Chapter 143 - Death and Honor Are Not the Same (7)
"We have to get out of here immediately."
"I'm well aware of that much."
Hans, desperate, stepped in close to Bailey as he spoke.
Bailey, too, understood the seriousness of their predicament and was thinking along the same lines, but unfortunately, in this unfamiliar forest, he had no idea which way to go.
"The 2nd Company Commander knows the way."
And so, catching Ernest's passionate gaze—the only one who had mastered the paths in this forest he was seeing for the first time—Ferdinand spoke up on his behalf.
Ferdinand had always known that Ernest could read the terrain of a forest with uncanny skill, but he never imagined Ernest would be able to move so precisely in the unfamiliar woods of a foreign land, among vegetation he'd never seen before.
In the midst of a battle raging in an unknown forest, he had relied on sound alone to plunge deep within and land a flanking strike on the enemy's rear.
Anyone who hadn't seen it with their own eyes would find it hard to believe.
"..."
Bailey's face flushed a deep red at Ferdinand's words as he glared at Ernest.
Ernest, knowing by now that anything he said or did would only provoke Bailey further, simply remained expressionless and silent.
And, horribly enough, even that icy detachment now struck Bailey as contempt and scorn.
"…2nd Company Commander, do you know the way?"
Suppressing his feelings with as much self-control as he could muster, Bailey asked Ernest.
Ernest was a little surprised Bailey had decided to ask him anything at all.
He'd been expecting another furious outburst, commands barked as if they were punishment.
"Yes, I have memorized every step of the way we came."
Ernest spoke with care and courtesy, making sure not to come across as arrogant.
He didn't add any extra explanation that might provoke Bailey—he just answered the question briefly.
Of course, by now, even Ernest's short replies only seemed to Bailey like evidence of insolent condescension.
Bailey felt a wave of dizziness wash over him.
It seemed like he might pass out and collapse at any moment.
"…Lead the way. We're moving out of here for now."
"Battalion Commander, sir."
At Bailey's order, Hans urgently called out to him. Bailey snapped his head around to glare at Hans.
Startled by Bailey's chilling gaze, Hans hesitated for a moment, but he had to speak his mind.
"We need to get out of here immediately."
Bailey hadn't meant to leave the forest altogether—just to vacate their current position.
In other words, Bailey still intended to fight Bertrand.
"Section Chief."
Bailey spoke in a voice trembling with suppressed anger, jabbing Hans in the chest with stiffened, forceful fingers.
"Don't go acting like you're the Battalion Commander."
"..."
With the same finger that had poked Hans in the chest, Bailey then jabbed it at himself, practically spitting out his words.
"I am the Battalion Commander. Obey my orders. As a soldier."
The staff officers exchanged anxious looks, silently pleading for Hans to do something about Bailey.
"…Yes, Battalion Commander, sir."
Hans reluctantly backed down at Bailey's words. As a soldier, he had no choice but to follow the orders of his superior. There was nothing he could do.
"Lead the way. Second Company Commander."
"…Yes, sir."
Bailey looked at Ernest and gave the order, and Ernest, having no other option, answered meekly and moved to lead the 2nd Company forward.
"Ernest."
"Let's just move for now. If we stay here, we'll only end up surrounded and killed."
"Damn it…!"
Ernest spoke quietly to Robert.
Then, to discreetly signal Ferdinand, he glanced back at him.
"..."
However, at this crucial moment, Ferdinand found himself unable to focus on Ernest—the comrade and guide he could always trust in times like these.
Instead, he followed the direction of Ferdinand's pained gaze.
"…Georg!"
Startled, Ernest cried out in alarm and tried to rush toward Georg, who was barely standing with the help of another soldier. Georg had taken off his breastplate, and blood streaming from his right shoulder had soaked his deep blue military uniform, turning it almost completely black. He hadn't been seen during the battle—it turned out he had been wounded.
"Second Company Commander!"
As Ernest tried to reach Georg, Bailey barked at him in a harsh, commanding voice.
"Lead the way. Right now."
