Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 103 The Star-Calling Official

The bombardment of the city walls has never ceased since the deployment of the heavy artillery. During the day, it goes without saying, but even at night, the eight artillery groups outside the city would occasionally fire a few shots at the walls.

This relentless bombardment, day and night, was not only intended to destroy the city walls, but also to break the morale of the defenders and prevent the Tanilians from getting any rest.

The city walls were crumbling, and every shelling could be a signal for a general offensive by the Venetta army. The continuous shelling kept both civilians and soldiers in the city on edge.

However, this tactic also had a side effect: almost all of Venetta's spellcaster officers had been driven to nervous breakdown by the night bombardment.

Because their brains are more active than normal, spellcasters are more sensitive to their environment. Poor sleep quality isn't just Winters's problem; all spellcasters suffer from poor sleep.

The intermittent cannon fire at night was a nightmare for the spellcasters in the military camp. Now, it was easy to spot which officers in the Venetta camp were spellcasters; just look for those with dark circles under their eyes and bloodshot eyes.

Only the military police captain, Moritz, was completely unaffected by the shelling. Major Moritz van Nassou slept like a dead man every night with his usual mix of strong liquor and herbs, and wouldn't wake up even if someone fired shots next to him.

Antonio shook his head at the mention of Moritz, saying to Winters, "If Van Nassou had given up drinking, he would have been a lieutenant colonel long ago. He could easily have become a general... What a waste of such a man, what a pity..."

However, Moritz van Nassou was not Antonio's subordinate; he was a fully capable adult, and Antonio had no reason and would not interfere with Moritz's chosen lifestyle.

The relentless bombardment caused great suffering to the Veneta spellcasters, but the defenders and civilians inside the city suffered even more.

At the start of the battle, both sides still retained some virtue and civility. But those qualities have now vanished, and the war is plummeting towards its worst, bloodiest, and most brutal course.

That same night, after the Montagnier Guard launched a counterattack outside the city, only to be completely annihilated.

William Kidd sent a messenger with a personal letter, hoping for a one-day truce as before, with both sides sending people to collect the bodies and bury the dead.

But this time Antonio refused the defenders' request, coldly replying to the messenger: "If William Kidd truly cares about the dignity of the dead, he can open the gates and surrender, then you will never have to worry about this again."

The garrison's messenger slunk away, while the siege continued.

During the day, the Venetians bombarded the city walls, filled in the moat, extended the tunnel fortifications all the way to the moat, and launched probing attacks on the weakened positions.

At night, William Kidd led the garrison in a concerted effort to repair the broken walls: pouring mortar into the cracks and using stones, shrubs, and soil—whatever was available—to fill the small gaps in the walls.

They learned from the Venetians and brought out wooden barrels filled with mud, placing them on the city walls to replace the battlements that had been bombarded to pieces.

The Venetta army was not idle at night either. Eight artillery groups would suddenly bombard the city walls at night, mainly using light artillery to kill the Tanirians who were desperately repairing the city walls.

Vauban also sent a small group of soldiers through the triangular bunker into the trench to use hooks and nets to retrieve the precious shells scattered in the trench and at the base of the wall—the continuous shelling was rapidly depleting the Veneta army's ammunition reserves, and even shells right under the enemy's nose had to be retrieved.

After being awakened nine times in a row by the roar of heavy artillery while half-asleep, Winters decided to volunteer for the nighttime guard duty of the cannons.

He currently has no formal appointment and is considered a "brick-and-mortar" officer in the legion—he's best suited for doing odd jobs, going wherever he's needed.

So the day after the large-scale bombardment began, Winters became the duty officer for the "West-4" artillery group.

The corps command assigned two 10-man teams to each artillery group for night watch, as this was the front line and it was impossible to leave too many people here.

However, a full-strength battalion was stationed behind the old siege walls 300 meters away, ready to provide rapid support should an alarm sound. The main force in the main camp could also arrive quickly.

The task of night watch is actually very simple: spot the enemy, sound the alarm, wait for the troops behind to arrive, and the mission is complete.

The current battle situation makes the Night Watch's mission incredibly easy: with the Triangle Fortress captured, the Tanirians can no longer sneak out through the city gates. Any attempt to launch a counterattack would be the same fate as the Montani Guard.

Tacheng is a small city, unlike giant cities like Constantinople which have numerous side gates, back gates, and secret gates. It only has one gate next to the triangular fortress.

