Chapter 87: Field March

Upon returning to the company garrison, Morin immediately sought out Company Sergeant Major Klaus.

The quick-witted veteran was already packing his personal belongings, including his Second Class Iron Cross medal, before Morin even arrived.

Upon learning that they were heading back to the front, Klaus’s expression also became solemn.

Although Morin hadn’t specified the exact combat mission, Klaus knew very well that after the entire 8th Division entered Seville, the unit would no longer operate in smaller combat units as before.

So this was very likely a Division-level combat operation…

Just as Morin finished communicating with Klaus, the 1st Company’s logistics heavy wagon arrived, bringing field rations and freshly baked black bread from the Division Bakery Company.

Upon seeing this, Morin immediately sent a messenger to summon the three Platoon Leaders—he had initially intended to issue the order directly, but called the three over to be on the safe side.

After quickly relaying the tasks, a visible sense of excitement appeared on the faces of the trio.

After saluting Morin, they immediately left the tent with anticipation.

“They seem quite eager,” Klaus commented, watching the three retreat.

Morin: “Don’t worry, I believe they won’t be so eager for long.”

Shortly after the three Platoon Leaders left the Company Headquarters, the assembly whistle blew for each platoon.

The sharp whistle cut through the afternoon’s rare quiet in the camp. Soldiers who were resting, cleaning their gear, or writing letters home jumped up, scrambling out of their tents and assembling in the open ground at maximum speed.

“Attention all, immediately pack all personal equipment!”

1st Platoon Leader Kahn, standing at the head of his formation, issued the command with some excitement.

“In half an hour, proceed to the Company Quartermaster in squad units to draw three days’ worth of rations, then return here to assemble!”

“Dismissed!”

There were no unnecessary words; the command was crisp and decisive.

Hearing the order, the soldiers immediately sprang into action. The entire company garrison instantly plunged into a state of tense yet orderly busyness.

Bowman and the NCOs of each platoon shouted orders, instructing the new recruits to pack their backpacks and check their canteens and mess kits, ensuring everything was tightly secured.

The three newly appointed Platoon Leaders—Kahn, Barrack, and Lahm—shed the awkwardness they displayed during training, their faces serious as they moved through their respective platoons, supervising the soldiers’ preparations.

Although they hadn’t seen combat, the education they received at the military academy and their training over the past period made them acutely aware of the importance of pre-combat preparations.

Half an hour later, the 1st Company had completed its full assembly.

Standing before the formation, Morin found he could easily distinguish the veterans from the new recruits in the company.

The veterans’ faces showed only solemnity and seriousness. Having been through battle, they were well aware of what might happen next.

The new recruits, however, were visibly excited and enthusiastic. The recent inspection and the personal medal presentation by the Crown Prince had filled their heads with ‘Strength and Honor.’

Before 1400 hours that day, the 1st Battalion of the 32nd Zwickau Infantry Regiment completed its assembly on the open ground outside the Battalion Headquarters.

The soldiers queued in silence, led by their respective Company Commanders, walking toward the distant train station.

When the 1st Battalion reached the station, Morin realized that the ‘unit markers’ stacked up here on the system map were not an exaggeration.

Because everywhere he looked, there were companies waiting to board trains.

Evidently, the efficiency of military train scheduling outside of the Saxon Empire’s borders was significantly worse than within the homeland.

Even so, the 1st Battalion received the boarding order approximately 40 minutes later.

A typical military train—windowless boxcars with only two sliding doors—was waiting on the platform.

The soldiers, organized by their platoon NCOs, boarded the train swiftly and orderly in squad units.

The space inside the carriage was very cramped. If you took a deep breath, you would smell a mix of rust, sweat, and leather.

It was an overpowering scent.

Since field kitchens couldn’t be set up on the military train, all soldiers, in addition to their weapons and combat gear, also carried 3 days’ worth of field rations.

One item was the fresh-baked black bread from the Bakery Company, enough to last two days.

In addition, there was a ‘one-day emergency ration,’ which contained hard, brick-like biscuits, a small chunk of cured meat, a handful of dried vegetables, a small packet of coffee powder, and a pinch of salt.

With a long blast of the whistle, the steam locomotive emitted plumes of white smoke, and the military train slowly started, carrying the carriages full of soldiers down the tracks toward the distance.

Since there was little view outside the boxcars, most soldiers quickly found a corner after the train started and fell into a deep sleep, leaning against their backpacks or their comrades.

Although the new recruits were excited, the continuous training had already drained a lot of their energy.

