Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters-Chapter 843 - 88 Narrow Path_2
Chapter 843: Chapter 88 Narrow Path_2 Chapter 843: Chapter 88 Narrow Path_2 “`
The militia from Niutigu Valley, forming the Third Battalion of the left column, had just entered their designated position when they saw logistics soldiers with red armbands rushing over with horse-drawn carts.
The scrawny farmer nicknamed “Monkey” jabbed his companion beside him and said with a smirk, “Look, the food’s coming.”
“Great,” replied the stout farmer named Doug, his response weak with exhaustion, “I’m so hungry.”
“I don’t see anything special about fighting wars,” Monkey couldn’t help but complain, “Isn’t it just marching on and on?”
Doug didn’t say anything; he was wholly focused on filling his belly.
When the tarpaulin on the carts was removed, the militia were sorely disappointed. Instead of bread and beer, the carts were loaded with bundles of tools: pickaxes, shovels, chisels…
“No resting now!” The appointed battalion commander came over, barking orders at the militia, “Everybody up!”
...
With tools handed out, the militia had no time to catch their breath before they were ordered to dig trenches in front of their positions.
“Leave a two-meter gap every twenty meters in the trench!” the battalion commander instructed on the position of the trenches at the front line, “They need to be wide enough for two horses and three men to move side by side!”
The militia picked up their tools, all somewhat reluctantly.
“Sir, could we get some food first?” a disgruntled militiaman grumbled, “We’ve walked all day and are starving.”
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“The bread is coming right up,” the battalion commander scolded fiercely, “Quit your damn slacking! I’m telling you, dig one less handful of earth now, and you’ll lose a pound of flesh later!”
The Third Battalion consisted of “young soldiers,” that is, militia with poor equipment and training, who were mostly used as laborers, so they were accustomed to digging trenches and such tasks.
But Monkey saw and didn’t like what he saw; he noticed that the “adult soldiers” in the second line of the defense were not only exempt from digging trenches but were also being given food.
Monkey immediately voiced his complaint, hopping and pointing toward the adult soldiers in the rear, “Why don’t they have to work? And they have food?”
The noise drew the militia’s attention, and seeing the adult soldiers resting and eating, they erupted in agitation.
“Shut the hell up!” The battalion commander jumped onto the cart, drawing his saber, “Everyone shut your mouths! Another damn word, and you’ll face military discipline!”
The Third Battalion quickly quieted down under the threat of military law.
Seeing his men silenced, the battalion commander spoke coolly, “They don’t have to work because they’ll be the ones fighting for their lives on the front lines. Anyone who disagrees, I’ll send you to join the adult soldiers.”
The militia fell silent. Monkey, discontent in his heart, couldn’t suppress it and stood out, his neck stiff, “Send me over, then!”
“Fine,” the acting battalion commander couldn’t be bothered with the banter of a rookie, “Who else wants to go?”
Monkey looked at his friend with a pleading gaze. Doug, worried about his friend, raised his hand, “I’ll go with him.”
Immediately, the two young soldiers were dispatched to join the ranks of the adult soldiers, and peace returned to the Third Battalion’s position. Everyone resumed their work with heads down, and the bread was quickly delivered.
The army of Iron Peak County busily positioned their formations and dug battle trenches across the open field.
The sun gradually passed its zenith, leaning westward, and amidst the wind, one could faintly hear the rumbling sound of war drums.
What first appeared above the horizon were the fluttering horse-tail banners in the wind, swiftly followed by the blurry silhouettes of cavalry.
Only then did people realize that what carried on the wind was not the sound of drums, but the thundering vibrations of horse hooves stamping the ground.
The hoofbeats grew louder and louder, and the militia stopped their work, craning their necks to look.
“What are you looking at?” chided the commander of the Third Battalion to his subordinates, “Keep working!”
The militia dug into the trenches with even more vigor, while the battalion commander of the Third Battalion watched the enemy’s silhouette, silent for a long time.
The troops from Terdun had arrived.
…
The Terdun vanguard occupied the northern hillside without rashly initiating an attack.
The distance between the two sides was approximately four or five kilometers, separated by a hill, barely within sight of each other, and engaged in a standoff.
As time passed, Winters’ rearguard units gradually arrived, and the forces from Terdun continued to stream onto the battlefield.
As twilight approached, Winters heard a tsunami-like cheer erupt from the Terdun positions.
Strolling along the front line, Winters casually said to Xial, “It’s probably Heinrich’s ugly mug that’s shown up.”
“Let them come,” Xial murmured quietly, “Damned savages, making all that racket for nothing.”
Strolling around the camp at dinner time had become a habit for Winters, usually alone, but today Xial and Heinrich insisted on accompanying him.
Wandering aimlessly for a while, Winters felt somewhat weary and decided to rest near a campfire.
The militia gathered around the fire didn’t recognize this young man in an old coat, assuming he was one of them, and scooted over to make room for Winters and his companions.
The cold wind howled, and the militia wrapped themselves tightly in their clothing, seeking warmth as close to the fire as possible.
“Dragging us out to this godforsaken place without even tents!” a militiaman grumbled, stirring the fire and complaining, “We’ll freeze to death!”
“Enough, we’re lucky to have this fire to warm us, what’s there to complain about?” another older militiaman muttered reproachfully.
Iron Peak County couldn’t gather enough tents for the use of tens of thousands, so the troops had to rely on bonfires for warmth.
The grumbling militiaman, envious after spotting Winters’ coat, reached out to touch it, “Brother, that’s a nice coat you got there! Must be warm, right?”
“It is quite warm,” Winters smiled, “Bought it last year in Shuangqiao City, cashmere wool.”
“That must’ve cost a fortune.”
“A bit pricey, yes.”
“Lucky you,” sighed the complaining militiaman, wrapping himself even tighter into the mat meant for sleeping on the ground, “Really lucky.”