The Tanirians would have to be incredibly stupid to repeat the mistakes of the Montagnier Guard.

Therefore, the night watch, which offered no opportunity for merit, was unanimously considered by the officers at Vineta to be the most grueling job. Doing it well didn't count as merit, but making a mistake meant facing a military court.

Upon hearing that Winters had volunteered to take his place, Lieutenant Charles, the former duty officer of the West-4 Artillery Group, was so happy that he wanted to hug Winters and call him "Dad." He completed the handover with great joy.

Although it's tough work, since I'm here, I have to do it well.

Winters did three things after taking office.

The first thing to do was to issue whistles to all his soldiers. Whistles were generally only issued to officers, so giving whistles to soldiers could easily cause confusion on the battlefield.

Winters, however, believed that ringing the bell was too slow and that a whistle would be far faster in case of an emergency.

The second thing was to widen the angles of the passageways on both sides of the cannon, making them able to accommodate two squads of ten. Winters placed his two squads of ten on the left and right sides, instead of scattering them throughout the passageways.

This was based on his experience from several night raids; a lone sentry could be easily picked off, so it was necessary to deploy multiple sentries, both visible and concealed.

The third thing was requesting six crossbows. Winters considered issuing matchlock guns to night watchmen a complete idiot, a prime example of bureaucracy. The sentries couldn't possibly let the matchlocks burn all night; even if they were fearless, there weren't enough matchlocks for them to squander.

Instead of frantically lighting fuses when attacked, it would be better to use crossbows and blow whistles when necessary.

The Venetians' army was extremely efficient. Winters went to the armory in the morning to collect crossbows and whistles, and by the afternoon the tunnel had been renovated. That evening, Winters, carrying his gun and sword, began his night watch again, a long time since he had left the military academy.

At midnight, Winters, who was on duty, sighed as he thought about how he used to hate standing night guard, but now he had to volunteer for the night shift.

A sudden voice interrupted Winters' thoughts.

"Why are you sighing, Centurion?" Buba, the halberd-wielder, was chewing on something and speaking indistinctly while holding his halberd. "My mother said that sighing blows away good luck, so after sighing, you have to fan the good luck back with your hand."

After saying that, Bubba awkwardly reached out and slapped Winters' nose twice.

"Outrageous! What are you doing?!" Elder Tyler was startled and immediately reprimanded Bubba sternly.

Buba timidly withdrew his hand again.

With a few streaks of frost at his temples, Taylor pointed to his head and explained to Winters, "Sir, Bubba has... something wrong with his head. Please don't take it to heart."

Winters waved his hand, indicating that everything was alright. He smiled and said to Bubba, "I'm not a centurion, Bubba. Do you know how many men are on night watch here tonight?"

“There are two teams of ten.” Bubba counted on his fingers for a while: “Ten…sixteen people?”

"Is that enough for a hundred-man squad?"

"not enough."

"Am I a centurion?"

“Then, no…” Buba said hesitantly, “…then you are…the 20th Sergeant?”

Bubba's answer made Winters burst into laughter.

"Damn it!" Sergeant Taylor was so angry that he kicked Bubba hard in the butt. After kicking him, he raised his hand to hit him again, which scared Bubba so much that he covered his head and cowered.

However, old Taylor's raised arm did not strike, because Winters reached out and grabbed his wrist.

Sergeant Taylor was surprised to find that this seemingly not-so-strong warrant officer was unexpectedly strong; when the officer grabbed his arm, it was like being clamped in an iron clamp, and he couldn't move.

“I asked him, and he answered. He didn’t do anything wrong, so there was no need for corporal punishment.” After saying that, Winters released his grip, and Taylor’s right arm was finally free again.

“Isn’t this ‘disrespectful’? According to military regulations, he should get three lashes.” Taylor glared at Buba, then looked down at Warrant Officer Montagne and said, “But it’s good that you don’t mind.”

“He’s not wrong, I am indeed a ‘20th Sergeant’ now.” Winters couldn’t help but laugh again.

“Uh…you can’t say that…” Sergeant Taylor was speechless for a moment.

Winters patted Taylor's arm and smiled: "Montagne, Warrant Officer, Sir, call me whatever you're comfortable with, I don't mind."

"I'm so confused... Should I still call you sir?" Buba, who had caused this little commotion, was completely oblivious, scratching the back of his head and grinning foolishly.

