Chapter 86 Rest Period Ends

Far away in the 1st Company’s temporary garrison in the Kingdom of Aragon.

Compared to the turbulent political climate in Paris, the atmosphere here, closer to the center of the conflict, was much more relaxed.

For the soldiers on the front line, the political maneuvering in Paris was too distant.

They were more concerned with what they would eat for the next meal, when they could take a hot bath…

And whether the Company Commander would increase their training.

This afternoon was a rare period of rest, and the soldiers finally had time to quickly clean themselves up and sunbathe their uniforms and blankets.

Morin did not stay in his officer’s tent but sat on an open patch of ground outside the cluster of tents.

He was surrounded by his three Platoon Leaders, Klaus, Bowman, and a host of NCOs, as well as officers and NCOs from other companies and the adjacent battalion.

A group of sturdy Saxon men, each holding a military mess kit filled with intensely black coffee, were gathered, engaged in loud, high-minded conversation.

Men seem to have an innate interest in discussing and debating grand affairs of state and the world, no matter which world they are in.

When a group of men gathers, no matter what they start talking about, they inevitably drift toward two main topics:

Politics and Dirty Talk.

Especially with Morin, the ‘Political Maestro,’ setting the tone, the officers and NCOs of his company had gradually fallen in love with the wholesome collective activity of ‘shooting the international breeze.’

“If you ask me, those Gallic guys just want to play both sides.”

A Second Lieutenant Platoon Leader from the 2nd Company of the 1st Battalion shook his mess kit, which was already empty of coffee. He pursed his lips and continued to offer his expert opinion.

“They definitely hope we and the Britannians fight each other bloody, then they can jump in and pick up the spoils. They probably want to swallow that brilliant crystal ore vein whole!”

“That’s what I think too!”

Lahm, Morin’s 2nd Platoon Leader, nodded vigorously in agreement:

“That guy in the military report named… Viviani, doesn’t look like a good person. Besides, aren’t the Gauls and Britannians in cahoots, both using that arcane technology!”

“You don’t understand. This is called diplomacy.”

Company Sergeant Major Klaus leaned against a pile of crates, educating the group with a seasoned veteran’s tone.

Although he usually looked like a standard Saxon soldier and was the ‘strictest father’ to all the company’s soldiers during training.

He actually became more invested and enthusiastic than anyone else during the ‘political debate’ sessions.

It was a striking contrast.

“War is war, and negotiation is negotiation. They are two entirely different things… Look at the Company Commander; he’s not shouting and jumping around like you all are.”

Everyone’s attention instantly focused on Morin.

Morin was slowly sipping his coffee, which was bitter enough to be cloying—he had confirmed with the field kitchen soldiers that it was indeed coffee beans, and not the ‘coffee without coffee ingredients’ common in the latter stages of the German Army in WWI.

Seeing the gazes converge on him, he only smiled and did not offer any lengthy commentary.

He couldn’t exactly tell these grown men that the Gauls were actually stealing the Britannians’ thunder with this move.

In the world before he crossed over, there was a specific term for that—’Shit Stirrers.’

However, he felt a sense of accomplishment watching his officers and NCOs evolve from roughnecks who only cared about pay and leave, into ‘military enthusiasts’ who could now sit together and discuss international affairs.

This at least indicated that his company was slowly forming an atmosphere of critical thinking, rather than being a collection of order-following machines.

“Company Commander, could you analyze it for us? What kind of result will the Paris talks actually yield?”

Bowman asked curiously:

“Haven’t you become a spellcaster? If we got you a crystal ball, couldn’t you just foresee the outcome?”

“Sergeant Bowman, are you sure you’re not talking about a Romani witch at the fair?” a Corporal teased.

“Bullshit! I’ve been in their tents, and there’s no such thing as a crystal ball!”

“You probably went straight into the innermost tent then~”

“Hahahahaha.”

The others, catching the drift, burst into playful laughter and banter.

See? A seamless transition from political debate to Dirty talk.

