaustion and mental strain.
Thankfully, controllers with experience fighting Peter Jaeger and Lichten stepped in to advise.
They shared that salting water heavily could stave off collapse for 2-3 days.
Unit leaders force-fed the troops salted water.
Thanks to that, aside from about 30 who collapsed into combat incapacity, the 18th Division staggered through the march on the brink of their limits.
They reached the Manfel Plains and finally got proper supplies.
But one good meal couldn't restore their depleted stamina—officers and enlisted alike were scarecrows, weak as rags.
"......Spears this heavy? Fuck, I'm dying."
"Can't hack it? Fall out! This is training like combat, not the real thing!"
"Anyone who can keep going but falls out gets killed back at base! Fuck, if we don't at least pretend to train properly this time, the battalion commander... the battalion commander might get summoned by Division!"
Watching the chaotic arguments, the controllers noted:
'18th Division: Troops' combat effectiveness pushed to the limit due to 7th Guard Division's supply raid.'
Meanwhile, Peter Jaeger, hearing similar reports from his 7th Guard subordinates about the 18th, remarked,
"......I drilled them for two months straight to toughen them up, and they fold this easily to a simple ploy in mock battle. Didn't staff college teach crisis response? Sigh, I don't want to do this either, but thinking of the war in five years, 'training' them thoroughly like this is real help."
One 7th Division soldier overhearing thought to himself,
'Soon it'll be our turn to swing our red berets hard and have some fun rolling them!'