Captain Tyler glared angrily at Bubba, who lowered his head again when he saw Tyler's gaze.

"The food's here! The food's here!" Excited shouts approached from afar, accompanied by the sound of footsteps echoing through the passageway.

Private Dan ran out of the passageway carrying a small iron pot in both hands and three cloth bags hanging around his neck.

The night watchmen guarding the cannons had to stand guard from dusk till dawn, a period of nearly twelve hours. They didn't get to eat lunch during the day, so they would have an extra meal at night.

The seven hungry soldiers in the ten-man team quickly took the iron pot from Dan's hands.

Lifting the lid reveals a steaming bowl of soup inside.

Buba, whose stomach was growling, couldn't wait for Dan to take the bag off his neck before reaching into it impatiently.

"Wait! Don't touch it! Don't take the wrong one!" Dan held the bag tightly and pushed Buba away. After carefully examining the bags for a while, he handed two of them to Buba: "These are our bread."

Buba snatched the bag, pulled out a brown bread the size of a face plate, and quickly broke off a piece, stuffing it into his mouth and chewing it heartily.

This "pancake-shaped" bread, weighing about a pound, was the staple food of the Venetta soldiers. Unlike the dishes and soups that the soldiers made themselves, the bread was baked uniformly by bakers in the legion's logistics department and distributed per person.

The main ingredients of military ration bread were equal proportions of wheat, barley, and rye, with salt and water as supplementary ingredients.

Winters tasted the military ration bread, which tasted somewhat sour. But in reality, since wheat flour made up one-third of it, it was already a very good meal, affordable only to farmers and the upper classes.

Many boys from poor families only tasted this bread [Maslin] for the first time after joining the army.

The other soldiers each received a loaf of bread, ladled some soup into their own cups, and ate it with a bite of soup and a bite of bread.

Dan handed the last bag to Winters: "Sir, this is yours."

"Oh, thank you." Winters took the bag and, like the soldiers around him, casually found a rock to sit on.

As soon as he sat down, the soldiers of Taylor's Ten-Man Squad fell silent.

In Venetta's army, officers not only ate differently from soldiers, but they never actually ate with them. There was no unity between officers and soldiers; there was only a clear distinction.

So when they saw Warrant Officer Montagne sit down next to them, the soldiers of Taylor's ten men were all dumbfounded. They looked at each other, not knowing what to do.

"Eat? Why aren't you eating?" Winters was very puzzled when he saw that no one was moving.

The soldiers all looked at Corporal Taylor, who awkwardly said to Winters, "Uh, shouldn't you...shouldn't you be dining at the officers' quarters?" "Officers' quarters?" Winters said, half-laughing and half-crying, "There are cannons right next to it, and the city walls in front of it. What kind of officers' quarters is this?"

“Then you shouldn’t be eating with the soldiers.” Taylor didn’t know what to say: “This…this…this isn’t right.”

"What's wrong?"

"Anyway...anyway, it's just not good."

The meaningless answer gave Winters a headache, so he asked bluntly, "Fine, just tell me where the officer in charge of the night watch ate?"

“Centurion Charles always returns to the camp for meals,” Sergeant Taylor answered honestly.

"What? Back to the barracks? That's almost two kilometers round trip..." Winters frowned and asked, "What will happen here if the duty officer goes back for lunch?"

“Anyway, Lieutenant Charles is going back to the main camp for lunch,” Taylor replied matter-of-factly. “We can handle things here.”

Winters understood what was going on and muttered a few curses to himself. Charles might dare to desert his post, but Winters had no intention of following suit.

He reached for his food and said casually, "Lieutenant Charles is diligent, I'm lazy. Going back is too far, I'm too lazy to go back, so I'll eat here. You guys eat and drink normally, and if you feel uncomfortable, just pretend I'm not here."

Since the officer on duty had said so, Sergeant Taylor didn't say anything more.

He saluted, sat back in his seat, and began breaking the hard bread into pieces and putting them into his mouth.

Seeing their captain start eating, the other soldiers also began to devour their food; they were already starving.

Winters had two paper packages in his bag. He opened one of them; one contained beef—many cows had died from exhaustion while moving the cannons.

If it weren't for the fact that livestock would be needed to move the cannons again in the future, the officers could have exhausted all the remaining cattle to death at a rate of two per day.

The other paper package contained bread, not the coarse bread the soldiers ate, but white bread.

