Chapter 106 - Like the Eyes of a Lost Child (2)
"Where does a lowborn brat get off mouthing off about someone's birth in front of the company commander, who's like the sky to us?"
Yuergen flicked his cigarette inside the tent as Benzen entered, scattering ash his way. Benzen scowled and dodged it.
"You don't need to act like that. I already know our commander was once a commoner who barely scraped by day to day and couldn't even get a proper education. So watch yourself."
"Was he always like that?"
Yuergen pointed at Benzen with his cigarette and asked Ernest. Ernest glanced briefly at Benzen and replied with a slightly awkward tone.
"His words do seem a bit harsher now."
"So he's always been a rude bastard, huh."
"Krieger, it's better not to talk too much with the commander. Vulgarity is contagious. Ah, Jimman—I'm just talking about the lowborn origins of the commander. I don't hold any grudge against your background specifically."
"Oh, you a commoner too?"
"Jimman was the only heir to the famous Oliver Trading Company in Grimman. Filthy rich. Compared to the commander's family, who used to survive by fishing on a small lake, you might as well call him nobility. Don't feel any camaraderie."
"Hey, don't you just hate noble brats? You two really friends? Want me to rough him up for you?"
Yuergen's offer to shake down Ernest honestly sounded tempting to Robert.
But he wasn't dumb enough to actually ask him to do it.
"Aren't you a noble now too, commander?"
"Hey, you think we're the same as them?"
"I bought a hereditary noble title, so I will be soon."
"You traitorous bastard."
"You said Jimman was rich, didn't you?"
Benzen mockingly added, "The commander sold his body because he didn't have any money."
"Hey, watch your mouth."
Yuergen growled at Benzen's outrageous comment.
"You get selected as an outstanding commoner, agree to serve the army for life, and they give you higher education and military training to become an officer. Since only nobles can be officers, they make you a one-generation noble."
"Yeah. Our excellent commander, that's what he is."
Yuergen chuckled and took a puff as Benzen explained.
He made it sound easy, but the process had been anything but.
News like that would drive any commoner crazy.
Yuergen had been one of thousands of hopefuls selected and admitted to the officer academy.
As the son of a poor fisherman, the only reason he could seize that opportunity was because of his exceptional ability.
Also, his father had recognized his talent and scraped together enough money to at least teach him to read and write.
"His personality and speech are crude, but his skill is undeniable."
"A platoon leader rating his superior? What a joke. Put your gear on and run ten laps out there."
"If it's not military-related, most of what he says can be ignored."
"Tsk tsk… Teaching others to ignore their superiors. Real impressive."
Ernest and Robert were getting dizzy from the back-and-forth.
This was the company commander and a platoon leader?
But there was no bad blood between them.
They insulted each other like breathing, but there was trust and respect beneath it all.
"You've got nothing to do, right?"
"Why would I have nothing to do? Try using that brain of yours."
"They're your juniors. You handle it."
"Let's go."
Benzen barked irritably and led Ernest and Robert out of the tent just as Yuergen had ordered.
"He's changed a lot."
Though Ernest hadn't been especially close with Benzen, they had suffered together for a year as training instructors. He could feel how much Benzen had changed.
Benzen had been a noble type.
He never spoke directly.
Even when he offered advice, he circled around so much it felt like walking into a trap.
As they walked, Benzen turned back slightly. Under the dark sky, his dark brown eyes looked pitch black.
"Everyone who didn't change is dead."
Benzen spoke with a faint smile, eyes shifting from Ernest to Robert.
"Krieger always had problems, so I'm not worried about him. But Jimman, you'd better adjust quickly."
"Adjust to what?"
Putting off the "always had problems", Robert couldn't quite grasp what Benzen meant.
Benzen gave a bitter smile.
"Everyone knows how sociable you are."
That alone told Robert everything he needed to know.
Don't get too friendly with others unnecessarily.
Stay emotionally dry—prepare for the farewells.
Even officers were dying out here.
Soldiers?
The guy who was just laughing and cracking jokes next to you suddenly has a hole in his head.
Or he's become a cripple, screaming for help.
If you go running in to save someone already dead—or about to die—you'll just die too.
Ernest was someone who could be ruthless if it meant survival. But Robert wasn't.
Ernest had grown up without forming many connections aside from his father, Haires, and had endured brutal training.
Ernest did have issues.
