Too Many Anomalies on the Southern Front (1)
Regiment commander. The head of a regiment, the tactical unit of the army. It's a position that commands thousands of soldiers, usually filled by a colonel, though a lieutenant colonel with sufficient experience can handle the job too. Of course, this explanation alone doesn't fully capture the context and weight of the role.
A regiment commander doesn't just lead thousands of troops. They manage the lives of thousands. That's a key distinction from a battalion, which focuses purely on combat execution. A regiment is the smallest unit that can form a proper headquarters by integrating multiple battalions, so the responsibility is incomparable.
Due to its scale and complexity, a regiment commander has to handle combat, administration, and unit operations all at once. They need not just command skills, but organizational management and operational competence too. Without experience, ability, and authority, the structure just doesn't function. In short, it's a post only a seasoned, mature commander can pull off.
If some green kid sits in that chair in a system like this, it's no different from putting thousands of lives at risk. So, a 19-year-old rookie successfully commanding a regiment? That's straight-up beyond common sense.
"Hard to believe, indeed."
The report in Major General Valmont's hand was just as unbelievable.
[4th Infantry Regiment Levon Plateau Area Engagement Report]
The ink was still fresh, gleaming on the page, summarizing the chain of events at the front: maneuver, counterattack, negotiation, withdrawal. It read like a five-year-old's wish list—pure fantasy at first glance. The intricate sequence and impossible exchange ratio only fueled the doubt.
But there were too many unknowns in the report alone. Above all, the 4th Regiment had come back alive. No way to blindly deny it.
"Either a madman... or a genius."
He needed to see for himself.
Thud thud—
Thud thud—
Division headquarters. Two sets of footsteps echoed down the corridor of brick and aged wood. One was mine; the other belonged to the division's operations officer.
In the army, walking with a superior usually has a purpose. Yeah. I'd been summoned. By the division commander himself.
I'd finished my debrief and filed the report after returning, but I hadn't expected this. I'm no military expert, but as a guy who'd done his full service in the Republic of Korea Army, I had the basics down. By that logic, getting called directly by the top brass—not even my immediate CO—was a bit... off.
After regiment comes brigade, right?
I turned to the operations officer escorting me with my question.
"By any chance, where's the brigade commander...?"
"...KIA."
"?"
What the actual fuck. No brigade commander.
But the shock didn't end there.
"The division commander says he especially wants to see your face."
Fuck, why?
It wasn't like I didn't know. Hell, I had too many guesses. Abandoning supplies during withdrawal? Negotiating on my own? Or commanding the battle without authorization, even if it was an emergency? Cassel's appointment as acting regiment commander had been a bit rushed, procedure-wise, so they could make an issue of that.
Even if not those, my mindset was a tad too freewheeling for a soldier's. Maybe I'd fucked up without realizing.
Shit.
In these extraordinary times, extraordinary measures lead to ruin...? But I had brought the regiment back alive, so maybe no court-martial...?
Harboring these worries, I trudged along on our (one-sidedly) awkward march until we reached our destination.
"Go on in."
"Thank you for escorting me."
"I'm coming in too."
Sigh...
Hiding my anxiety, I stepped into the office.
Creeeak—
The door opened to reveal a bear of a man. A wild beard sprawled across his face like a lion's mane, adding to the intimidation. Body of a bear, face of a lion—what the hell was this, some Greek myth monster?
"Division commander, sir. Lieutenant Bertrand has arrived."
"Lieutenant Cassel Bertrand reporting!"
Oh, the division commander? Stunned by the impact, but the operations officer's intro let me snap to a swift salute.
Our division commander didn't return it, though. Glancing over, his eyes were on me, but unfocused, lost in thought maybe. My arm started to ache.
Whatever you're pondering, can you just return the salute already...?
While I muttered irreverent thoughts to steady myself, the agonizing moment passed. With a hand gesture to drop the salute, he spoke.
"You."
"..."
"Why did you make that judgment?"
The question hit out of nowhere, no context. Not a reprimand like I'd feared, either. Seemed tactical, but way too vague.
Instead of blurting What the hell are you talking about?, I dressed it up politely.
"May I ask what you're referring to, sir?"
"The unit's positioning. The high ground is great for defense, but in numerical inferiority... isn't it suicide?"
...Huh?
It could've been innocent curiosity, but the subtle tone (that trailing "isn't it?" dipped down, not up) said otherwise. The written report would've briefed him already—no way a division commander was too dense to grasp it. This was a probe, laying groundwork for something.
...He wants me to walk through my reasoning.
Most likely guess. Lieutenant. 19 years old. Low noble. Every bit screamed "unconvincing." The report was results-only, so yeah.
Bluntly: He suspects I just got lucky, a dumbass fluke.
Made total sense, and clearing it up was easy.
I'm the guy who peeked at the answer key.
No need to open the gallery for this. Short as it was, I'd memorized that tactic cold—could recite it blindfolded.
"Strictly speaking, sir, it wasn't about leveraging the high ground's defensibility per se. I judged it as an axis to strike the chokepoint in short order."
"An axis?"
"Encirclement inevitably splits enemy forces. If we could defeat them in detail, I figured we'd seize the initiative."
The three-star chuckled "Huhu," looking amused, and pressed on.
"You went up the high ground to set up your desired offensive?"
"Yes, sir. Securing mobility was the top priority, leading to that conclusion. Plus, the terrain—flanked by mountains—fixed the enemy's attack direction, letting us shape the battlefield as needed."
Ow, my jaw hurts.
I'd modulated my diction to avoid sounding cocky, which was exhausting.
"Hahaha!"
But the division commander roared with laughter, so worth it.
"Amusing. Very amusing."
He stroked his chin beard, eyeing me appraisingly. Anyone could see he was sizing me up. This had turned into a proving ground, but hey, better that way. Getting noticed by a bigwig like this? Priceless opportunity.
Plus, essential for the goal I'd set on the way here.
No more direct combat command. Ever.
After real action, I'd realized: this shit's no game for civilians. Even with gallery advice. Objectively, our survival was pure, insane luck.
Best bet: join the staff, safely tossing prime ideas from the gallery. If not, at least rear-echelon duties.
Not pie-in-the-sky. My spot was ambiguous enough to exploit. Proven I could save a regiment, but too green for higher command. Wasted as a lieutenant, too risky to promote big.
Classic hot potato.
Division commander's options were in my palm; just nudge the right way.
"Alright, one more question."
"Of course, sir!"
"When bearing heavy responsibility, what do you base your decisions on?"
Another test? Personality check? These want pat answers, even exaggerated.
Nail this, staff officer path opens.
"Above all, mission accomplishment. But obsessing at the cost of lives is folly. Ultimately, a commander must balance judgment, face responsibility head-on, and decide."
Dug up some ROTC platitudes, served 'em up.
"The report had me skeptical... but seeing you, I get it."
Not profound, but he seemed satisfied. Momentum's key.
This reaction? Rear assignment soon.
Heh heh heh.
As I smirked like a scheming villain, he continued casually.
"Good. You're brigade commander as of now."
"?"
? ...Did I mishear?
Brain froze at the bombshell.
"Oh, rank bump too. Congratulations, Colonel Cassel."
"??"
"You're dismissed."
Something was seriously wrong. But before I could protest, the curt dismissal sent me out wordlessly, head spinning.