Chapter 109 - Like the Eyes of a Lost Child (5)
The 2nd Company advanced without much difficulty.
There were a few instances where soldiers stepped on moss or got stuck in mud and fell, but thankfully, there were no casualties.
"Krieger! Go left and get into the position! Jimman! You too, secure that trench!"
"Yes!"
"Jimman, reporting!"
"Good! Jimman! Johansson, you're with me!"
"Yes!"
Yuergen split the company into platoons and secured three separate positions.
Ernest's 2nd Platoon was assigned a slightly protruding position on the left.
As they rushed inside, they were startled to see people already there—nearly firing in surprise.
Fortunately, thanks to the distinct colors of the Mihahil and Bellian uniforms, an accident was avoided.
"2nd Company here!"
"Shit! Took your sweet time!"
As Ernest shouted, a lieutenant from another company spat curses—not at Ernest specifically, just venting out of stress.
"See that over there?"
"Yes! Is that the expected attack route?"
"Right! Keep a sharp eye! If they break through here, we're all dead!"
"Do we leave this trench as is?"
Realizing this surprisingly young platoon commander was better than expected, the lieutenant smirked.
"If you've got the leeway, fix it. If not, don't bother!"
"Sergeant Gustav! Tear that down with 3rd Squad!"
"Yes, Sven!"
Ernest quickly ordered Gustav and the 3rd Squad to demolish the rear-facing earthen wall. If the Bellians retook the trench later, leaving that wall intact would make reclaiming it a nightmare.
"1st Squad, cover the left. 2nd Squad, face forward!"
"Just break it roughly! The rain'll do the rest!"
While Ernest assigned positions and issued orders, Gustav and the 3rd Squad began digging into the earthen wall with field shovels. Watching this, the lieutenant and his squad rushed off elsewhere.
"Report to the captain that we've secured the trench and are tearing down the rear wall!"
"Yes!"
Once the trench was secured, Ernest sent a runner to inform Yuergen, who was with the 1st Platoon. The messenger crawled low through the connecting trench.
"Hurry up! Quick!"
"We're out of time!"
Gustav and Sven pushed the 3rd Squad hard, and they quickly broke through the base of the earthen wall. Though it had been reinforced with planks, constant rain and neglect had left it vulnerable.
"3rd Squad, cover the front. 2nd Squad, defend the trench line!"
"Yes!"
Ernest placed the exhausted 3rd Squad in the relatively safe center and sent the now-rested 2nd Squad into the trench.
"The captain says he'll be coming to inspect later!"
"Got it!"
The messenger returned with news, and only then did Ernest allow himself a brief respite.
Gunshots and rain roared from the front lines—it was impossible to talk without shouting. His throat felt raw in mere moments.
"Don't stick your head out too far!"
"Lower your stance!"
The squad leaders were keeping their men in check. Ernest, needing to wet his parched throat, reached for his canteen but ended up just drinking rainwater from his palm.
If nothing major happened, all they had to do now was endure.
Should I be happy this means we're trusted? Or worried we're being used?
Ernest's head throbbed at the thought of the dangerous position assigned to his platoon.
The 2nd Platoon's trench was far more exposed than the others—an easy target, and hard for allies to support in a pinch.
Though Ernest didn't have a complete grasp of the forest terrain, even he could tell that this trench was a buffer zone—a trap designed to be attacked first.
Creating and utilizing trenches requires tactical foresight. This one, built by the Bellians, was a double-edged sword for the Empire: hard to use, but if held, it could block nearly all flanking attacks.
No matter what, the 2nd Company had to hold this spot. Success here would secure not only the battalion's rear but the rest of the division as well.
Yuergen may have spoken lightly, but a battle was inevitable. If the Bellian officers weren't complete fools, they'd attempt to flank, and when they did, the first clash would happen here.
"Sergeant Gustav! We need to reinforce the left wall!"
Instead of reacting immediately, Gustav surveyed the trench and his men. He knew Ernest's tone wasn't an order but a request for input.
"The platoon's too exhausted!"
The 2nd Platoon hadn't even fought yet. Aside from the 3rd Squad who'd dug the wall, they had only marched through the forest. But the new recruits, stiff with fear and exhaustion, were already spent.
"I know. But it has to be done now!"
