Chapter 53
Chapter 53
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 53
Chapter Title: Hammer and Anvil (6)
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Seeing my soldiers discard their long spears and charge forward, the enemy commander and troops were struck with horror.
"Are those guys insane? No, how are they throwing away their life-saving spears and coming at us?"
"Shit, are we screwed?"
"Should we ditch our spears too and pull out daggers?"
Even veteran soldiers who understood that long spears were useless in a melee knew it, but the rank-and-file clung to their primary weapon out of habit, treating it like their precious lifeline.
That's why, even when ordered to prepare for close-quarters combat, it took them far longer than expected to abandon the spears they habitually carried.
But witnessing my men toss them aside in an instant and charge with secondary weapons as if it were the most natural thing in the world filled the enemy with unfamiliar dread.
And when the soldiers they had to face showed morale piercing the heavens, unlike their own demoralized troops?
"Shit, because you bastards showed up, we couldn't take any prisoners!"
"You sons of bitches, if we'd captured just one more, I'd have been discharged two months early!"
"No need for apologies—just offer up your necks."
Facing opponents who all fought like madmen, the enemy's morale inevitably plummeted.
Just then, a few spells and arrows flew toward them, cutting down more foes. I figured it would devolve into a dogfight anyway, and with no tactics available but a frontal assault...
I judged the most effective approach was for the entire unit, including the battalion commander, to pretend we were all lunatics and fight like it.
Just like in a kids' brawl, where the one who lands even one extra punch despite taking a few wins.
With that resolve, I looked at the Chekovian soldiers and bellowed.
"Offer up your necks! Or surrender and grovel on your knees! Jaeger Battalion—prepare for a dogfight!"
I spun my flail overhead and charged out, and the soldiers began pursuing me at top speed.
The enemy officer witnessing this shouted in a frantic voice.
"Stop that mad battalion commander! I'll award ten gold to whoever kills him!"
Promising a whopping ten gold coins to anyone who killed me suggested the commander blocking our path was someone of considerable rank.
The fact that high-ranking officers were starting to appear meant we were drawing closer to the main camp with the supreme commander.
A little further, and we might seize the headquarters and slay the enemy commander?
"Ten gold is mine..."
I smashed the flail into the lead enemy soldier, accelerating its weighted head, and he died without finishing his words.
Right after, I struck the shoulder of a hesitating soldier with the flail's head and snapped his neck with the shaft.
Then I glanced back briefly and addressed the entire Jaeger Battalion in a booming voice they could all hear.
"Anyone who can't claim half the enemy heads I take in this dogfight will pull guard duty the moment we return! Fight with the resolve to die! I'm right here in front of you."
The sight of their battalion commander delivering a thrashing to the enemy with his flail at the vanguard must have inspired them, as the soldiers roared cheers and followed me.
"Long live the Battalion Commander!"
"Kill the Chekovian bastards!"
To the soldiers facing us, this scene probably looked like hell itself, but to my subordinates—greatly exaggerated, of course...
It already felt like this melee was a relatively safe step toward chopping enemy heads, earning promotions, and speeding toward discharge.
So I was certain.
If we maintained our stamina like this and the hammer-and-anvil maneuver succeeded, our battalion would rack up achievements no one else could rival in battalion-level merit competitions—even if not quite on the scale of the Rhineland Front.
"Those without polearms or one-handed flails, draw your swords! Follow the Battalion Commander and annihilate the enemy!"
"Form groups of five to cover each other! Follow Lieutenant Na!"
"Only the Battalion Commander can pull that off. Don't get cocky trying to play hero!"
In truth, I'd swung the flail relying on the plate armor shielding my body to break enemy morale.
But my soldiers, equipped with only arm guards, breastplates, and helmets, could die if they rushed in like me and got surrounded.
Yet with me charging like a rampaging bull, I couldn't order restraint now... It was truly excellent guidance.
What a magnificent sight. Officers rationally calming a battalion commander and soldiers who had no choice but to go berserk out of necessity.
I slowed my pace slightly in response, and the soldiers, formed into groups of five, stuck close around me to protect their flanks.
"That bastard blocked the sword. Max!"
"Got it, shit! Die, you Chekovian fuck."
"Watch our rear. Or we're dead."
Even in the melee, when one soldier blocked an attack, another stabbed from behind or the side.
They showed teamwork like shielding comrades from unexpected strikes, gradually whittling down the enemy.
If only they could fight like this during spear-vs-spear clashes or other battles, covering each other.
But this was only possible in spear-less close combat where allies and enemies were right on top of each other; normally, distances made it hard.
Meanwhile, the officers of the unit locked in fierce combat with us all sensed their limit and began pleading with the one offering the ten-gold bounty.
"Colonel, we'll all die like this! Order a retreat!"
"Haven't we done more than enough?"
Hearing that, I could see their future plain as day.
Idiots.
Under normal circumstances, maybe, but the bastards guarding the supreme commander's main camp begging to retreat as their men died? What do you think happens?
Heads would roll for morale reasons, and the colonel would declare:
'His Excellency the Supreme Commander is right behind us. The Grand Duchy forces will never yield. I'll personally behead any cowards. Hold to the end!'
Failing that, before the assault force scraped together—with or without the supreme commander's troops—could even reach His Highness the Crown Prince and sever his head...
Our Reich Empire forces would capture or kill the supreme commander, forcing unconditional defeat on the Chekovians.
But contrary to my expectations, those two commanders' heads didn't fly. Instead, it seemed the colonel grabbed them by the collars and threw them around or something.
No word came of him beheading the two cowards, even after considerable time passed.
A foreboding premonition flashed through my mind.
"Shit, those bastards! The supreme commander's trying to escape!"
As I shouted that, the officers around me turned with questioning looks, but there was no time to explain.
Because no matter how decisive a victory we secured here—slashing the enemy numbers by over half, nearly annihilating them...
As long as that supreme commander's head stayed on his shoulders, they'd hole up in a fortress city like Rezin, just like the Franco army did at the Rhineland Front, and turn it into a defensive siege.
Then Warsaw maniacs itching to check the Reich Empire, or the Ostrica Kingdom, would send massive reinforcements.
The war would bog down in the mud again.
And if things went truly awry, the Reich Empire could end up surrounded by multiple nations like Prussia in the Seven Years' War.
Of course, the odds of it escalating that far were about as low as a Korean living solely on bread instead of rice—but before it even approached that, we had to stop it by any means now.
"Battalion runners—four per horse, form two teams! One to His Highness the Crown Prince, the other to our division commander! Relay: the supreme commander's fleeing! That damned bastard seems to be escaping—deploy cavalry to intercept!"
Normally I'd explain, but no time for that now.
"Damn it all. But if we withdraw the battalion here, they'll realize we've sniffed out the vile enemy supreme commander's plan. We charge straight for the enemy main camp! Break through those bastards one second faster, by any means necessary!"