To obtain refined white flour, the wheat bran must be removed, and the flour must undergo a fine milling process and be sieved at least three times.

Wheat is the best and most expensive grain, and the refining process will lose a lot of quality, so white bread not only tastes better, but it also has a very strong symbolic meaning.

Buba, who had been wolfing down his food, suddenly stopped what he was doing with his hands and mouth. He stared intently at the beef and white bread in Warrant Officer Montagne's hand, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard.

The other soldiers also saw the beef and white bread in Warrant Officer Montagne's hand. They glanced at it briefly, then quickly looked away, silently lowering their heads to chew their own coarse bread more vigorously.

"What are you looking at! Eat your own food!" Corporal Taylor snapped, his face grim.

Upon hearing this, Buba quickly lowered his head, swallowed again, broke off a large piece of the flatbread in his hand, and stuffed it into his mouth.

Seeing the scene before him, Winters began to understand why Lieutenant Charles had gone back to the camp for dinner.

Thirty-one years ago, the allied forces of the provinces attacked and killed Count Arlian, the "Butcher," and the provinces became republics.

Twenty-six years ago, the coalition of republics defeated "Madman" Richard, and the Cenas Alliance was established.

The sages proudly proclaimed, "We must be independent because of this self-evident truth: no group should be superior to another in terms of the rights of being 'human.' If someone considers himself superior to one group, he agrees that he is inferior to another."

At least that's what Winters learned in history class, and he's willing to believe that the martyrs ended the emperor's rule for this noble purpose.

But Buba, who had been grinning foolishly just moments before, now buried his head deeply in his shoulders. What was supposed to be a pleasant mealtime turned into a silent and awkward affair.

Looking at all this, Winters suddenly found it hard to swallow the food in his hand.

As Buba ate, he would steal glances at the refined bread and meat in Warrant Officer Montagne's hand. He would look at the refined bread, then take a bite of the coarse bread, as if he were eating the coarse bread as if it were refined bread.

Winters reached out and took Bubba's bread, startling Bubba so much that he froze on the spot.

"Is it that delicious? Seeing you eat it so heartily makes me want to try some too." Winters broke off half of Buba's coarse bread and gave Buba a large piece of his own bread as well: "Don't say I stole your bread! I'm exchanging it with you, not stealing it."

He didn't come to his senses until Winters shoved the bread into Bubba's hand. He remained dazed, grinning foolishly. He didn't eat, but simply looked at the bread in his hand, then at Corporal Taylor.

Sergeant Taylor nodded with a stern face.

Buba, as if he had found a treasure, hurriedly stuffed the whole white bread into his mouth in one go, chewing with a joyful expression.

He was too greedy and stuffed too much bread into his mouth at once, choking and coughing, but he was still grinning foolishly while coughing.

The coarse bread, which had been sitting out for several days, soaked up all the moisture in his mouth in an instant. Winters said with a wry smile, "Are there any extra cups? Could you give me some soup?"

"Use mine." Sergeant Taylor expressionlessly pulled out his own cup, wiped it with a clean handkerchief, filled it with hot soup, and handed it to Winters.

“I won’t let you drink the soup for free; I’ll trade you some side dishes.” Winters crushed the cooked beef shank from another paper package and added it to the soup.

The other soldiers in the ten-man team were also stunned, their eyes fixed on the pot, but none of them touched the ladle.

Old Taylor sighed and nodded.

The other soldiers then eagerly went to ladle out the soup and scrambled to scoop out the beef from the pot.

Private First Class Dan and Winters, who were in charge of cooking tonight, said, "I've always thought the rumors were false. I've delivered meals so many times, and no officer except you has ever said 'thank you' to me. You seem like someone who's easy to get along with."

Winters initially thought Dan was just trying to curry favor, but the more he thought about it, the more uneasy he felt: "Hmm? Wait a minute, what rumor are you talking about..."

"It's nothing, it's nothing," Dan said with an embarrassed laugh, and made a hasty retreat.

Buba took a big gulp of broth and said happily, "I have fine bread and broth to eat. I haven't eaten this well in ages. Commander Montagne is so kind. Why did you scare me before?"

Having sensed another opening, Winters immediately pressed Bubba for details, asking, "What scared you? Tell me in detail."

"It's nothing, it's nothing." The other soldiers quickly stepped between Winters and Bubba, and old Taylor grabbed a piece of bread and stuffed it into Bubba's mouth.