Bailey, furious that Ernest was ignoring his order and attempting to go to Georg, looked ready to explode.
"..."
Ernest, seeing his friend's injury, was himself on the verge of erupting. He stood ramrod straight like a withered tree, chin tucked in, quietly staring down at Bailey.
His strong right hand gently gripped the gun slung under his right arm.
"Ernest."
In the suffocating silence, Georg's trembling voice quietly broke through.
Ernest's deep, dark irises flicked toward Georg.
Georg was deathly pale, drenched in cold sweat.
Blood splattered on his face mixed with sweat, streaming down and soaking his strained smile.
"I'm fine. Don't worry. I'm way too tough to die from something like this."
"..."
Ernest quietly studied Georg's face and his wound. It looked like Georg had been hit by a bullet.
Fortunately, the injury was less severe than he had feared.
A bullet fired from a powder gun had pierced through the armor and lodged itself in Georg's shoulder.
If not for the armor, the bullet could have torn through bone and muscle, possibly killing him instantly. The shoulder is where the arm meets the torso, packed with blood vessels.
Thanks to the armor, the bullet's force was significantly reduced. While having a bullet stuck in the shoulder was still serious, it wasn't fatal.
"Understood, Georg. Hang in there a little longer."
With a voice eerily calm, Ernest spoke to Georg, then strode forward without so much as a glance at Bailey.
"Let's move."
At Ernest's quiet, almost chanting command, Robert squeezed his eyes shut.
Robert, who had spoken with Ernest's father Haires countless times, was momentarily confused—was that Ernest speaking just now, or was it Haires?
His heart nearly dropped at the resemblance.
Ernest began to walk in silence.
Even as he crossed the uneven forest floor with both hands gripping his gun, he moved as steadily as if he were walking on a finely paved road—completely unfazed.
Although the situation was urgent, and despite Bailey's brutal training that had prepared them all to run through the woods, Ernest deliberately kept their pace slow.
If they started running now, Georg, who was injured, would inevitably fall behind.
"Second Company Commander, where exactly are we going?"
Andersen, who had narrowly survived the earlier battle, asked Ernest, who was leading the way.
Even in a forest where the path wasn't clear, you could tell direction by the sun.
The open plain toward Lanosel was to the north.
Yet Ernest was leading them southeast—deeper into the forest rather than toward its edge.
"If we head straight north, we'll only walk into the enemy's encirclement. The route I used to get here is clear of ambushes, so as long as we move quickly, we should be able to escape the forest safely."
"Hmmm…"
At that, Andersen glanced nervously over his shoulder.
Bailey, panting a little but staring around with a fierce glare, looked like he had no intention of leaving this forest until either Bertrand or Ernest—or someone—was dead.
Bailey's irrational state was painfully obvious.
Anyone watching would have thought the same, and all the soldiers felt it too.
The infantry company officers who had to face the enemy directly, and even the staff officers, all shared the sentiment.
Everyone was watching Bailey as if staring down the barrel of a cannon about to explode.
However, Bailey held the highest rank and position among everyone present.
The military enforces its hierarchy with strict discipline.
Without it, the purpose of military operations could never be accomplished.
Within such a system, the crime of disobeying orders was almost like magic.
Sometimes, people would laugh it off as a joke; other times, it could lead to summary execution without trial.
Once invoked, disobedience to orders could be applied to almost any situation.
Even if Bailey issued irrational or unreasonable commands that would get everyone needlessly killed, as his subordinates, they were still required to follow his orders.
"The enemy isn't attacking," Bailey observed.
"Oh, my God," someone muttered.
Both the staff officers and the soldiers of the 1st and 3rd Companies expressed a mix of disbelief and admiration at the fact that the Belliang Army, despite their overwhelming advantage, was not attacking.
Even Bertrand hadn't been able to block the path Ernest had opened up in that brief moment.
The very fact that Ernest had managed to lead his troops here in the first place was nearly unimaginable.
Ernest had truly managed to find a safe path through the enemy's forest. If things continued as they were, even if they had to circle around, they should be able to escape the forest safely.
In truth, this had only been possible thanks to Bailey's damned training.
