Chapter 47
Chapter 47
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 47
Chapter Title: Branov Plain Great Battle (4)
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In modern warfare, letting your guard down even slightly means you never know when a missile or enemy ambush might strike.
On the battlefield, drinking alcohol is only permitted after securing total victory and confirming the war's end, or when you're safely in the rear, far from the front lines.
But in this era, there's no such thing as missiles, let alone computer-driven digital gear or horrifying weapons capable of mass slaughter.
And with no regulations on booze—in fact, a shared belief that you drink alcohol when water runs dry—maybe that's why.
My direct superior, the regimental commander, had bestowed two 200-liter drums of beer on our battalion troops, and a lively drinking bash was in full swing.
Normally, I'd lead the toasts and all that at such events.
But with a mountain of battalion commander duties piling up, I turned down the officers' and soldiers' pleas, ordered them to drink just enough not to stumble in tomorrow's fight, and made my escape.
"To the great Reich Empire and His Highness the Crown Prince!"
"Long live the regimental commander who gifted us this beer!"
"To Major Jaeger’s endless victories and the 1st Company's swift discharges!"
Thanks to that, it turned into casual, company-wide gatherings in a freewheeling vibe—which was actually better for lifting the troops' spirits.
Thinking that as I headed to my tent, I spotted Laura trailing me—another escapee from the party—and asked her,
"Forget me, Second Lieutenant. You should get some rest. Didn't you rack up the biggest merits in our battalion today, aside from your battalion commander?"
And she had. Our battalion had ground the enemy battalion to dust on that plateau and turned the tables on the knights charging our flank.
But that was the collective feat of the Jaeger Battalion, so the military honors got split among everyone.
However, Second Lieutenant Laura von Venner personally leading a platoon on my orders to kill the enemy company commander? That was her merit alone.
So I'd acknowledged it while telling her to rest—she must be wiped from her first real battle.
"I'd rather stick by your side, sir. Besides, everyone's a guy back there at the party. Feels awkward for me to join in."
"Ah, yeah. With that much booze flowing, the crude sex jokes fly fast and thick. Bound to feel uncomfortable."
Still, no one in our battalion would dare sexually harass Second Lieutenant Laura von Venner.
She's the lowest-ranking officer, sure, but mess with her and you're declaring war on Count Venner—her father—and the whole count's family.
So she'd never face direct harassment or violence.
But lines like,
'That camp follower's whore that Maronia merchant brought—her tits are insane! Wanna go feel 'em up tonight?'
Even overhearing that crap would grate on her.
"And... once we're back in the field, we hardly get to chat like this. But tonight, everyone's too busy boozing..."
"True enough. With the feast distracting them, we've got plenty of time—like your first day here—to break down why my tactics worked today. Sounds good. Battalion after-action report's done, so once I wrap the ops meeting with the regimental commander, I'll explain it all nice and calm."
Normally, Laura would've lit up at the promise of new tactics and lessons—more than anyone.
But now, she sounded almost disappointed.
"Looking forward to it, sir."
With that, I left her and headed for the regimental commander's tent. Her low rank kept her from following, so she trudged back to the battalion area.
Her slumped back told me everything: she craved praise for her first kill from the boss she admired.
Back when I was a student platoon leader, I was all alone—no one to praise me, no expectations, so I let it slide without much regret.
But I couldn't skimp on compliments for my adjutant on her debut feat just because that's how it was for me.
It nagged at me that I'd overlooked it.
Can't change the past, but after the regimental meeting, I'd track her down and heap on the praise.
She'd love that, for sure.
Clearing my head like that, I arrived at the regimental tent before I knew it.
"Major Peter Jaeger, Jaeger Battalion commander. Here to see the regimental commander. May I enter?"
"Sir! The colonel's waiting inside. Come right in!"
**
The guard led me in, and a familiar, welcome face greeted me.
"As of now, I'm Colonel Hans Weber, newly assigned commander of the 8th Regiment you're part of."
After dying in Korea for some absurd reason, six years had flown by. I'd lost most memories except my parents' names and military knowledge.
Even so, staring at the colonel, I swear I saw subtitles flashing under his face: 'And that actually happened.'
He was the interviewer who'd aced my spotty written-exam orphan ass into the Imperial Academy with top marks. And he'd supervised the student platoon leader trials, inspecting unit training.
My benefactor—with ties dating way back, pre-fame.
"Heh, we've met twice—your interview and platoon trials—so no need for intros."
Snapping to, I saluted.
"Sir! Major Peter Jaeger, Jaeger Battalion commander."
"Good. Man, you've shot up the ranks fast. At your age, I was barely a captain—and bragged as the quickest riser in my class. Major at 21? Hell, you're no novel hero."
"I owe getting this far to you spotting and rating my potential in that interview, sir. I'm always grateful. Truly."
He chuckled.
"Glad you see it that way. Truth is, when you shone on the Rhineland Front, it got me promoted to colonel fast—'the insight to spot a commoner orphan's talent.' So having you under me? High expectations, kid."
"Thank you, sir!"
"Enough chit-chat. Division commander wants your take on the op His Highness passed down—didn't wanna summon a battalion CO direct, so he asked me to relay."
Colonel Hans handed me an official dispatch.
Beating Tsekobia's army—already 25% bigger than ours—is no picnic. Add 20,000 more?
Enemy superiority skyrockets, trapping Reich forces in a crisis we can't escape without miracles.
People say 'wars aren't won by numbers alone,' but most times, more troops hold the edge.
Best play: wrap the Bisochia campaign fast, before reinforcements hit—make them irrelevant.
If the enemy's leaking this on purpose, it's bait to rush our offense.
Showing it to me means our regiment—some units—might intercept them.
And he called me for my input first.
"His Highness seems to be taking this intel seriously. Ordering our division to intercept and block the 20,000 reinforcements—right?"
"Spot on. Intercepting 20,000 needs a full division. Assuming the intel's legit, we'd build defenses about five days from here. Only way to hold off 2.5 times our numbers."
Plus, solid defenses take a month—leaving the division commander twiddling thumbs while others rack merits.
Then fight 8,000 vs. 20,000 uphill battle.
But if 20,000 are really coming... how'd we snag this intel now?
If it were me, I'd hide 20,000 reinforcements and smash our rear when least expected.
So I answered based on plain logic.
"This intel's a deliberate enemy fake."