Chapter 194 - Facing the Marshal (15)
"To Ernest,
It's gotten very cold here in Grimman. I really felt the approach of your first winter away since you left for the battlefield, as I pulled out my old coat for the first time in a while.
Yesterday, while I was cleaning your room, I took some of your notes and books from the shelf and read through the things you wrote while studying.
I'm sorry for looking through them without your permission.
As I read them, I felt proud realizing how hard you always worked, but at the same time, I wondered if I had been too harsh on you, and that filled me with regret.
I've heard that fighting is still going on along the southwestern front near Belliang.
I'm worried that your unit might be involved in the battles there.
Please take care of yourself, and come back safely.
From Haires."
"To Father,
Winter is right at our doorstep already. By the time you receive this letter, I imagine snow will be coming down in Grimman as it always does. Where I am, perhaps because it's by the seaside, it's warmer than I expected. Even in winter, instead of snow, we get rain. Still, when it gets colder, perhaps it will snow here too.
It's thanks to what you taught me that I'm able to write this letter in good health.
There's no reason for you to feel regret or guilt.
I never particularly wished for it, but it's also thanks to you that I was promoted to Captain so quickly and now have four medals pinned to my left chest.
Yes, I received another medal recently.
This time, it was also a Silver Star Medal.
That makes two Silver Star Medals, one Bronze Star Medal, and a Medal of Merit I've received so far.
Robert teased me, saying I'll be the youngest major.
Annoyed, I submitted a recommendation to the higher-ups and got Robert's promotion to lieutenant finalized.
He's fought alongside me for so long—I couldn't just leave him as a second lieutenant forever.
Contrary to your worries, the fighting has basically stopped.
Unless something unexpected happens, I don't think there will be any more battles.
The front line is practically a fortress now, so outside of training and reconnaissance, there's little to do.
I suspect we'll just be waiting here until the war ends.
I'm actually more worried about you than me.
Are you sleeping well at night?
I hope you're not leaving the whole house dark and gloomy just because I'm not there.
I hope we can see each other again soon.
I hope the war will end quickly.
—Ernest
"So, there's no more Second Lieutenant Jitman now."
"But at least we have Lieutenant Jitman, so it's alright."
"Jimman, huh…"
Robert Jitman, who was just promoted to lieutenant, muttered in a gloomy voice, but no one paid any attention.
"Stay sharp, Robert. It won't be long before I make you a captain."
"Don't be ridiculous! I'm not you—how could I become a captain right after being promoted to lieutenant?"
"There's nothing impossible in this world, is there? You're going to be the 3rd Company Commander."
"..."
Ernest bluffed that he'd promote Robert quickly and put him in the 3rd Company Commander's seat to replace Andersen, who would be leaving soon.
With the fighting halted, winter arrived in full force.
No sane soldier thinks of fighting during winter.
Even if the battle resumed by some chance, there would still be plenty of time until spring.
Because of that, a large number of officers were scheduled for promotion and reassignment according to the season.
In particular, Andersen should have been promoted to major long ago, but ended up remaining a captain when the war disrupted everything—making him the top priority for promotion.
For reference, Hans, the Section Chief of Operations, had already been promoted to major.
When Hans was promoted, he ditched his old rifle and began carrying a pistol on his hip—something many people congratulated him on and admired.
Given all these circumstances, in reality, it was virtually impossible for Robert to become the 3rd Company Commander.
Andersen would likely be promoted to major and leave within a month or so, and for Robert to be promoted to captain by then, he'd have to accomplish something on the level of what Ernest had done.
"And what about you—why don't you try being nervous for once, huh?"You might end up getting promoted to major together with the 3rd Company Commander!"
Gnashing his teeth, Robert pointed rudely at his direct superior, Captain Ernest Krieger of the 2nd Company, and shouted back.
"Ha, promotion? There's no way I'm getting promoted before this war ends."
Ernest just laughed off Robert's outburst.
He exuded confidence and certainty.