If the soldiers hadn't been hardened by Bailey's grueling exercises, they wouldn't have been able to move at this pace—and then the enemy would have blocked the way first.
At any rate, even though Bertrand, commanding the Belliang Army, had entered Belliang's Forest before them, he still couldn't stop Ernest. Even though he had selected locals from Lanosel who knew the forest well and brought them as guides, it made no difference.
For the Belliang Army to block the Imperial Army, they needed to have a clear advantage in both numbers and control of the terrain.
But right now, having more troops and the complicated terrain were actually working against them—making it impossible to move their forces swiftly.
If things continued like this, Bertrand would end up losing the 1st Battalion that he had finally caught in his grasp.
However, Bertrand made no hasty moves.
He didn't pursue the Imperial Army, nor did he rush to cut off their path.
It really seemed like the 1st Battalion would be able to follow after Ernest and escape the forest.
Panting but resolute, the 1st Battalion silently moved after Ernest. Although they were heading southeast and venturing deeper into the forest, none of them felt any lingering anxiety anymore.
"Stop. We'll regroup here."
That was what Bailey said just at the moment when Ernest was about to turn north to leave the forest.
"Battalion Commander Sir."
"What is it?"
Hans called out to Bailey once more, but it seemed Bailey had now completely decided to ignore his subordinates' opinions.
Even though he knew what Hans wanted to say, he pretended not to and asked anyway.
"…No, it's nothing."
In the end, Hans gave up trying to persuade Bailey this time as well. He was afraid that if he tried to talk to Bailey any further, Bailey might actually lose his mind and point his pistol at him.
"Robert, get a status report from the company."
"Got it."
Since Ernest had judged, based on the enemy infantry's movements and speed, that they still had a bit of leeway, he left the company status check to Robert and ran straight over to Georg.
"Ha... Ha..."
Georg was now so weakened from walking while bleeding that he couldn't even stand anymore.
Lying flat on the ground, he panted, his lips pale and blue.
"Take his clothes off."
Ernest, preparing to treat him, loosened the pouch from his belt and gave the order to the soldiers who had been supporting Georg.
"Damn... to have a bunch of men undressing me..."
"And you're saying that out loud? Not even Robert would go that far."
"Haha..."
Even as he was gasping for breath, Georg tried to joke, and Ernest forced a joke in reply.
Georg let out a feeble chuckle.
While the soldiers took off Georg's jacket, Ernest quickly threaded a needle and tied it off with practiced hands.
He held the thread in his lips and reached for his dagger—then hesitated.
"Here."
Next to him, Baumann hurriedly pulled out a thin, short blade and handed it over.
It was the Damn Nail Clipper Knife. Ernest didn't take it right away. Instead, he glanced at the waterskin hanging from his belt, and Baumann quickly realized and sprang into action.
Ernest carefully washed his hands, the knife, and the needle as thoroughly as possible with water, then sterilized both the knife and the needle by heating them over Lighter's flame.
"Hold him."
"You don't have to hold me… This is Georg Brandt you're talking about, as if I'd—Aaaagh!"
Despite Georg's rambling, the soldiers firmly pinned down his arms, legs, head, and torso.
Ernest brought the heated knife to Georg's bleeding shoulder. Georg screamed as the hot blade dug into his wound to extract the bullet. He'd acted tough, but experiencing it for himself, it was blinding agony, just as bad as the rumors claimed.
Without the slightest tremor in his hands, Ernest removed the bullet lodged in his friend's flesh.
To prevent infection and help his recovery, he meticulously cut away any fragments of tissue that had burst or been damaged on contact with the bullet.
Then, working quickly and precisely, he sutured the wound despite the continuing flow of blood, pressed a clean cloth over it, and secured it tightly with a bandage to stop the bleeding.
The time it took to extract the bullet, cut away the contaminated tissue, close the wound, and stop the bleeding was so short that he hadn't even finished checking the condition of the company.
"For now, I've performed emergency first aid. This should be enough to get you through until you can be treated by a Baltracher."