Ernest understood well—his brutal training under Thomas had taught him how quickly tension and fear drained a person. Still, if they didn't reinforce now, they'd pay for it in blood later.
Realizing his mistake, Ernest cursed himself.
He should have prioritized the left wall over demolishing the rear one. His vision was too broad for a mere platoon leader.
He was already thinking of future counterattacks instead of the immediate fight.
That kind of thinking belonged to someone leading a battalion. A platoon leader wasn't supposed to think that far ahead.
It was the same for other officers from the academy. Trained more in large-scale command, they were unprepared for small-unit leadership. Officers like Benzen and Robert were struggling, not due to incompetence but because they were misplaced.
The Empire's top-tier cadets, honed through the finest education, were being wasted as platoon leaders, dying on the frontlines before ever reaching the command posts they were trained for.
"Platoon Leader!"
Someone rushed into the trench, calling for Ernest.
"What is it?"
"Captain says to reinforce the trench!"
"Start with the left wall! Sergeant Gustav!"
"Yes!"
1st Platoon's 3rd Squad had arrived—just in time. Ernest eagerly gave orders, and Gustav, relieved, began reinforcing the left wall using planks salvaged from the demolished rear wall.
How reassuring.
Thanks to Yuergen, Ernest could correct his mistake.
With Yuergen holding strong behind him, Ernest felt a sense of security—just like when Ferdinand was around.
Wilfried... he's different.
Wilfried had also been a great help, but in a completely different realm—while Ferdinand helped with the practical, Wilfried supported the mental.
Damn it. Yeah, if Wilfried were here...
Ernest missed the sensitive, perceptive nobleman dearly. If Wilfried were here, maybe these terrified rookies would find the courage to fight like lightning bolts.
Robert was never cut out for the field. He's perfect for logistics.
Robert would do fine in the field, but his brilliance was in logistics—none had ever graduated with such steady, middle-of-the-road grades. Yet in logistics, he amazed even the instructors.
Jonas might make a decent soldier, but he'd look stunning in uniform. He'll be famous in high society. Maybe retire early and go into business with Oliver's firm, since he and Robert are close.
Jonas had solid grades but was more suited to post-military social life, being fashionable and mild-tempered.
Thinking of his friends, Ernest momentarily escaped this hell. Remembering moments he couldn't return to, it all felt like training again.
Like always, that damned Captain Thomas Kohler had cooked up another horrific training scenario from that cursed mind of his.
"…Damn it…"
Wiping the rain off his drenched face, Ernest forced himself back to reality.
This wasn't training.
There was no instructor to say, "What's wrong, Krieger?" if he made a mistake.
This was real combat.
The soldiers from 1st Platoon's 3rd Squad toiled away at the wall, drooling with fatigue.
Breaking it down was easy—reinforcing it was hell.
Rain eroded the dirt, undoing their efforts.
"If we don't finish in time, we're exposed! Get moving!"
Gustav barked orders while hauling planks and shoveling himself. With over 20 years of military experience, he made the dirt settle like magic.
But the squad was too exhausted. Morale dropped with every collapse of the wall.
"Give me that."
"Huh?"
Eventually, Ernest grabbed a shovel and got to work.
Tall, strong, and well-trained, he shoveled at twice the speed of anyone else.
Hauling dirt uphill inside the trench was grueling, but he never complained.
"Just a little more! Almost done!"
Roused by Ernest's example, the soldiers pushed through and finally finished the wall.
"We did it! Good work!"
"Ughh! My back…"
"Get down! It's dangerous up there!"
Though low, the wall was complete.
Gustav's declaration brought groans of relief, and Ernest's shout quickly had them back under cover.
"Well done, Lieutenant."
"You too, Sergeant Gustav. Sergeant Ralf!"
"Yes!"
Ernest called Ralf to reassign the men.
Though the wall wasn't high, crouching in the trench provided full cover.
To the men, that wall felt like a fortress.
"Well done! Return to your unit!"
"Yes!"
The 3rd Squad of 1st Platoon headed back.
"Report to the captain that the trench is reinforced!"
"Yes!"
Yuergen would likely assume it was finished, but Ernest sent a messenger anyway.
He didn't need to—Yuergen arrived just then.
"Captain!"