Despite the fact that everyone present was thinking, "So when is Captain Krieger finally getting promoted?"—his achievements were so dazzling that it felt like they should drag him out by the hair on the spot and pin a major's insignia on him.
'As long as Bertrand's around, there's no way I'm leaving the front lines.'
Ernest was convinced there was no chance he'd be promoted, knowing that Soren and Levin understood Bertrand was keeping a close watch on him and avoiding direct conflict.
To promote Ernest, they would have to make him a major and put him in the Section Chief position under Soren, where he could be best utilized.
But that would mean taking away the post from Major Hans Schum.
The only other option would be to skip two ranks and give him command of another battalion—something that was simply out of the question.
"When did getting promoted turn into a punishment?"
"Promotion was never a punishment."
"It certainly feels like it when you look at our company."
"..."
At Billim's comment, Simon glanced over at Ernest and Robert and shook his head slightly.
Ernest was, of course, a superior worthy of respect, and Robert was a much more capable officer than he let on.
But whenever they acted so far outside the realm of common sense, Simon found it absolutely baffling.
"When do you think we'll get promoted?"
Billim let out a deep sigh as he watched Robert, who had just been promoted to lieutenant.
Unlike Ernest and Robert, who regarded promotion as some kind of punishment, Billim still saw it as a good thing.
"At the earliest, it'll probably be spring."
Simon replied nonchalantly.
"Spring, huh... That's still a long way off."
"It's been pushed back a bit because of the situation getting complicated."
When Billim grumbled, Simon nodded in agreement.
Normally, when there's no war, you serve about a year as a second lieutenant before being promoted to lieutenant.
In wartime, however, promotions happen a bit faster.
Billim and Simon had fought in several battles and even received medals, yet it looked like they would only get promoted to lieutenant after finishing a full year.
The reason was the upcoming wave of mass promotions scheduled for this winter.
With so many being promoted all at once, if even the second lieutenants with less than a year of service were advanced, it would result in far too many sudden changes in assignments.
Robert, on the other hand, had absolutely earned his promotion.
He'd been fighting since Bertagne Forest, after all—no surprise there.
Baumann had already been promoted to lieutenant right after the last battle, so if Robert, who had racked up just as many unwanted accomplishments together with Ernest, wasn't promoted, it would be even stranger.
For the record, when Ernest recommended that Robert be promoted to lieutenant, it wasn't to punish him—it was purely for his friend's sake.
Robert had spent a long time serving as both the 1st Platoon Leader and the Deputy Company Commander.
These roles are typically given to experienced and capable officers, yet Robert had handled them since his greenhorn days as a second lieutenant.
He had done more than enough as a platoon leader.
There's no point in continuing as a platoon leader any longer.
It's time for Robert to start building his experience as a staff officer.
Once the mass promotions begin this winter, Robert, the quartermaster, Jimman—if everything goes as planned—will finally be officially appointed as quartermasters!
Robert might not realize it yet, but Soren, who had already accepted Ernest's recommendation, was paying close attention to the talents of Jimman, the quartermaster.
While Levin, the regimental commander, officially held the authority over personnel decisions, if Soren were to say, "I'd like to assign Lieutenant Jimman, who has outstanding aptitude for supply, to serve as the 1st Battalion's quartermaster," then Levin would likely approve it without hesitation.
Of course, as a lieutenant, Jimman would probably be pushed around by the captains and have a tough time, but that's not Ernest's problem.
Besides, the quartermaster position is one of the most influential among the staff officers.
There's a lot of work, sure, but again, that's none of Ernest's concern—so this was surely done as a favor to his friend.
And if it doesn't work out, oh well.
"By now, everyone's probably busy getting ready for winter," Bruno said with a smile, congratulating Robert on his promotion.
He was thinking of his own family, as well as the farmers of Belliang who suffered under heavy exploitation.
"They'd have finished preparing for winter a while ago. More likely, they're busy wrapping up after autumn than preparing for winter now."
Isaac added, smiling a bit as he agreed.
With winter right around the corner, anyone who hadn't finished their preparations would risk freezing or starving to death.