"You bastard… That wasn't… first aid…"
Exhausted by pain, Georg cursed in a voice that was almost a sob.
And Georg was right—this wasn't just first aid.
Under the circumstances, it was the best medical care possible.
Ernest gazed with concern at Georg's sweat-soaked, pain-stricken face for a moment before turning his attention to the other wounded.
There were many who needed treatment, but almost no one had medical skills on par with Ernest, and it was impossible to waste any more time here.
The only way to survive was to get out of the forest as quickly as possible.
"Ernest, status report's done."
At last, the assessment of the company's situation was complete.
Even as Robert was speaking to him, Ernest darted his eyes around and kept his ears sharp, simultaneously gathering information about the other companies as well.
Ernest was a little taken aback by himself.
It felt as if he had two heads, thinking about two things at once.
While he listened to Robert and neatly organized the status of the 2nd Company, he also eavesdropped on and sorted out the statuses of the 1st and 3rd Companies.
Ernest learned the overall state of the 1st Battalion even before Lieutenant Colonel Bailey Hoffman, the battalion commander, did.
'We can still fight, but we can't win.'
Setting aside the urge to retreat, the fact that his friend Georg was wounded, and every other consideration, Ernest evaluated the state of the 1st Battalion with cool objectivity, as a commander.
Seventy-two left in the 1st Company, ninety-five in the 2nd, and twenty-eight in the 3rd—plus the utterly useless battalion commander and a handful of staff officers.
Now, the 1st Battalion's combat strength was less than two hundred men.
On top of that, all the Baltrachers of the 3rd Company were dead, and the Balt Batteries they carried had been left behind with their corpses.
If they showed even a slight opening, the Star of Summer would come crashing down like a meteor and wipe them all out.
To make matters worse, the surviving troops of the 1st Battalion had used up a great deal of bullets and Balt Batteries in the recent battle.
The tangled forest terrain had made it impossible to aim properly, so they'd resorted to spraying suppressive fire the moment they saw the enemy—or even in places where the enemy might be—even if they weren't sure.
Their supplies had already been depleted by the fighting outside the forest.
Moreover, under the sweltering summer heat, everyone was exhausted from fighting their way in from the open plain to the heart of the forest. Their thick uniforms were drenched with sweat, and the thirst from all that sweating was so intense that they had no choice but to gulp down their remaining water.
And now, even that water was gone.
They had no food, the sun would soon set quickly in the forest and bring on the night, and the Belliang Army, with their overwhelming numbers and the supplies they had taken from the 1st Battalion, would be able to press them at their leisure.
Overall, it was a perfectly and utterly screwed situation. They really had to escape this forest immediately.
"If we just capture that bastard and seize the Royal Flag, we can end the war!"
Amid the murmurs of despair, Bailey's furious voice rang out.
"With the enemy before you, do you mean to retreat instead of following orders? And you still call yourself a soldier of the Empire!"
"..."
Andersen's face showed no particular emotion as he silently listened to Bailey's outburst.
But judging by the veins bulging on his sweat-drenched, smooth head, he clearly wasn't in a good mood.
It seemed Andersen had suggested to Bailey that they retreat.
The result, as could be seen, was a blatant failure.
"Battalion Commander Sir, the situation is dire."
Even Ferdinand, who believed it a soldier's virtue to carry out his given mission perfectly by following his superior's orders, said this to Bailey.
Bailey started to say something to Ferdinand, but clenched his teeth and forced himself to hold back.
He had probably wanted to bring up Big Hartmann and Middle Hartmann as a way to criticize Little Hartmann.
But that, at least, he would never actually say aloud.
"Captain Hartmann, I make the decisions."
"…Yes."
Bailey used his position as Battalion Commander to dismiss even Ferdinand's opinion. It was truly a hopeless situation. Bailey acted as if he were a sword-dancing king, using his rank and authority to silence everyone present and force through his own will.
And, given the nature of a military organization, this method was extremely effective at cutting down any rational suggestions rooted in logic and reason.
"The sun will set soon."
Still, Ernest didn't abandon his last hope and tried to persuade Bailey with logic and reason.
