The first day's training was a run, the next was shooting practice, and the day after that came bayonet drills and trench fighting techniques.
At the end of that hellish week, the 3rd Platoon's barracks area was deathly quiet, like a graveyard. All the defiance they'd shown before was gone. The soldiers were utterly spent, too exhausted for anything but rest.
No one dared complain. In just one week, I'd seized complete control of the 3rd Platoon.
Of course, it hadn't been easy.
Stepping on Gunter that first day was just the beginning. Instilling fear and drilling them wasn't enough to fix their rotten attitudes.
Starting the second day, the subtle acts of defiance began. Guys claiming twisted ankles to sit out training, "accidentally" losing supplies, pretending not to hear orders while slacking off. Besides Gunter, there were plenty of pests testing my patience.
That's when my skill [Status Analysis] proved its worth.
"Sniff... Lieutenant! My ankle... my ankle hurts too much to keep going...!"
His pathetic act nearly made me burst out laughing. I smirked inwardly and activated the skill.
⚔ STATUS ⚔👤 Name: Fritz📊 Status: Dissatisfaction with training, slight tension from faking illness
'Tension from faking illness? This bastard...'
I patted Fritz on the shoulder and said,
"Oh dear, oh dear. That's a real problem."
For a moment, he looked relieved at my kind gesture. But the real fun was just starting.
"Isn't it? Still, it doesn't look bad enough for the medics, so while the others train, you can head behind the barracks in full gear and dig some holes. You know how it aches more if you don't move, right?"
His face drained of color the instant I finished. Soon, he was dragged out whimpering.
"S-Sorry! Platoon Leader...!! Please, just this once...!"
The barracks echoed with his pleas. But I didn't blink. His cries faded into the distance until silence returned.
Thud! Thud! Thud! All except the digging sounds from behind the barracks.
Gulp. The guy who'd been clutching his stomach, waiting his turn, swallowed hard. He quietly dropped his hand.
"Anyone else hurting?"
No one answered.
Truth be told, the real headaches weren't the malingerers. The dangerous ones were those harboring deep resentment and inciting others. I kept [Status Analysis] running the whole training session, scanning the platoon like a radar.
On the fourth day, during shooting practice, a soldier dropped a spent casing. At that moment, a faint smile crept across Corporal Kurt's lips beside him.
I targeted him with the skill right away.
⚔ STATUS ⚔👤 Name: Kurt📊 Status: Strong resentment toward the new officer, dissatisfaction with his diminishing influence, tacit incitement to slack off
'...Tacit incitement to slack off? Look at this guy...'
That night, I called Kurt aside alone.
"How's training treating you, Corporal Kurt?"
"Fine, Platoon Leader."
He played it cool.
"Some soldiers were moving awfully slow today. Like they'd planned it."
"No idea, sir."
His eyes flickered. The status window flashed.
⚔ STATUS ⚔📊 Status: Flustered, anxiety over his plan being discovered
"Feeling anxious?"
I threw an arm around his shoulder. It twitched. But he kept lying.
"W-What do you mean, sir?"
"Heh, you're a tough one."
I let go and stepped back. His eyes lit up—he thought he'd dodged it. Kurt straightened up and opened his mouth.
"Platoon Leader, suspecting a soldier's honor without proof is—"
"The Company Commander gave me full authority."
I cut him off.
"In the 3rd Platoon, I can summarily transfer out anyone who disobeys or becomes a problem. No matter who."
I paused, staring him down. Kurt's eyes trembled.
"For example, to the Eastern Front Pioneer Battalion."
Eastern Front Pioneer Battalion. At those words, Kurt went pale.
"Pioneers" here didn't mean settlers. It was like modern combat engineers—clearing the way at the front lines. Minefields, breaching wire and trenches, building bridges under fire, leading assaults. The riskiest jobs on the deadliest front, with poor supplies and brutal winters come fall.
A soldier's graveyard. A legal dumping ground for troublemakers.
Kurt's attitude flipped instantly. Bloodless face, chattering jaw like he was freezing.
"P-Platoon Leader... th-that's..."
Thud! He finally slammed his forehead to the floor.
"I was wrong! Platoon Leader! I... I've committed a mortal sin!"
His words slurred in terror. He crawled forward to grab my boot. I pulled away. Taking it as rejection, he started sobbing.
"J-Just once...! P-Please forgive me...!"
⚔ STATUS ⚔👤 Name: Kurt📊 Status: Extreme fear for his safety, intense desire to survive, absolute intent to obey
Terror. And a raw hunger to live. No acting here.
"I... I lost my mind! Others incited me...! Please, just one chance—I'll be loyal like a dog! Anything you order...!"
He bashed his forehead repeatedly, blood trickling. He didn't stop. I watched a moment, then said,
"Head up."
Kurt froze. Slowly, he looked up. His face was a mess of blood and tears.
"By morning roll call, end everything you started—with your own hands. Or your army days are over."
"Yes! Y-Yes, sir! Thank you, Platoon Leader!"
Next morning at roll call, the platoon lined up. Kurt stood front row, eyes shadowed black from a sleepless night.
I gave the usual headcount and training orders, then added,
"Oh, and I saw the Company Commander yesterday. He promised to personally send our underperformers or slackers to the Eastern Front. Anyone interested?"
Dead silence. Every eye snapped to Kurt. He trembled violently, head bowed.
Fear spreads. Curiosity in their gazes turned to dread as they watched him.
"Platoon, prepare for training."
My quiet command sent them scattering like they'd been whipped. As they geared up, whispers drifted over.
"...You see that? Corporal Kurt."
"Face like death... Shit, I was gonna fake sick yesterday."
"Shut it. Platoon Leader might hear."
A private glanced around in panic.
"How'd he know? We only talked among ourselves, and Corporal Kurt..."
"Dunno, fuck. Someone snitch?"
That's when a shadow loomed over a dawdling soldier. Kurt.
"Hans! You idiot! Get it together!"
Smack! Kurt cuffed Hans on the back of the head. Hans gawked, but Kurt's fierce glare silenced him.
"Shape up, damn it!"
Kurt finished gearing first and bolted out—fastest and sharpest of all.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Rumors about the 3rd Platoon spread through the company like wildfire.
"Hey, check out those 3rd Platoon guys."
"...They look different, huh?"
"Different? They're a whole new unit."
A 2nd Platoon corporal lowered his voice.
"Heard the new 3rd Platoon Leader can read minds."
"Pfft, Corporal Steiner, we know you're full of it. Come on."
A private chuckled, but the corporal was dead serious.
"For real. Some guy faked sick, Platoon Leader pats his shoulder—bam, caught. Dug holes behind the barracks till sunset."
"...No way."
A sergeant from next door chimed in.
"More importantly, what about Kurt? 3rd Platoon's kingpin, turned tail and became the Platoon Leader's dog overnight. Smacking his own guys to suck up."
"Corporal Kurt? What happened?"
"Rumor says... Platoon Leader pulled him aside alone and just said one thing: 'Wanna go to the Eastern Front Pioneer Battalion?'"
"And right after arriving, he stomped Sergeant Gunter flat."
"...Guy's insane, right?"
"Watch your mouth, punk."
Smack. The corporal ended it with a cuff to the private's head.
Surprisingly, every rumor was spot on.