It was clearly not something nice, but Winters wanted to hear it even more, so he reached out and grabbed Sergeant Taylor: "Don't gag him, let him talk."

"...Yeah? Why won't you let me speak?" Everyone tried to cover Buba's mouth, but he dodged left and right and insisted on speaking: "Commander Montagne...they say you're particularly cruel, like to chop off heads, they call you 'The Headhunter'...they also call you 'The Blood Man,' and say you know wizarding black magic..."

The other soldiers panicked and desperately tried to gag Buba.

Bubba struggled to say, "...and, there's something else..."

"Enough! Stop!" Winters shouted angrily.

The soldiers of Taylor's ten men trembled in fear and dared not move again.

“Let him finish.” Winters looked at Bubba: “Tell me anything else.”

Buba chuckled and said, "They say you're incredibly reckless in battle, that you led a hundred-man squad and ended up with only four survivors... They're all lying to me. They all think I'm stupid, but I can actually tell who's good and who's bad."

"You're so kind, how could I?"

Winters felt a tightness in his chest and it took him more than ten seconds to calm himself down. He was too lazy to explain, nor did he want to explain to the people in front of him.

"Sir, that's not what we meant..." Old Taylor quickly stepped in to smooth things over.

Winters glanced at Sergeant Taylor, then at the other soldiers, and said calmly, “The rumors are indeed true. Only four of my hundred men survived. I have cut off enemy heads, and I do indeed know wizarding black magic.”

The atmosphere dropped to freezing point.

"How could that be? I don't believe it," Buba said憨憨地. "You're a good person."

"Maybe, maybe not. War only needs soldiers who obey orders; good or bad people don't matter." Winters sounded a little dejected, but quickly regained his composure: "Keep eating, the soup's getting cold."

Everyone quietly returned to their seats to eat.

After finishing this "main meal," Winters arranged the night patrol shifts for the ten-man team, then left the outpost and headed to the location of another ten-man team.

However, Winters felt it would be best to check the alarm system positioned in front of the gun emplacement before heading there.

A few dozen meters to the east, flashes of light appeared intermittently; the "West-1" artillery group was conducting night firing.

In the darkness directly ahead, the city walls of Tacheng were faintly visible.

Strolling under the night sky, gazing at the countless stars, Winters' steps became lighter. A cool breeze swept away the daytime heat, and for the first time since arriving on Red Iwo Jima, he felt a sense of comfort.

The first thought that popped into his mind was, "I wonder what Anna is doing now? Is she looking at this starry sky like me? What are Kosha and Ella doing?"

The alarm was set up not far from the gun emplacement, and Winters arrived quickly.

It's called an alarm, but it's actually just a simple trap made of thin wires and bells. Simple, but effective; it will make a sound if accidentally touched.

However, Winters searched for a long time but couldn't find the tripwire. He almost thought he had gone to the wrong place, but after comparing it with the markers, he confirmed that he hadn't gone to the wrong place.

Winters' breathing began to quicken involuntarily.

He knelt down, took out a copper rod, and concentrated his mind to cast a spell using the rod as the medium for light. He did not use his full power, but maintained a minimum but not interrupted output of magic.

A cold, eerie green light emanated from the bronze rod, and Winters carefully searched for clues in the dim light.

Finally, he found the tripwire—a tripwire that had already broken.

Then came the second and third broken tripwires.

Winters calmly put away the bronze bar and drew his pistol.

I've been writing since 1 a.m. yesterday, thirteen hours now. I originally wanted to continue writing and finish what happened last night. But I'm just too sleepy. I'm already experiencing that severe hypoxia and fatigue I had when I was trekking on the plateau before, which caused tinnitus, sluggish brain function, and a feeling that time was passing faster (it felt like only a minute had passed, but actually a minute and a half had passed). So I'll stop at 6642 words.

Furthermore, I estimate that this chapter will have a record number of typos, because people are too tired to see typos even when they are right in front of them, but I have tried my best to check...

Thank you to all the readers who voted for this book before, especially please call me Happy Sheep, Black Computer Accessories, writersblock, Black Computer Accessories, Ami, Dawn in a Dream, A Beauty in Tianshui, Yuan Hongjian, Living in the Same Week, and Sky Lens. Thank you to Sky Lens for the monthly ticket. Thank you everyone.

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(End of this chapter)