"It's far too dangerous to spend the night here—"
"Silence!"
"...."
"All of you! I said shut your mouths!"
The moment he heard Ernest's words, Bailey couldn't stand it anymore and lashed out in anger.
He raised the pistol he'd been gripping tightly and pointed it at Ernest.
"Ernest."
Ferdinand called Ernest's name in a calm voice—not Bailey, who was now aiming a gun at him.
Just now, Ernest had nearly shot Bailey dead.
And even now, with Bailey's trembling hand trained on his chest, Ernest could've fired back at him, faster and more accurately.
Ernest didn't take his eyes off Bailey.
But Ferdinand, knowing full well that Ernest was watching him even with that wide field of vision, met his gaze and slowly shook his head.
A flicker of hesitation appeared in Ernest's once resolute hand, and in the end, Ernest averted his gaze and looked to Ferdinand.
"Battalion Commander Sir, please calm down."
Ferdinand spoke in a calm voice, slowly approaching Bailey, hoping to give Ernest no reason to shoot Bailey.
"As someone in charge of leading a company, I just wanted to report that our situation is dire."
"..."
Rather than grabbing Bailey's hand or trying to seize the gun, Ferdinand simply stepped between the two, standing in front of the muzzle aimed at Ernest.
Apparently, even Bailey couldn't bring himself to point a gun at Ferdinand—the eldest grandson of the Corps Chief of Staff and eldest son of the Corps Section Chief.
So, despite his hand trembling with anger, Bailey eventually lowered the muzzle.
"You bastards, all of you."
Bailey spat the words out through clenched lips, his gaze sweeping over the three company commanders.
"You're not even soldiers. The lot of you—you're not soldiers."
"..."
Though a soldier himself, Bailey said this out of anger and contempt for the company commanders who dared defy his orders.
Panting, he wiped the sweat from his soaked face with his left hand, flicking away the moisture.
After a moment's hesitation, he holstered his pistol with his right hand.
"Prepare for battle."
Bailey's voice was drained of strength, but the tone was still resolute, leaving no room for argument.
"Until we seize Count Lafayette and the Royal Flag, there will be no retreat."
"Yes, sir."
Ferdinand replied to Bailey's order in a calm voice.
Then he took a step back and slowly saluted Bailey.
Bailey looked at Ferdinand with somewhat clouded eyes, returned the salute, and then abruptly turned and strode over to the staff officers.
"Damn it."
Ernest squeezed his eyes shut and cursed under his breath.
Bertrand's provocation had certainly played a role, but even if Bertrand hadn't taunted them, Bailey likely would not have backed down.
Even in this desperate situation, Bailey was showing an equal obsession with both Bertrand and the Royal Flag.
Given the humiliation Bertrand had just inflicted on him, this was a strange reaction.
"So all of this was because of the Battalion Flag?"
Realization dawned on Ernest, and he let out a sigh.
Through Bailey's obsession with the Belliang Royal Flag, Ernest understood that Bailey was blinded by ambition to reclaim the lost flag of the 13th Regiment's 1st Battalion.
The 1st Battalion had not yet recovered their flag or been issued a new one since losing it.
The former commander of the 13th Regiment had acted like an idiot in the Bertagne Forest, and although they fought well in that battle, they suffered heavy casualties and were forced to retreat.
'If I can recover the Battalion Flag with just my 1st Battalion, right here without Levin, something even Levin couldn't do as Battalion Commander…'
That thought had taken deep root beneath Bailey's every decision.
And now, Bailey had no way out.
Even if he managed to escape the forest safely, his military career was finished if he failed to capture Bertrand and the Royal Flag.
He had ignored the opinions of his company commanders and demanded obedience, yet he himself had disregarded Regimental Commander Levin's orders, led his men straight into a trap set by the enemy, and on top of that had failed to report properly.
And so, for this utterly absurd reason, so many soldiers had entered the enemy's killing ground—the forest—and were now waiting for death, unable to escape even when the chance was right in front of them.
"We're screwed."
Andersen's lament spoke for everyone's feelings.