"Don't salute, damn it! You trying to get me killed?"
The soldiers tried to salute, but Yuergen barked a curse to stop them.
Wearing a cloak and armor, he was indistinguishable from a distance—saluting him would make him an easy sniper target.
"It's done!"
"I heard. Good job!"
Yuergen grinned under his helmet. Pulling Ernest in close, he whispered.
"Call in the trench guys. 1st and 3rd Platoon will handle the rest."
"You're dumping this on a bunch of rookies and a green lieutenant?"
"Getting cocky after one day, huh? You dare sass your great company commander?"
"I've always been taller than you."
Ernest, usually polite, had learned sarcasm from Robert and wielded it well.
"Tch, got nothing to say to that."
Admitting defeat, Yuergen thumped Ernest's chest plate with a grin.
"You're capable—that's why you're here. Good luck."
Without even checking the trench, Yuergen rushed off.
He knew Ernest would handle it.
Benzen had gotten better at command, but was mentally unstable.
Robert was the most concerning platoon leader—Yuergen had to look after him.
As company commander, Yuergen not only fulfilled his duties but also watched over his young subordinates.
To Ernest, Yuergen was reliable.
And to Yuergen, Ernest was a competent young leader.
"Sven, give them some biscuits and jerky."
"Yes, sir."
Ernest gave the 3rd Squad some food after their hard labor.
It was still morning. Even so, they needed to eat to keep going.
Ernest and Gustav also ate, slicing jerky and softening hard biscuits in the rain to avoid breaking teeth.
Gunfire still roared from the front.
The 5th Division was pushing hard, and Bellian was resisting with all they had.
No one knew how long the battle would last—or how it would end.
After the 3rd Squad ate, the 1st and 2nd followed.
Though tired and cold from the rain, morale was higher than before.
"You didn't need to do it yourself, Lieutenant."
Resting beside Ernest, Gustav spoke in a low voice.
"There's no room for formality in a crisis."
"…"
To Gustav, this young noble and hero's son seemed out of place. His demeanor was more like a grizzled veteran.
"I'm just following what the instructor taught me."
Ernest stood. At seventeen, still growing, he was already the tallest in the company. Gustav had to look up to him.
"We were told to be someone our subordinates respect—and, if possible, our peers and superiors too."
"That's... truly a fine teaching."
Gustav nodded, impressed.
Together, they checked the trench and the men. Squad leaders encouraged their soldiers, and the troops shook off their earlier chaos and focused on defense.
Even a platoon leader holds the lives of his soldiers. Their demeanor can completely change morale.
Seeing their young noble leader identify danger with a sharp eye, prevent it, and even grab a shovel himself, the soldiers began to trust him.
That trust would become respect—if they survived.
"Sergeant Ralf!"
A soldier watching the left called out. Ralf hurried over.
"What is it?"
"Something's out there!"
Something? You either saw it or you didn't.
"Lieutenant! He says he saw something!"
Rather than scold the rookie, Ralf reported to Ernest.
"Battle stations!"
"Battle stations! Battle stations!"
"Report to the captain—engagement possible!"
"Yes!"
"Sergeant Kol! Move 2nd Squad up!"
"Yes! Let's go!"
Without hesitation, Ernest got everyone moving.
He positioned the 2nd Squad where they could support either flank if one broke.
Though bold with experimental tactics, Ernest was also meticulous and cautious. He didn't second-guess or send scouts—he raised the alert level immediately.
When it comes to money and vigilance, more is always better.
Ernest pressed against the left wall, peeking out.
"Where?"
"T-That way…"
The nervous soldier who triggered the alert pointed uncertainly.
"Fer… Sergeant Ralf."
"Yes."
Ernest almost said Ferdinand.
He waved Ralf over.
"See that? Between those two trees?"
"…Yes."
"Fire when I signal."
"Yes."
Ralf crept over to inform the squads.
Ernest had pinpointed hidden enemies before—no one doubted him.
CLICK.
Ernest loaded a round and glanced at Gustav, who looked uneasy but moved to the 3rd Squad's front.
"Kol."
"Yes?"
Even under extreme tension, Ernest remained eerily calm.
"When I signal, fire with the 1st Squad. Pour it in. Don't stay exposed too long."