Around this time, people would be busy storing the crops harvested during autumn and getting the farming tools in order, cleaning up everything from the fall.
"...So, I was right after all, wasn't I?"
Bruno, suddenly caught by a somber thought, murmured in a slightly dark tone.
He had fought, believing that the Empire would occupy Belliang, put an end to the exploitation by royalty and nobles, and finally distribute land to the poor farmers.
In fact, with the implementation of land reform, what he had dreamed of was becoming reality.
Yet, within Bruno, the flames that had once consumed Avril still burned, unwilling to be snuffed out.
What kept those flames alive was the words of Ernest—the most intelligent person Bruno knew.
Ernest had warned that the Empire merely saw Belliang as its breadbasket and could impose harsh taxes at any moment.
In the past, Bruno thought it was a fair trade; after all, simply having one's own land was itself a privilege.
But not anymore.
Now he felt uneasy, even afraid—because he had seen firsthand just how ruthless the Empire could be.
"We can't possibly know what's going to happen just yet, can we?"
Isaac spoke carefully.
Having been exposed for so long to the influence of The Ruthless Ernest Krieger, Isaac—even having received an education worthy of calling himself an intellectual—could now understand Bruno and also recognize that what Bruno wished for was a little too idealistic.
"But yes, I'm sure things will work out."
Isaac smiled at the anxious Bruno as he spoke.
Things will be fine.
They had survived through much worse—surely after making it this far, they wouldn't stumble now?
At those words, Bruno broke into a wide grin too
"Oh! Isaac! I can't believe someone who used to mope around like a rotten mushroom could change this much! I'm truly moved!"
"…A rotten mushroom? That's a bit much."
Isaac shook his head. It had already been more than half a year since he'd been with Bruno, but he still couldn't get used to this man's tactless cheerfulness that flared up from time to time.
The morning, which had started lively thanks to Robert's promotion, soon passed.
Each person went about their own duties, and as usual, Ernest supervised his 2nd Company at the front line, where fortification work was underway.
The front lines were no longer just earthen walls and trenches; now, sturdy brick walls had been built.
There was even a watchtower—small, perhaps, but a watchtower nonetheless.
The Battle of Bertagne Forest had been a tremendous shock to both the Empire and Belliang.
Neither side spared any expense in pouring resources into protecting their front lines.
In this kind of situation, manpower was the cheapest resource.
With just a command, you could have the soldiers digging trenches, building walls, and erecting watchtowers.
On top of that, there was no shortage of stone and timber, since they were in a forest.
In other words, it was practically possible to fortify the entire front line with outposts using just the unit's maintenance budget!
Pretty much free of charge!
"Come on, damn it! There's got to be some kind of morals—if you're going to make soldiers do all this work besides fighting, at least pay us extra!"
"Go ahead and ask for it. If you get it, we'll all go ask too."
Of course, for the soldiers, it was sheer torture.
Winter was right around the corner, the cold was unbearable, and there was no end in sight for the outpost construction.
"If we don't finish before winter, we'll have to keep working even after it comes."
"C-Company Commander!"
"I-I didn't mean it like that, I was just saying…"
"I know you're all working hard. I'll ask them to increase the beer rations."
"Yippee! That's our Captain Fox for you!"
"Stop calling me Fox. That's insubordination."
Ernest patiently calmed the grumbling soldiers and pushed the construction forward.
The reason why Ernest—who was notoriously bad at socializing or currying favor—could manage this was thanks to the good examples set by those around him, especially Robert.
"Every part needs to be built well, of course, but the drainage ditch is especially important. If there's a problem with the drainage, there will be strict punishment."
As he supervised the work, Ernest paid particular attention to the drainage ditch—so obsessively thorough about it, it almost seemed like an obsession.
The soldiers who had been conscripted after the Battle of Bertagne Forest didn't understand Ernest's obsession at first.
But once the autumn rain came and the trenches flooded, they grasped the true significance behind Captain Fox's strict orders.
"The drainage ditch… We have to dig the drainage ditch… The drainage ditch…"
"I don't want to lose an entire leg!"