And the imminent battle made them follow the veterans’ advice to rest whenever possible.

Like the other veterans, Klaus also quickly fell asleep.

Morin did not sleep. Since there was nothing else he could do, he immediately entered the 【Magic】 tab and continued to study spells, recording them into his ‘My Spellbook.’

Morin had been busy besides company reorganization these past few days, genuinely putting effort into magic study every night.

And as he became more familiar with the various spell models, his speed in learning spells had somewhat increased.

Today, he was prepared to conquer the final 22% of the 2nd-Circle spell [Misty Step]!

The train rattled on the tracks, making a monotonous and rhythmic “clackety-clack” sound.

Time slipped away with the shaking.

After a full fourteen hours, daylight began to filter through the cracks of the carriage doors.

The soldiers inside the carriage gradually woke up, rubbing their sleepy eyes, their faces etched with fatigue.

The initial excitement and euphoria they felt when they first boarded had long been worn away by the long, tedious journey.

The trains of this era, especially the military trains serving the war effort, offered virtually no comfort.

The carriages were cramped, the air was foul, and it was hard to even stretch one’s legs.

The soldiers could only chew on dry, hard black bread and drink the cold water from their canteens, silently enduring it all.

Two more hours passed. When the sixteen-hour long transport journey finally reached its end, the military train stopped with a screech of brakes. A suppressed cheer erupted inside the carriage.

The doors were quickly pulled open by the platform staff, and blinding sunlight and fresh air poured in.

“Disembark! Quick! Assemble in company units!”

The shouts of the officers echoed across the platform.

The soldiers eagerly jumped off the train, greedily breathing the outside air and stretching their stiff bodies.

Morin stood on the platform, surveying the unfamiliar location.

It was a rudimentary field station: only a few parallel tracks and a small signaling room.

“1st Company! Assemble here!”

Company Sergeant Major Klaus had already begun organizing the troops.

The soldiers quickly found their places, soon forming neat lines on the platform.

The quartermaster soldiers also began to busy themselves, unloading horse-drawn wagons and ammunition crates from the specialized freight carriages.

Since the ‘separation of arms and ammunition’ regulation was enforced during transport, after leaving the platform and arriving at a temporary staging area, the companies spent a little time allowing the soldiers to quickly draw ammunition and rest briefly.

As the other battalions of the 32nd Infantry Regiment gradually arrived, the 1st Battalion, under Major Thomas’s command, began to march.

According to the attack plan assigned to the 32nd Infantry Regiment, the 1st Battalion had to march nearly forty kilometers on foot from this small station to reach the designated offensive staging area.

The reason for the long walk was simple: the rail lines hadn’t been laid any further.

In this era, where mechanized infantry had not yet emerged, long-distance tactical maneuver relied entirely on where the railway lines ended.

And the technology for temporarily laying narrow-gauge rail was not yet fully mature…

So, the end of the railway was the starting point for the infantry’s feet.

Heavy military boots trod on the dusty road. The forty-kilometer field march officially began.

For the 1st Battalion, which had just been heavily reinforced with new recruits and officers, this long-distance field march was undoubtedly a severe test of the unit’s organization and the soldiers’ physical endurance.

The marching column stretched out like a long, gray python, winding between the rugged hills of the Kingdom of Aragon.

The scenery on both sides of the road was mind-numbingly monotonous. In February, the Kingdom of Aragon offered nothing but withered grass and sparse shrubs.

All anyone could see was the constant bobbing of the back of the neck of the comrade ahead…

The occasional sight of a car carrying a regimental-level or higher officer, or the draft horses pulling field artillery, were the rare ‘diversions’ during this march.

Morin’s 1st Company marched at the very front of the entire battalion.

While patrolling back and forth with Klaus, he took a moment to observe the three new Platoon Leaders.

The excited expressions were gone from their faces.

They were now diligently patrolling back and forth with their respective Platoon Sergeants, as required by the combat regulations, maintaining order in the marching column and correcting the spacing between soldiers.

“Keep up! Don’t fall behind!”

“Sip your water! The next rest stop is still far away!”

The shouts of the NCOs echoed through the ranks. They were like a group of dutiful sheepdogs, striving to maintain the integrity of the entire column.

This was the true reality of the junior officers and soldiers in the armies of this era.

Boarding a crowded military train to a completely unfamiliar place, then enduring a long, despair-inducing march led by officers, to arrive at a location called the ‘staging area.’

After a brief rest, they would plunge into a battle where life and death hung in the balance.

According to Saxon Infantry Regulations, during a field march, there would be a ten-minute break for every fifty minutes of walking.

