Chapter 25
Chapter 25
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 25
Chapter Title: Offensive Spirit (1)
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I scanned the mock battleground through my binoculars.
It was a beautiful landscape filled with vibrant blue skies. Plains stretched out, with a forest visible in the distance.
The Battalion Commander took the binoculars from me and asked,
"What do you think?"
"Döberitz Training Ground is famous for a reason. With its mix of gentle hills, forests, and rivers—and most of the terrain familiar—there aren't many variables."
"Normally, this is prime terrain for cavalry to shine..."
"Yes, but not today."
"It had better not be."
The Battalion Commander muttered anxiously, unable to shake his worries.
I thought it over carefully, then shook my head.
"There's nothing more we can do now anyway. We just have to trust the troops."
"Right... The training was flawless."
If it's true that the outcome of a battle is decided before it even begins, then there's nothing left for us to do.
Now we just watch.
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The tournament format raised concerns about fairness, but those turned out to be minimal.
They alternated between defense and breakthrough roles to calculate comprehensive scores...
Primarily because all the defending teams used nearly identical tactics. They all laid out barbed wire in a crescent pattern, dug trenches, positioned machine guns—everyone sharing the same cookie-cutter playbook.
...Damn it. These aren't cadets; they're grown men, teenagers even, parroting tactics from my report without a shred of pride.
I swallowed the urge to grumble.
To be fair, our battalion had followed my report to the letter when I wasn't around. I'd be a hypocrite to complain.
In any case, nearly every battalion was less "tournament battling" and more "who can breach this standard-issue trench the best?"
And as that pattern intensified, so did the attention turning my way.
"That guy's Erwin Rommel?"
"My God, he's way younger than I thought. A lieutenant?"
The Battalion Commander let out a hearty laugh at my rapidly tiring expression under those stares.
"Hah! Our staff officer's becoming the army's star! And with those good looks, he's got fans everywhere! Kra ha ha ha!"
"Ah, please stop. Seriously."
I desperately cut him off.
In this era, talk like that could get you labeled a homosexual later!
The Battalion Commander doubled over laughing at my reaction.
"Kuk kuk kuk... You're hilarious... Adjutant, are we up next?"
"Yes, sir."
Manstein smirked slyly before straightening up to reply.
The Battalion Commander sobered and addressed us.
"Whew... Alright, let's get to it."
"Yes, sir."
"Understood."
Back at the temporary command post, the company commanders and staff were still deep in heated debate.
I wondered if the division staff tagging along like that counted as cheating, but...
It wasn't my responsibility, so I pretended not to notice.
In hindsight, I should've advised the Battalion Commander not to bring them.
"Look! Battalions failing to breach trenches are piling up like baskets! Do you really think elite stormtrooper tricks will work in this mess?!"
"N-No..."
"They can't even cross the barbed wire, let alone the trenches, and get wiped out. The judges say it's impossible to score properly!"
"That's exactly why we need a different approach from them..."
"You don't get it! Our Guard Regiment must prove that victory in war comes from superior spirit and combat prowess—that only the brave prevail!"
The Battalion Commander's lips slowly curved into a line at the sight of the staff shouting such nonsense.
...Downward, of course.
"While I was gone... things turned into a total shitshow?"
"Ah, Battalion Commander!"
"Ahem."
The company commanders, who had been outnumbered by rank and momentum, lit up like they'd found their savior.
The staff, meanwhile, looked uncomfortable.
One staff officer, looking the most sour, cleared his throat at me.
"Ahem! 'Shitshow' is a bit harsh, don't you think?"
"Hah, if I can't call my own battalion a shitshow, who can?"
"The higher-ups—the Guard Division, naturally."
Bzzzzt! Lightning crackled between the two majors' glares. Oof, what a standoff.
Fearing stray sparks, Manstein and I quietly slipped away.
Even so, the staring contest between the Battalion Commander and the division staff dragged on.
I whispered to Manstein,
"Why pull this crap on mock battle day? They could've whined earlier."
"They did whine before. The Battalion Commander shut them down with authority each time... Guess that backfired."
"Pride?"
"Yeah, seems they hate being dismissed as regular staff by some 'elite' types."
I frowned.
"Why now? Right before the first mock battle?"
"The battalion's on the hook anyway, so they lose nothing by acting up. Plus, they probably think they're better than a mere lieutenant like you."
"Jeez..."
One staff officer, mid-argument with the Battalion Commander, smugly held up an official document.
"Division hopes the Battalion Commander will 'heed' our 'advice'."
"Th-This violates mission-type command doctrine..."
"File a report with division HQ then. Until you do, you'll heed us."
The Battalion Commander's face flushed purple at the staffer's sleazy words.
But he couldn't muster much rebuttal. Prussia's rigid chain-of-command and disciplinary culture sealed his lips.
Manstein and I could only stare in dismay.
Manstein grumbled soon after.
"...Rank's the enemy, huh."
"Tell me about it. As if this wasn't maddening enough..."
The staffers shot me fierce, hostile glances.
Jealousy? Arrogance? Some tangled mess of emotions hard to pin down.
"If only nothing happened..."
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"Do we really need to dig in and hide? Our troops should endure enemy shells through sheer willpower."
"Machine guns are too heavy and a hassle to move—place the minimum only where needed. The key is attack, always attack."
"Rifles lack firepower, but their accuracy is superb, so each soldier must pick off the advancing enemy from our superior defender's position."
"Defense is merely a brief respite for the next attack. When the enemy comes, hold briefly, then counterattack and sweep their lines."
"A solid defensive line? That's for cowards! Our brave Imperial Army needs only the momentum of advance."
"For close combat, bayonets are essential. Submachine guns? Pfft, that gutless 'Lieutenant's Period Cramps' with no roots or principles? Toss the crap."
I figured if we were doomed to fail, it'd be breaching the trenches.
It made sense—the Guard Regiment wasn't Odin's or God's elite; they were human, capable of mistakes.
But they backstabbed us in defense, of all things.
This was ridiculous. Dig trenches, man machine guns, wait it out, and you win—yet they're doing this?
"Fuck."
"Whoa, junior. Calm down. They'll hear."
Offensive Spirit (Angriffsgeist), they called it. Madmen spouting Franco-Prussian War bullshit. They tangoed with the baguettes at Elan Hill or whatever and think that's the way.
Decisive Battle (Entscheidungsschlacht)? Rely on some "final showdown" and you'll end up like Japan. I've never seen anyone sing that tune and come out on top.
What now... These dog-ass staffers are gonna ruin my military career.
"...Battalion Commander, any bright ideas?"
"You think I've got any?"
Manstein asked slyly, seeing my wrecked expression, but it was pointless.
The Battalion Commander sighed indifferently and glared at the staffers.
In defiance of countless drills, the battalion's trenches were sloppily half-assed, with only a fraction of our machine guns deployed.
Barbed wire was sparsely and pointlessly strung, all submachine guns confiscated. No sandbag revetments for shell protection from the start.
Yet the staffers smirked like they'd won something.
"If trenches give defenders such an edge, shouldn't we minimize them and prepare for counterattack? Right, Battalion Commander?"
"Heh, we should've trained like this from the beginning. What a waste fussing over trenches."
Ah, memories. Back in the day, incompetent asshole superiors sometimes met with "unfortunate accidents"...
Sniff sniff. Why does this smell so familiar—like some ROK Army vibe from another time and place?
"..."
"Hey, junior, easy. No murder, no murder!"
As I toyed with the Luger at my hip, Manstein whispered urgently.
I chewed my lip, held back.
...And witnessed something truly rotten.