Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 193 One Day

The vanguard was a day's journey ahead of the main force.

On the first day, they traveled along the south bank of the confluence river.

Downstream, the riverbanks were littered with the corpses of Hurd that had been washed ashore. Every few steps, Winters would see a new, bloated body.

Many crows and vultures came to feast, pecking at the carrion without restraint while keeping a close eye on the living people walking in front of them.

"What are you looking at!" Charles, unable to bear it any longer, picked up a stone and threw it at the crow.

The black birds made a harsh cry, fluttered into flight, and flew to circle above Plato's army.

Other militia members also picked up stones and threw them at the crows and vultures.

Winters did not order an intervention.

"What are you looking at?" he thought gloomily. "Food."

……

Shortly after Winters and Haugwitz's argument ended, a messenger brought back the two generals' final verdict.

A word was scrawled on the parchment sealed with lacquer:

[wheel]
The wheel means that no man higher than the wheel will be left behind.

The order was carried out efficiently, and the remaining Hart women and children were driven across the river to fend for themselves.

Brother Reed held General Plato's decisions in contempt.

Brother Reed asked Winters, "Absolute cruelty and absolute mercy, you can only choose one. What is it to kill your father and let your wife and son go?"

Winters couldn't answer.

But Alpard and Sackler had their reasons.

For the Hart tribes, women were a valuable resource and property.

There are no men without women, and no one understands this better than the Hed people, who live in harsh conditions.

"Let the Red River tribe have their headaches," Arpad said nonchalantly during a meeting of senior officers. "Let's see if Yasin can hold onto these women. Hmph, who knows, we might have to fight another war."

……

When marching in the wilderness without roads, commanders would typically limit their daily distance to 20,000 steps.

One step is one step with each foot. 20,000 steps is about 24 kilometers. Only in this way can soldiers have the energy to fight.

If the road under your feet is paved, you can walk up to 30,000 steps a day, which is about 36 kilometers.

On the first day of the expedition, Winters' advance team only covered a dozen kilometers, less than 15,000 steps.

The reason is simple: the carriage couldn't keep up with the speed.

The supply camps built along the route during their advance had been burned down, and Palatine's army was unable to obtain food locally.

Therefore, the horse-drawn carts carrying supplies became the shortest plank in the barrel.

As the sun began to set, Colonel Bode Gates, the commander of the advance team, ordered the troops to set up camp.

[Note: Colonel Bode Gates was the commander defending North Village.]
A short journey doesn't mean the day will end easily.

The soldiers also had to dig trenches and build camps large enough to accommodate the main force.

Regardless of whether they were regular troops or auxiliary forces, everyone had to do the work.

The grooms had to untie the horses and feed them, the soldiers responsible for cooking were busy chopping firewood and starting fires, while the others were busy digging ditches and building walls.

The defensive fortifications were divided into sections and assigned to various hundred-man squads.

Winters patrolled and supervised the work in the section of his team's responsibility.

Each person in the first team was given a shovel or a pickaxe, which greatly increased the digging speed.

Never underestimate the power of shovels and pickaxes. Equipping ordinary soldiers with these tools was a major "revival" of army tactics and part of Ned Smith's military reforms.

However, due to the size and weight of the tools, which made them inconvenient to carry, a team of ten could only have two shovels, one pickaxe, one axe, and one saw.

The night before their departure, Sackler concentrated most of the tools of the two legions into the hands of the vanguard and arranged for them to be transported by wagons.

Even though everyone had the right tools, the troops worked until dark before they could barely finish the job.

Subsequently, after Colonel Bode personally inspected and found it to be qualified, Winters' militia finally received the order to disband.

Back at the camp, the militiamen hastily ate and drank a few bites of food and started setting up tents.

Everyone was exhausted and just wanted to sleep and rest.

Winters also returned to the battalion headquarters, looking for something to eat.

The headquarters was deserted. Lieutenant Colonel Jessica had already finished eating and left, and the other three centurions had not yet returned.

There were only three people in the tent: Father Carmen, Brother Rhett, who were having a meal, and the blacksmith Berian, who was tending the stew pot.

