Chapter 43
Chapter 43
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 43
Chapter Title: If You're Going to Throw a Fit, Boast About It (2)
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The reactions from the high-ranking officers inside the tent to my response fell into two broad categories.
First, those who had questioned me, including the general, grinned with meaningful smiles as if this were their chance, staring me down.
Meanwhile, supporters like His Highness the Crown Prince and Count Venner looked at me with expressions of horror, as if they'd seen the devil himself, frantically signaling with their eyes.
I couldn't catch the exact meaning since they weren't speaking aloud, but it was probably something like this.
'You crazy bastard, why would the guy in charge of the advance reconnaissance battalion pull off something that could be seen as overstepping his authority?'
In that moment, His Highness the Crown Prince spoke in a solemn tone laced with the intent to punish me if necessary.
"It is true that I granted Major Jaeger discretion. Still, a detailed explanation seems in order. Anyone here curious about the operation he conducted may ask as many questions as they like."
With permission from the highest authority in the room—practically an invitation to tear into me as much as they wanted—the white-haired major general with his beard turned fully gray turned to me with a question.
"You haven't forgotten the role of the advance reconnaissance battalion, have you? Even with granted discretion, engaging in frontal combat is a clear violation of military law—one punishable by death."
I did feel a flicker of confusion and fear at the mention of execution.
But showing any sign of intimidation now would only invite fiercer attacks, so I buried my emotions deep and responded with full confidence.
"Leading twenty detachment members, I located the enemy encampment while scouting. Using a map obtained from three enemy soldiers we captured during reconnaissance, we spotted their main force and assessed their numbers, morale, and food rationing situation. In the process, we discovered that a significant portion of their supplies relied on requisitions."
In intelligence gathering, enemy food supplies and morale are crucial intel, but confirming them is notoriously difficult.
The basics, like army size, can be gauged by observing from a high hill or mountain during marches or halts for meals.
High-ranking officers flaunt their family crests on banners, and their movements are public knowledge, making it easy to infer strengths, weaknesses, and tendencies.
But food supplies and morale? Those aren't shared with regular troops unless there's a special reason—even excluding the top brass and senior officers.
Because if the enemy knows your food situation and morale, it gives away hints on what strategies you'll employ.
For example, good supplies allow for prolonged or short campaigns, but poor ones force a decisive quick battle.
The general who had picked a fight with me snorted derisively at my words.
"What army doesn't rely on requisitions? Thanks to your Bruno territory stockpiling hardtack and rations, they're down to about twenty percent this time. Normally, it's thirty to forty percent! The rest might be useful, but food intel? Useless. Unless you're hitting supply trains with your twenty-man detachment against hundreds."
Several other generals nodded in agreement.
His Highness looked worried that I—whom he'd backed into using discretion—might get cornered, his face grave.
I pulled out several forged documents, perfectly mimicking Chekovian official formats to evade scrutiny, and explained.
"The moment we confirmed that, my detachment rushed to villages along the Chekovian army's projected advance route. Posing as their supply officers with these fakes, we requisitioned food from nine villages, hauled it to remote spots, and burned the wagons outright. Based on their army size and haul volume, we'd successfully looted roughly eight days' worth of their rations."
The generals murmured in shocked voices.
"That'd be a nightmare for them. Eight days' worth? Losing even one day's rations means cutting allotments over three days..."
"Caught them completely off guard. Reduced rations on the march? Deserters must be spiking."
"They say war isn't fair like in the old days a century ago, but this is excessive. That young man's sly as a fox."
His Highness, relieved that his burdensome debut campaign had been weakened by my news, smiled broadly and urged me on.
"Continue your report. There's more to tell, isn't there?"
I bowed in acknowledgment and pressed on.
"Successfully depriving them of food wasn't enough. So, I led the detachment in ambushing their advance reconnaissance company, hurling oil barrels and hitting them with fire attacks. Now they face uncertainty—when or where our forces might strike next. Their anxiety will force expanded guards and more scouting, draining morale and stamina on the march."
Chipping away at enemy stamina doesn't show in numbers, so it's not obvious damage.
But consider: a fresh soldier fights three hours; exhausted, only two.
Our troops fresh, theirs weary—in a three-hour clash, the first two might stalemate, but the last hour lets us overwhelm with superior endurance.
This era's wars hinge on melee; marching, charging, physical exertion. Sapping their strength alone boosts our victory odds.
To wrap up perfectly, I bowed to His Highness.
"I could execute this only because Your Highness trusted this mere officer, Peter Jaeger, and granted maximum discretion."
Expressing gratitude, His Highness gazed at me with moved eyes. The nobles who'd criticized me clicked their tongues in resignation.
The general trying to nitpick me glared with ongoing disdain, about to speak again, when Vice Commander Count Venner interjected.
"Brigadier General Chariot, restrain yourself. Further questioning oversteps His Highness's authority. I'd stay silent, but even a glance at the report shows no overreach. Reprimanding without reading it? Did you really graduate Staff College?"
Staff College is mandatory for Reich generals who command real troops, beyond ornamental ones for royals.
Only five percent of academy grads enter— the gateway to generalship.
Unlike the academy, where titles and lineage factor in, it judges pure academics and ability.
Admission is a lifelong boast for captains to majors—even postmortem.
Asking a graduate 'Did you really go to Staff College?' is the ultimate insult for a general.
Plus, my feats were too massive and clear; Chariot's eval would read: 'Idiot who skips subordinates' reports. Failing general material.' No promotions ahead.
Chariot's face drained white; he gaped like a fool, soul fled.
His failed shake-down boomeranged; His Highness, satisfied, said,
"Major Jaeger, you may return to your seat."
As I obeyed, nearby majors eyed my face and chest medals alternately.
Probably thinking they'd need similar feats for their own Silver Knight's Sword Cross—and the guts to spar with generals.
I accepted the stares and sat quietly.
His Highness, synthesizing my intel with all others, declared confidently,
"If scout reports hold, the best clash site is Branov Plain, thirty kilometers from here. Thus, the Chekovian Expeditionary Force under my command advances to Branov Plain at dawn the day after tomorrow."
Passing through as scouts, we'd seen it: utter flat nothing.
A tiny stream for water snaked through—shallow, under twenty centimeters deep despite length.
Useless in battle; no forests for miles. Pure open plain.
No ambushes possible for either side; no surprise tactics.
But against starving, exhausted foes from lost food and extra watches? Ideal.
"At Branov Plain, we'll engage Chekovians traditionally: knights versus knights, infantry versus infantry."
Dramas and games show spearmen skewering knights or knights charging infantry lines.
Even with advisors, novel to large-scale command, His Highness stuck to basics.
Safe full-frontal clash.
Other generals seemed pleased he avoided fancy ambushes for simple tactics.
They nodded, listening intently.
"That's all for today. No further briefings. Colonels and above, inspect your units and review formations. Dismissed."
Hearing that, I exited the massive command tent.