"Understood."
As silent orders spread, a suffocating quiet fell.
Ernest peeked around the earthen wall, avoiding the top—his instincts screamed danger.
He didn't blink, just stared at the rain-soaked forest. Then, in a flash, he raised his rifle.
"Fire!"
BANG! BABABANG!
Muzzle flashes.
Gunfire.
The forest lit up.
Rain sprayed like mist.
A shout came from the woods in Bellian tongue—likely a charge order.
Ernest fired wildly.
His body moved before thought.
With hands once too small for rapid-fire, he now loaded and fired like a machine.
BABABANG!
Five shots.
The first into the bushes, uncertain.
The next four—clean hits.
Chest and belly shots.
Likely all fatal.
"Damn! That was amazing!"
Ralf, reloading clumsily, praised him.
Everyone knew who had done it.
But Ernest felt no joy.
He'd just killed.
Four.
Maybe five.
Silently, he pulled more rounds.
His head boiled.
His heart pounded.
He felt sick.
But his body, trained to survive, moved with precision.
Still, visibility was poor, and the enemy returned fire. Bellian soldiers reached the trench.
"Uwaaaaaa!"
Only then did Ernest realize—they weren't shouting war cries.
They were screaming in fear.
One young soldier, no older than Ernest, ran weeping, half-stumbling.
BANG!
Ernest shot him in the chest.
The boy collapsed, motionless.
Bellian infantry wore no armor—it wouldn't help anyway.
The Empire's rifles could pierce metal easily.
It wasn't lack of armor—it was lack of materials and logistics.
Even chainmail couldn't stop bullets. Only luck could.
"Shit! How many of them?!"
"Uwaaaah!"
THUNK.
A 1st Squad soldier collapsed with a jerk.
"Keep firing! Don't let them close unless you want to die!"
Ernest shouted as the mood turned to panic.
"Reinforcements are coming—just hold on!"
Yuergen had already been informed.
1st and 3rd Platoons would be rushing to assist.
"They're coming from the front too!"
"3rd Squad will hold them! 2nd Squad, support the 1st!"
Ernest sent all of 2nd Squad to the flank.
The front attackers were being handled by those in the trench.
SZZZZT!
"Damn it!"
His rifle was overheating.
Rain cooled it somewhat, but prolonged fire would crack the barrel—or worse, explode.
Ernest peeked again—
WHIZ!
A bullet grazed by.
"Fix bayonets!"
"Fix bayonets! Fix bayonets!"
"Shi—t!"
They were too close.
Rain reduced visibility, and obstacles were everywhere.
The enemy had closed in before the charge.
Ernest fumbled, dropping his bayonet, cursing. He retrieved and fixed it.
"Kol! Kol!"
"Yes!"
"Pull back and shoot the ones that make it over!"
"2nd Squad fall back! Move! Fall back!"
Kol pulled back slightly—too few to stand firm, too risky to retreat fully.
It was a bad spot.
"You bastards!"
"Die! Die!"
"Uwaaaaah!"
Chaos erupted.
Though 3rd Squad held the front, the flank was failing.
1st Squad was panicking, some even wetting themselves.
"If we lose this, it's over!"
"Ah!"
Then—a voice like thunder.
They turned to see Ernest behind them, bayonet fixed.
"If the flank breaks, 3rd Squad can't hold! The trench is too narrow to escape! Our reinforcements are already coming—there's no retreat!"
He forced them to face forward.
"If we hold, we win! 1st and 3rd Platoon are coming! So are the Baltrachers! Just hold this one charge!"
His voice rang out—no longer shaking.
Haires Krieger's fire, and Thomas Kohler's hammering, had forged a weapon.
Not just a killer—but a leader.
Tactical, strategic, and driven to protect his men.
In this hell, Ernest looked perfectly at home.
He gripped his burning rifle, the pain sharpening his focus.
Rain cooled it—time to shoot again.
In close combat, the man with a loaded gun wins.
He reloaded, ready.
Yuergen wouldn't miss this timing.
Hold out once—and they'd live.
Ernest aimed at the soldier trying to leap the wall.
His young face, with that hardened expression resembling his father and teacher, fit the battlefield too well.
Just as they had feared.
Just as they'd hoped wouldn't happen.