When the whistle for the first break sounded, many new recruits almost instantly collapsed by the roadside, panting heavily, as if all the strength had been drained from their bodies.

“Get up, all of you! No sitting down immediately!”

The veterans and NCOs immediately stepped forward, pulling them back up one by one.

“Move your legs and feet, or you won’t be able to walk later!”

“Take small sips of water. Don’t gulp it all down in one go!”

Morin drank a few sips of water, then walked along the marching column to observe the state of his troops.

The 1st Company was in good shape. Although the new recruits were thoroughly exhausted, under the control and guidance of veterans like Klaus and Bowman, no major problems had emerged.

He walked to the rear of the column and saw several new recruits with pale faces and shaky steps.

“How do you feel? Can you keep going?” Morin patted the shoulder of one young soldier.

The soldier, seeing it was his Company Commander, struggled to stand straight, but stumbled.

“Reporting, sir… I… I can still keep going…” he answered intermittently, panting.

Morin caught a sour smell of vomit from him. He frowned, then pulled a small packet of salt from the soldier’s backpack.

“Dissolve this in water and drink it.”

Then he turned to the nearby Sergeant: “Keep an eye on him. If his condition worsens, call for a medical officer.”

“Yes, sir!”

The ten-minute rest passed in a flash. The whistle for resuming the march sounded mercilessly.

The soldiers let out a low groan but struggled to stand up, shouldered their packs once more, and resumed their heavy steps.

Time passed slowly. The atmosphere in the column grew increasingly tense. Nothing could be heard except for footsteps and heavy breathing.

Fatigue surged in waves, crashing against everyone’s will to continue.

Finally, after reaching the halfway point, Major Thomas gave the order for a thirty-minute extended break.

This time, the soldiers could finally drop their packs and truly relax.

They gathered in small groups, either eating some black bread with water, or, in the case of the ‘big eaters’ who had already finished their bread, pulling out hard biscuits and cured meat to replenish their energy.

Morin also found a spot to sit and eat.

Although a new orderly had been assigned, he had instructed the orderly to walk with his squad during this march, prioritizing his own well-being for now.

“Company Commander, your training methods really work.”

1st Platoon Leader Kahn walked over, dropping down next to him. His face was etched with fatigue, but his eyes held a sincere admiration.

“Even though I and the new recruits in our platoon are exhausted like dogs, not a single person has fallen out yet.”

“Yes,”

Barrack and Lahm also joined them. “In the 2nd Company next door, several soldiers have already been picked up by the field hospital’s recovery wagon.”

They now truly understood the purpose of Morin’s previous high-intensity physical training, including the long-distance marches.

The sweat shed back at the rear camp had now transformed into the capital needed to persevere through this long-distance march.

“This is only the beginning.”

Morin looked at them and said calmly:

“When the fighting truly begins, you will find that the ability to run is the most important factor in survival.”

The three Platoon Leaders fell silent, their expressions turning grave.

They looked at their company’s unit, which was exhausted but still organized, and a sense of unprecedented awe for their Company Commander, who was the same age as them, arose in their hearts.

This man, who had seemed so cynical and irresponsible in the military academy, truly seemed to possess an understanding of warfare far exceeding the average person.

The brief rest quickly ended, and the march resumed.

The latter half of the journey became even harder. Many soldiers had developed blisters on their feet, and every step felt like a needle prick.

But no one stopped. They merely clenched their jaws, silently following the figure ahead, inching step by step toward the unseen destination.

Finally, after more than ten hours of field marching, the entire battalion arrived at the designated staging area before sunset.

It was an open valley, surrounded by rolling gentle slopes, covered with low shrubs and olive trees.

A batch of advance fortification engineers had already set up some basic infrastructure here and marked out the bivouac areas for each unit with lime.

The four Company Commanders quickly led their troops away.

“Disperse! Set up tents! Rest in place!”

When Morin’s command was issued, the soldiers of the 1st Company let out a thunderous cheer, then, as if with a sudden burst of energy, they set up their squads’ tents at extreme speed.

Morin and Klaus were also utterly exhausted, but he couldn’t rest immediately.

After a quick check of the lime markings left by the fortification unit, he, Klaus, and the Platoon Leaders organized the soldiers to dig simple latrines and drainage ditches.

Just as Morin finally returned to his tent, ready to rest and then check on the field kitchen, a messenger ran up.

“First Lieutenant Morin! Please proceed to the Battalion Headquarters immediately for an operational meeting!”

“…”

(End of this Chapter)