Chapter 5
Chapter 5
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 5
Chapter Title: Rhineland Cadet Platoon Leader Selection Exam (1)
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The day had arrived to select the cadet platoon leaders and their platoon members for the Rhineland Front.
Including myself, the twenty Academy students who had applied for the Rhineland Front stood in the center of the drill field, fully clad in our armor.
With officers, Academy professors, and students from first-years to fourth-years all gathered around us in a circle, it felt almost like we were star athletes at a sports day.
Of course, the spectators had probably just come to enjoy watching greenhorn soldiers—trained for a measly month by underachievers with nothing better to do on a weekday—clash in a mock battle.
But once they witnessed the Jaeger Platoon's performance, it wouldn't be mere entertainment. They'd be left in awe, green with envy.
Proving my worth to those who judge people by their status? The thought sent a thrilling rush through me.
"As of 12:00 on May 15th, Imperial Year 220, we commence the selection for cadet platoon leaders applying to the Rhineland Front! Listen carefully to the explanation of the exam format!"
At those words, even the rowdy students and staff stopped their chattering in small groups and focused on the professor announcing the exam details.
"First, out of the twenty cadets participating in this mock battle, only ten will be allowed to go to the Rhineland Front. Thus, pairs of students will each lead their trained platoon members in a single mock battle, with the victor earning the right to deploy."
The professor called it "earning the right to apply," but not a single student here would refuse to head to the front lines.
After all, every one of us twenty—including me—had middling grades and hoped to build our careers quickly on the front lines to climb the ranks.
If we'd never applied, that'd be one thing. But to apply, get selected, and then bail? You'd be branded a coward, and your entire military career would go down the drain.
Who in their right mind would come this far and take that risk?
"Now, I'll explain the evaluation criteria, rules, and exam method for the mock battles. This exercise evaluates only each cadet's command capabilities as a platoon leader. The best way to assess that is through mock battles, so victory or defeat and the overall course of the battle will be judged by Lieutenant Colonel Hans Weber and three other officers. The rules are the same as standard mock battles: melee combat head-on in the central drill field."
The format and evaluation seemed overly simplistic, but there was no better way to gauge platoon command ability.
In this era, armed with medieval to early modern military knowledge, weapons, and tactics, nearly all platoon-level engagements boiled down to close-quarters combat.
And if sharp-eyed commanders were judging, they'd discern each unit's training level, trust in their leader, and the leader's platoon-handling skills just from watching the melee clash.
Plus, melee battles ended quickly, allowing all fifteen matches to wrap up in a single day.
"Finally, before the mock battles begin, do you swear to conduct yourselves honorably and fairly, as befits the Empire and His Imperial Majesty the Emperor?"
All twenty of us cadets responded in unison, reciting the lines we'd been drilled on beforehand.
"From the moment I entered the Academy, I swore to live honorably and nobly for His Majesty and our fatherland! May Deus's judgment fall upon any who break that oath!"
"Good. All cadets, proceed to the designated waiting areas prepared for the participants. Your opponent's name and match order will be posted there. Rest until your match, or mingle with your rival if you wish. That's all!"
At the command, we students headed to the chairs set up near the drill field.
According to the match schedule on the desk in front of my chair, I was dead last—and my opponent was...
As I checked the name, a familiar voice sounded from behind me.
"I never imagined I'd get to cross swords with you, Senior. What a twist of fate."
Turning toward the voice, I saw who it was.
The rotten noble from a month ago who'd mocked me with that question: "Do commoners eat bread mixed with wheat, barley, and sawdust?"
His gaze toward me—an orphan—was still laced with contempt, mockery, and a hint of relief.
He probably figured there was no way a noble like him could lose to some lowly commoner in a mock battle.
Such dogshit prejudices ended today.
"I didn't expect to face a junior like you either. Maybe it's Deus playing a prank. Anyway, how's your platoon training going?"
I asked casually, and he snapped back irritably for no reason.
"I've trained them far tougher than your platoon could ever manage in a month. The mock battle will be over in ten minutes flat. So instead of worrying about Johan von Hausenburg, second son of the Hausenburg barony, fret over how to lose with a shred of dignity."
For a split second, I thought, Is this idiot for real?
But on second thought, no sane noble would insult a fourth-year with that sawdust bread nonsense. Conclusion: he wasn't right in the head.
Still, a blithering idiot who just yelled "charge" was preferable to a clever, insightful foe.
But a true commander never lets his guard down, even against fools.
"Mind sharing how you trained your platoon? If you're right, I'm doomed next match anyway. Might as well hear how the unit that beat Peter Jaeger pulled it off."
Johan burst out laughing at that.
"Haha, fine. The match is in an hour anyway, and this isn't spilling our attack strategy."
"Appreciate it."
And I meant it, for once.
Knowing roughly how he'd trained them would make crushing his platoon child's play.
Puffing out his chest, Johan boasted openly about his unit.
"First ten days: basics like how to hold a pike, swing it, thrust it. Next ten: formations, group attacks. Last ten: split the platoon for internal mock battles or review everything."
He'd faithfully applied the Imperial military manual's methods.
By the sound of it, his soldiers could march in formation and move as a cohesive thirty-man unit.
Functional as a platoon, at least. Enough for an Academy cadet to brag about.
But they were no match for the Jaeger Platoon, drilled from day one to move as one body through drill and stamina training.
Comparing our units as wholes: ours was a steel-clad platoon where every individual's movements synced perfectly.
His? A mud clump that had barely learned to stick together, by his own account.
I was 99% sure of victory. Repaying his insult? That could wait a bit.
"Textbook training, solid as can be. In the army, sticking to the manual is often best."
Johan reacted sourly.
"Is that so? Then forfeit now, Senior. Sure, you'd carry the dishonor of withdrawal, but at least no record of getting crushed by Johan von Hausenburg without landing a blow."
As I opened my mouth to retort, a student council member approached us.
"Cadet Peter Jaeger, Cadet Johan von Hausenburg! Both of you, prepare for battle! Your platoons await on the east and west sides of the drill field. Mock battle starts in fifteen minutes."
Johan and I bolted to our respective platoons.
Reaching the east side where my platoon waited, I saw tension etched on their faces.
Looking at them, I spoke with utter conviction.
"Just follow training, and we win for sure. Hell, the enemy won't even get a swing in. Obey my orders to the letter."
Johan von Hausenburg, let's see how you fare getting trounced by a sawdust-bread-munching commoner.
You won't show your face at social gatherings for a good two years.