However, the topic eventually circled back, and everyone’s attention refocused on Morin, hoping he would offer a few words.

“How would I know?”

Morin shrugged his shoulders.

“But I guess, most likely, no significant results will be achieved. The Britannians stumbled in Seville; they won’t let it go easily.”

“As for us, I don’t think His Majesty will spit out what he has already swallowed…”

“So, we still have to fight?” a Platoon Leader asked.

“Fighting is definitely inevitable. You just have to remember one thing: war is the continuation of politics. The negotiations in Paris and the military developments in the Kingdom of Aragon are closely intertwined.”

Morin took another sip of coffee from his mess kit, then continued:

“And you can’t get on the negotiating table what you haven’t won on the battlefield. So, for us, it’s never wrong to be ready to fight at any moment.”

Just as everyone was immersed in their ‘political discussion,’ oblivious to the world, a flurry of hurried footsteps came from the distance.

Everyone looked over and saw several messengers jogging toward their open patch of ground from different directions.

Judging by their routes, they seemed to be coming from the garrisons of several other companies.

When the messengers arrived nearby, they first glanced at each other.

They all looked surprised, as if they hadn’t expected the people they were looking for to be gathered together.

Then, they snapped to attention in front of Morin and the others, clicking their heels and saluting in unison.

“Lieutenant! Order from Battalion Headquarters!”

The area instantly fell quiet. Everyone stood up, the relaxed, casual atmosphere vanishing without a trace.

Morin and the other Company Commanders exchanged glances, a faint premonition rising in their hearts.

Messengers rarely showed up in such a crowd.

“First Lieutenant Friedrich Morin, 1st Company, 1st Battalion!”

“1st Company, 2nd Battalion Company Commander…”

“Please proceed to the Battalion Headquarters for a meeting immediately!”

Immediately following, the other messengers also spoke up. The people they were looking for were the other Company Commanders present from different battalions.

One young messenger, after delivering the order, couldn’t help but mutter softly: “Hey! What a coincidence, they’re all right here.”

Morin and the others wasted no time, shoving their mess kits into the hands of their subordinates, giving a few quick instructions, and then hurried off with the messengers toward their respective battalion headquarters.

The 1st Battalion Headquarters was set up in a relatively spacious tent.

The 1st Company garrison was the closest to the Headquarters, so Morin and one other Company Commander were the first to arrive.

Before long, all the other notified officers had also arrived.

Major Thomas stood in front of a camp table spread with a map, his face stern, completely lacking the enthusiasm he had shown at the inspection ground earlier.

Seeing everyone present, he wasted no words, tapping the map with the pencil in his hand.

“Gentlemen, the period of rest is over.”

“We just received orders from High Command. The 8th Infantry Division will immediately proceed to Cuenca to prepare for combat.”

The atmosphere in the tent instantly solidified. Although everyone had prepared themselves, knowing that continued combat was inevitable.

When the order was actually given, the heavy pressure instantly descended upon everyone.

“According to the Division’s railway transport plan, our battalion will board the trains this afternoon.”

Major Thomas’s gaze swept across the faces of the four Company Commanders, then he checked his wristwatch.

“It is now 12:42. Return and have your companies prepare for departure. Field rations and bread will be distributed to each company by the quartermaster unit shortly…”

“By 1400 hours, I want to see the entire battalion assembled on the open ground outside the Headquarters. Failure to comply… will result in court-martial!”

“Is that clear?!”

Major Thomas emphasized his words.

“Yes, Major!” the four Company Commanders responded in unison.

“Good. Now go prepare.”

Major Thomas waved his hand, dismissing them. The quartermaster and other auxiliary units were required to stay to coordinate the transfer.

Morin and the others did not say another word. They saluted the Major, turned, and walked out of the command tent with the other Company Commanders.

The afternoon sun outside the tent was still bright, but Morin could feel no warmth in his heart.

The holiday was over.

(End of this Chapter)

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