Even those who had survived the Battle of Bertagne Forest became obsessed with the drainage ditch.
In particular, veterans like Sergeant Gustav, who had served in the field for nearly twenty years as a non-commissioned officer, were fixated on drainage to an almost irrational degree—far more so than the officers or the regular soldiers.
"Does it rain a lot here in spring?"
"Spring rain isn't so bad, but in the summer, it just keeps drizzling nonstop."
"We're screwed."
This obsession only intensified after they learned that the western coast of the continent was plagued by summer monsoons. No one knew when the war would end.
There was a real chance they'd have to defend this trench line for several years.
"We need to dig a bigger, deeper drainage ditch… Bigger and deeper…"
"It's not like the Imperial lands, where it pours as if the sky's falling…"
"Drainage! We need to dig drainage ditches! Just dig the drainage ditches!"
Inside the trenches of Bertagne Forest, digging drainage ditches to prepare for monsoon trench warfare was as basic to survival as breathing itself, especially for those who had seen hundreds, even thousands of corpses swell and burst into mush from the rainwater.
The Imperial Army constantly reinforced and repaired the drainage ditches.
The ones they'd built beneath the trench floors grew so large that the very structure of the trenches became unstable, requiring yet more reinforcement to support them.
***
"Another day of digging drainage ditches."
"Aaaaargh!"
"At this rate, by the end of next summer, not a single one of us will still have both feet."
"..."
It was no different for the Belliang Army.
The Belliang soldiers, who themselves had turned Bertagne Forest into a living hell, knew all too well the misery of drainage works.
As revolting as it was to admit, they grumbled and whined, but in the end, they understood—if they didn't dig properly now, come next summer, both feet might be lost to trench foot, and so they devoted themselves in silence to the task.
With this constant focus on building and reinforcing outposts, soon, every soldier stationed at the front line had become better at construction work than actual combat.
"Maybe I'll work as a construction worker when the war's over."
"Doesn't sound bad to me."
Some conscripted soldiers were seriously considering becoming construction workers when they returned home after the war.
Construction was one of the best-paying jobs available to commoners, since it was physically demanding and required real skill.
"Why would you do that if you can read and do math?"
"Exactly, exactly. Just get a job at a trading company."
But for some reason, the soldiers of the 13th Regiment, 1st Battalion, were aiming for jobs that ordinary commoners could never even dream of.
"My dream is to work under the tax collector."
"These guys are nothing but rotten bastards. How could anyone even think of doing something so wicked?"
"I'm thinking about working under a tax accountant."
"You really are a decent guy. As long as you're not planning to rip off your clients, that is."
They didn't just know how to read and do math—they were even studying the tax system, setting their sights on working under the Tax Collector or a Tax Accountant, those infamous henchmen of the devil.
Of course, actually doing the job was impossible.
Only the privileged class—the nobles—were allowed to do that kind of work.
It was only thanks to the regular nightly sessions of Ernest "The Brutal Krieger's" mental torture that commoners, who couldn't even read their own names before, started setting such grand ambitions for themselves.
"Ah, this is great. The more I teach, the more I find to teach."
"You're insane."
The better his students became, the more Ernest found to teach them, and that fact delighted him.
Robert could only click his tongue, certain the war had driven his friend mad, but he had no way to stop Ernest's mania.
And so, after finishing their daily routines, they'd return to the tent set up behind the trenches—sometimes playing around, sometimes writing letters, then falling asleep.
They never slept in the trench itself.
Technically, during wartime, that's what you were supposed to do, but, as much as they might have wanted to, it simply wasn't possible.
It wasn't impossible to live in the trenches, but it was a lot harsher than most people imagined.
That's why any soldier who stood watch in the trenches at night was always given a day off afterward.
"Letter's here!"
"Waaah!"
"Letters! We've got letters!"
Whenever this time came around, everyone would get excited at the thought of reading their mail.
Thanks to Ernest, the soldiers who had once been illiterate were now able to write plenty of letters back home, and they could even read the replies their families had sent, often penned by a professional ghostwriter.