Robert, on the other hand, had been raised with love, surrounded by kindness, and was naturally friendly.
To Benzen, Robert looked like someone who'd be dead within a day on the battlefield.
"Jimman, do what the commander tells you. You too, Krieger."
Benzen's dark-rimmed eyes looked like hollow pits.
"No matter what happens. Everyone who didn't follow orders is dead."
Benzen had been commissioned only two months ago. In less than a month since the war broke out, both his senior platoon leaders had died.
Then four more new ones who came after them were killed in succession.
He'd been the 3rd Platoon Leader.
Now he was the 1st—and the most senior platoon leader in the 2nd Company.
He no longer had faith in the officer academy system. He approved of the improved training, but the system itself was flawed.
The academy existed to turn noble sons into officers.
They served briefly as platoon leaders before being promoted and moving up.
The result?
No experienced platoon leaders.
Even with capable superiors, field-level commanders were all rookies. That made it nearly impossible to get anything done.
The only thing keeping them afloat was people like Yuergen—one-generation nobles stuck in place who, with their battlefield experience, could lead competently.
Benzen looked ahead and resumed walking.
Ernest and Robert followed in silence.
The continuous gunfire sounded like rain.
Benzen approached a cluster of tents.
As he neared, a middle-aged man emerged with heavy steps, saluted, and received a salute in return.
His black hair and beard were laced with gray, making him look elderly. But his face showed he was probably in his 40s.
"Krieger, this is Sergeant First Class Gustav, 2nd Platoon's deputy leader. Sergeant Gustav, this is Second Lieutenant Ernest Krieg, your new platoon leader."
Benzen introduced them briefly.
Ernest realized he had just been assigned to 2nd Platoon.
"Pleased to meet you, Sergeant Gustav. I'm Ernest Krieg."
Ernest extended a hand. Gustav looked slightly confused, glanced at Benzen, and then shook hands slowly.
"Gustav. Please speak comfortably, sir."
Despite being a middle-aged man with years of service, Gustav was still a commoner.
For a noble to greet him respectfully—it was overwhelming.
Honestly, it was easier when some noble brat just barked orders and acted high and mighty.
After they let go, Benzen smiled and added,
"Sergeant Gustav fought in the First Conquest War. He's been a soldier ever since. Next to the company commander, he's the one you should trust most."
His tone was gentle, but firm.
"Understood."
Ernest had no intention of acting superior in front of such an experienced soldier—even if he had been top of his class for three years.
Benzen then turned to Gustav with a smile.
"Krieger is capable and humble. There won't be a repeat of last time."
"Yes, Lieutenant."
Gustav answered calmly but eyed Ernest with a hint of skepticism.
Ernest was taller by half a head, lean but well-trained. Still, with his clean-shaven face, he looked like a useless rookie.
"Krieger, listen to Sergeant Gustav for details and stand by. Jimman, let's go."
"Yes, sir."
"Haha…"
Benzen chuckled at Ernest's response.
The expression on his face was unmistakably the one from their academy days—Training Instructor Benzen Johansson.
"There's only a month or two difference between us as soldiers. Call me Lieutenant or Johansson."
"…Yes, Johansson… sir."
"Haha…"
Laughing, Benzen led Robert toward another tent.
Robert looked back at Ernest nervously but followed Benzen toward the 3rd Platoon.
Ernest looked at Gustav and spoke before the gunfire and rain drove him mad.
"Sergeant Gustav, let's go inside and talk."
"Yes, Lieutenant."
They entered a relatively large tent—unused for some time since the previous platoon leaders had died.
Inside, the floor was covered with thick, oil-treated canvas. A table, a chair, a simple cot, and a storage box filled the space.
"Some belongings from the previous platoon leaders are still here. You may use them, or I can dispose of them if they're uncomfortable."
Gustav gestured toward the table, worried Ernest might complain about using the dead's belongings.
"It's fine. If it's useful, I'll use it."
Ernest casually removed his raincoat and hung it on a cord. The tent was sturdy—it didn't even flinch under the weight.
"I'd like to hear about the platoon first. Unless something more urgent needs attention?"
"No, sir."
"Let's sit, then. I need to sit too."
"Ah—yes, of course."
Ernest sat on the cot.
Gustav hesitated, then took the chair.
In the dark tent with no light, a young man and a middle-aged veteran faced each other.
Their lives were vastly different, but the weariness on their faces was nearly identical.