Chapter 65
Chapter 65
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 65
Chapter Title: Snail Hunt (2)
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From the moment Vice Captain Heinz's expression soured, I'd braced myself for some bad news.
But the atmosphere right now was so dire it felt downright excessive.
Dalton slammed his fist down with all his might, punching a fist-shaped hole straight through the wooden desk.
An innocent desk met its untimely end.
"...Fuck, that goddamn Baron Schwaben is such a bastard he'd be too good to eat shit. How the hell does he feed someone a load like this?"
If I stuck my nose in and asked what was wrong, I'd probably catch one of those fists myself, so I figured it was best to keep my mouth shut and shrink into the background.
I resolved to do just that and clamped my lips tight, but then Walter, sitting next to me, spoke up cautiously.
"Squad Leader Martin, aren't you curious what happened?"
"We're not at war here—what's with the formal talk between us? Just speak casually."
Walter gave a faint smile and nodded at my words.
"Baron Schwaben's got connections with some big shots in the capital, and he pulled strings to shove us under some weirdo's command. That's why Captain Dalton's losing his mind."
At the end of the day, war was basically all about the commanders.
What I mean is, during the Imjin War, Admiral Yi Sun-sin and the Japanese daimyo Won Gyun were both commanding the same Joseon navy.
Admiral Yi barely lost a single soldier while turning tens of thousands of Japanese invaders into water ghosts, etching his name into world history.
But Won Gyun took that mighty Joseon navy and flushed it all down the drain at Ch'ilcheollyang.
And now Baron Schwaben had schemed to stick us under some oddball's command...
'No wonder Captain Dalton's raging like that.'
"So, who's this formation officer and commander we're getting stuck with?"
"Some Baron Pappenheim. Total incompetent—gets his own troops killed pointlessly and has a reputation for grinding mercenaries into dust. A real lunatic."
One big difference between mercenaries and a lord's direct soldiers was replaceability.
Mercenary companies could be rebuilt by hiring a new one if one got wiped out.
But direct troops were drawn from the territory's peasants and knights, so replacing them took time and money.
That's why nobles tended to baby their own men and treat mercenaries like disposable trash—rough and reckless.
'Isn't this crossing the line?'
"Is that so?"
"Exactly why Captain Dalton's flipping out even after our veteran platoon leaders earned us that 'standing mercenary' slot."
Meanwhile, Vice Captain Heinz was working hard to calm Dalton down.
"Baron Pappenheim might be an idiot, but this war's big enough to drag out the Imperial Marshal himself. He can't just openly order our mercenary company to die."
"Argh, if it weren't for that, I'd have told 'em all to fuck off and walked. Shit, why's life gotta suck like this? Should I just retire outright?"
"Don't get so heated. Tell us what orders came down first. If it sounds impossible after we hear it, we can all agree to refuse, right?"
Dalton let out a sigh that could sink the earth and clapped his hands.
"You can tell from the vibe, but forget that the formation officer's a moron. The real bullshit is the order he gave, fuck!"
Great generals always issued sound commands, but fools always barked stupid ones and fed their men's lives into the grinder.
And sure enough, this trash noble hadn't failed to disappoint.
If he were the enemy, I'd be clapping and grinning ear to ear. Why'd he have to be our direct superior instead?
'This is insane.'
"The order we got? Nothing less than 'assault the fortress.' And get this—our mercenary company solo. He's straight-up telling us to die."
At those words, the other officers shot to their feet.
"Fuck, that's too much. Even if we somehow take the fortress, most of us die. Fail, and we're done for."
"Treats our lives like fly lives 'cause they're not his men? I oughta wring his neck..."
"Solo fortress assault? Push it one step further, and he'll have us hanged."
Even in a world with machine guns, artillery, and bomber planes, cracking an enemy fortress meant gearing up to churn your own troops through a meat grinder like a blender.
Let alone here, where the only decent ranged options were bows, crossbows, catapults, and magic.
How tough fortress assaults were? Talking about it would just wear out my jaw.
Dalton scowled, then clutched his forehead with both hands.
"Hoo, at least the fortress isn't huge. Supposedly holds about two hundred men."
About then, Hundred-Man Leader Hans sighed and spoke up.
"Our White Beard Mercenary Corps is pretty good at sieges, and honestly, the rookies' combat skills have improved a ton thanks to Martin's training. But to crack a fortress, you need at least three times the numbers. We're short on manpower. Right?"
Dalton didn't argue the point.
"This order's way too reckless. We should protest to someone higher than the Emperor or Baron Pappenheim. Demand more support or a transfer to another command."
Hans had a point, but...
Military life meant unless it was a blatant "go die" order, you had to at least pretend to try the tough ones before crying impossible.
Otherwise, all the rep I'd and our company built would turn to "coward" in a flash.
'Who knows, it might work out surprisingly well.'
"I think we have to at least pretend to follow Baron Pappenheim's orders, no matter how bad."
Hans glared at me, but whatever.
"Think about it. Unless Baron Pappenheim's got mashed potatoes for brains, what's he gain from giving an impossible order and letting us die? Everyone's watching."
"It's not like Baron Schwaben outright screwed us, so he didn't issue it planning to kill us off. If we get wiped or lose, his rep tanks too."
"So scout the fortress thoroughly, test an attack, then decide. If it's hopeless, request support like Hans says or whatever. Won't be too late."
With solid reasoning, I persuaded them, and Dalton and the rest nodded.
"If the White Beard Mercenary Corps flat-out refuses now, how's Baron Pappenheim's face look? Mercs like us don't die from a little shit on our rep, but nobles are different."
These nobles didn't do crazy honor killings like the Islamists, offing family for pride.
But the Rhinepalz minor nobles—the snail pack—were ready to toss their own lives for honor anytime...
Protesting a bad order without solid proof to guys like that?
'If Baron Pappenheim's sane...'
Otherwise, he'd flip out over us lowly mercs disrespecting him.
I spoke with conviction.
"So let's at least pretend, give it a shot. If it looks good, go for it. Worst case, what do we lose? Later, we can bail with an excuse, and show other nobles we're the type who give our all even on tough jobs."
The other officers agreed.
"Scout properly, attack if feasible, protest if not? Rushing in and bruising noble egos would be dumb."
"Might as well play hard since we're paid. Looks better."
"No downside to Martin's plan. Let's do it."
With opinion swaying, Dalton met my eyes, shook his head, then nodded.
"Fine, let's scout the situation first and decide. Since we're doing standing merc duty for Rhinepalz bastards, might as well fake dying if ordered. Alright, for now, we go with Martin's call."
In the midst of it, I caught Hundred-Man Leader Hans muttering under his breath.
'He's been everyone's favorite till now, but this is the signal it'll change from here.'
A bit unfortunate, but when you really start shining, haters pop up. Can't be helped.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Three weeks later, we arrived at Ceriz Fortress, the one Baron Pappenheim had ordered us to assault.
The first time I laid eyes on it, I grinned ear to ear and muttered.
"Looks like a bitch to crack, but doable, I think?"