It was the same for the nobles, and especially for the Imperial Military Academy graduates, who always gathered together at mail call.
"Hehehe! Look! I got two!"
"No way! Why do you always get two?"
"Oh, don't complain to me—take it up with the Young Master of the Duke's House! You letterless bastard!"
The young men from the Imperial Military Academy would gather in one spot to compete over who had received the most letters from Young Master Wilfried of the Duke's House.
What began as idle fun back in the Bertagne Forest had somehow become a tradition.
They used to do it with six people—now, there were only four.
Even now, they always felt the absence of Jonas and Georg.
It would take a bit more time before they could get used to it.
"Ernest didn't get any again."
"That's... too bad..."
Ferdinand and Baumann clicked their tongues at Ernest, who once again hadn't received a letter from Wilfried.
"Why on earth!"
Bang!
Ernest slammed the table in anger and shouted.
Both Ferdinand and Baumann had each received a letter from Wilfried, and Robert had received not just one, but two.
Yet Ernest hadn't received a single letter.
And it wasn't just this time—it had happened last time, and the time before that too!
"The wail of the loser is truly sweet…."
Robert mocked his immediate superior as he began to read Wilfried's letter.
After reading one of the letters through, he casually handed it over to Ernest.
Though Ernest was still fuming, he took the letter without protest and began to read it.
"To Robert.
I forgot something, so I'm sending you an extra letter. Could you tell that fox not to send me such unpleasant letters? I'm already busy enough writing to my friends and hardly have time to read his. And also let him know not to make my friends suffer—tell him to suffer on his own.
From Wilfried."
Ever since Wilfried found out that Ernest and his friends were competing over who received the most letters from him, he'd stopped writing to Ernest directly.
Instead, he always sent Ernest messages indirectly through the other friends like this.
Ernest had complained about it in several letters, but Wilfried only seemed more delighted, as if he'd been waiting for Ernest's protests, and teased him all the more.
Thanks to this, Ernest—who had never once lost the Top Student's Position at the Imperial Military Academy—remained firmly in dead last in this particular competition.
"P.S. I made time to visit House Krieger recently, but no one was there. Judging by how well the place was maintained, it looked like they'd just stepped out for a bit. I'll try to visit again when I get the chance."
Still, at the end of these letters—which were otherwise completely pointless except for teasing Ernest—Wilfried always made sure to leave a few lines addressed directly to Ernest.
Ernest had asked Wilfried to check on Father Haires for him, and though Wilfried could be curt, he'd still carved out time in his busy schedule to visit House Krieger in person.
But it turned out Haires was away, so Wilfried hadn't been able to meet him.
Remembering the last letter his father had sent, Ernest couldn't shake his growing worries.
Haires's letters had always been filled with love for his son.
But recently, the letters had been getting shorter and shorter.
At first, Ernest thought it might just be because they'd been writing more often.
But even back when Ernest was at the Military Academy and they wrote frequently, Haires always filled each piece of letter paper to the brim, sending lengthy, heartfelt notes.
Was his health failing?
Or was he having a hard time because of something related to the Central Intelligence Agency?
Ernest's mind swirled with concern for Haires.
"Hey, why are you taking that?"
As Ernest folded the letter paper with a worried expression and tucked it inside his jacket, Robert tapped him on the shoulder and held out his hand.
"That was addressed to me, you know."
Ernest frowned and slapped Robert's hand away.
Robert snorted.
"Ha! So, our Captain Fox spends all this time teaching his soldiers how to read and write, but turns out he can't even read himself! It was right there at the top. 'To Robert!'"
"Lieutenant Jitman, nothing good will come from making me upset."
"…Guess I shouldn't say that, huh. Really, Wilfried is unbelievable. So careless. Imagine sending me a letter meant for you. But our adorable Ferdie—who's making you grin like that over your letter?"
Noticing Ernest's mood had dropped, Robert prodded him a bit before quickly switching topics, now aiming his attention at Ferdinand, who was absorbed in reading his own letter.
Uncharacteristically flustered, Ferdinand hastily folded up his letter paper.
"..."
"..."
For a moment, a strange tension filled the tent.
Ferdinand tried to slip the folded letter into his jacket, and, sitting across from him, Ernest's fingers twitched.
"Wait. You're not getting away."
Ernest, whose strength couldn't match Ferdinand's but whose speed could, glared at him with urgency and determination.
"It's a girl, isn't it!"
Robert suddenly shouted and sprang to his feet.
Ferdinand's face flushed slightly.
"Ferdinand's been engaged for quite a while. I bet he and his fiancée have exchanged over a hundred letters by now."
Baumann, feigning indifference, neatly organized the letters he'd been reading.
"Oh! Really? Is that so? Then why haven't we noticed until now, hmm?"
Robert grinned slyly and strode over to Ferdinand with a spring in his step.
"It's exactly to avoid situations like this."
Ferdinand tucked the letter inside his jacket, firmly batting away Robert's approaching hand.
"Then why did you read your fiancée's letter right in front of us today? Hm? Why is that, our dear Ferdie?"
"It must be because he's so swept up in love with his fiancée, he just couldn't help himself,"
Ernest chimed in, getting up and joining Robert in crowding Ferdinand.
"Exactly! That's exactly it! So, what kind of sweet nothings were written in that letter?"
Robert pointed straight at Ferdinand and shouted.
Ferdinand, sweating unusually, glanced at Baumann for help.
"She said she'd definitely come visit once the fighting was over in winter…"
"Baumann!"
"…That she'd come if it was safe."
"Oh! Isn't that something!"
"You traitor!"
Thanks to Baumann's informi— no, reporting, Robert reacted with dramatic outrage, and Ernest's eyes flashed as well. Ferdinand scolded Baumann, but Baumann simply shrugged his shoulders.
"Wouldn't this be the perfect opportunity to introduce her to Robert and Ernest? How long are you planning to keep her hidden away?"
"So, Baumann, you've already met her, haven't you!"
"Of course. I've visited the House of Hartmann a number of times."
"So, what was she like? What does she look like? What's her personality like? If even Ferdie is grinning like that, she has to be extraordinary, one way or another, right?"
Shifting his target, Robert started interrogating Baumann.
Ernest, wanting to protect the internal informant, stepped in front of Ferdinand.
Watching Ferdinand squirm in embarrassment, his face bright red, was honestly entertaining.
"Oh, Robert. It's not very gentlemanly to gossip about a lady. Let Ferdinand introduce her to you himself."
But Baumann, ever the cultured nobleman, refused to be rude by talking carelessly about his friend's fiancée.
Ferdinand seemed a bit relieved, though he continued to glare fiercely at Baumann, still visibly anxious.
"For someone like Ferdie, who usually likes taller women, to be so completely captivated..."
"Enough!"
Robert grinned slyly as he spoke, causing Ferdinand to snap in a loud, furious voice.
His outburst was so forceful that Robert jumped in fright and dashed out toward the entrance of the tent.
"...Robert, I'm warning you—don't ever say anything like that again."
Surprised by the volume of his own voice, Ferdinand hesitated briefly, then growled out a warning to Robert.
"She must be short and young."
At that moment, Ernest and Robert realized that, contrary to his usual type, Ferdinand's fiancée must be petite and youthful.
Robert immediately raised both hands in surrender and nodded enthusiastically.
If you said something like, "I know you're not my friend's type," right to your friend's fiancée, you'd probably get slapped across the face with a glove and end up in a duel.
"So, when do we get to meet her?"
Ernest cautiously chimed in, glancing around.
Ferdinand hesitated, lips twitching, then let out a deep sigh.
"Didn't Baumann say? Once it's safe in winter."
Ernest nodded seriously at Ferdinand's answer.
"I'm really looking forward to winter."
"..."
Getting the chance to meet the fiancée of Ferdinand himself—the guy who recites poetry and whispers words of love—felt like a huge event.
I hoped winter would come soon.
…Well, it's just that... uh, when winter comes, the battle will definitely pause, too.
Anyway.