Since Lieutenant Colonel Jessica transferred the blacksmith to the battalion as a cook, Father Carman and Brother Reid also came to the battalion headquarters to cook.

Winters ladled himself a bowl of thick soup and asked Kaman, "How is it?"

Father Kaman put down his cutlery, made a gesture of respect, and said softly, "Today, five believers have reached their resting place through the Lord's mercy."

Brother Reid sighed, "Just say five died, no need for all this beating around the bush. This kid won't understand."

Most of the seriously wounded will die within seven days, and some of the lightly wounded will also die from fever, shock, and then death.

Winters has seen too much and has become somewhat numb.

He comforted Kaman, saying, "Don't overthink it. If it weren't for you, even more people would have died."

Kaman remained silent.

……

Officers have a much higher recovery rate than soldiers, not only because officers are physically stronger, but also because officers receive better care when they are injured.

If soldiers received the same treatment, then those with minor injuries would have a much greater chance of survival.

However, in reality, the wounded received little care because the legion's organization consisted only of combat personnel.

Only a few of the doctors accompanying the army were full-time; the rest were soldiers or officers who served as doctors on a part-time basis.

If someone could stitch up the wounded and remove the arrowhead, that was a blessing; the rest depended on the wounded's luck.

The Jessica Battalion was an exception because, with Kaman in charge of the medical station, the wounded in the Jessica Battalion received the best care they could get.

Even so, the arduous journey would inevitably lead to many wounded soldiers succumbing to their injuries.

……

Winters thought for a moment, then asked Kaman, "Should I get you a few more men?"

Kaman silently made a bow.

“Alright, I’ll pick a few honest and reliable ones to send you.” Winters sipped his broth and continued, “Later I’ll take some men to dig the graves, to use the funeral rites of legionary soldiers…”

Andrei strode into the team headquarters, his nostrils flaring as he asked the blacksmith, "What are we stewing today?"

“Horse meat,” Berrian replied.

“When isn’t it?” Andrei sighed and sat down at the table.

Berrian served a bowl of horse meat soup to Andrei.

Andrei began wolfing down his food, and without looking up, he asked Winters, "Did you arrange the night watch?"

Winters nodded, then asked, puzzled, "What's wrong?"

Andrei gulped down a bowl of soup, handed the empty bowl to the blacksmith with his left hand, and reached for the bread basket in the middle of the table with his right hand, saying, "With marching and working, where do they get the energy to stand guard? If you ask me, the ten-man guard team shouldn't participate in building the camp. Let them rest. Otherwise, they'll fall asleep while on guard duty too."

"Okay... but what about the people who were on night duty tonight?"

"Today's night shift?" Andrei scoffed. "They're just unlucky."

Once dinner is finished, a soldier's day is over, but a centurion's day is not yet over.

The blacksmith's horse meat soup cheered Winters up and filled his stomach as he headed toward the Jessica Battalion's camp.

He wasn't going to sleep, because officers didn't live with soldiers; his tent was in a separate area in the center of the camp.

He simply had a habit of taking a walk around the military camp after dinner.

This is the most relaxing time in the barracks. Soldiers sit around the warm campfire, sharing hot food with their comrades in the same tent.

Warmth, food, and campfires—these things allow soldiers to shed the shackles of discipline. A walk around the camp at dinnertime gives Winters some vague, intuitive feelings: Cold? Hungry? Fear? Angry? Excited? Depressed? War-weary? Willing to fight?
Winters went to the horse pen first, where the horses were well taken care of, with food and water.

In Malan, he unexpectedly ran into Bud and Lieutenant Colonel Jessica, as well as the young stable boy Anglu.

A draft horse's left foreleg was tied to a stake, and Anglu was scratching the horse's hoof.

"What's wrong?" Winters asked.

Lieutenant Colonel Jessica's face darkened: "You wouldn't understand even if I told you."

Winters was used to it. He turned to Bud and asked, "What's going on?"

Badnu nudged his lip: "His hoof might be leaking, he's walking a little limp."

The hoof is leaking? Winters really doesn't understand...

“There might be pus inside,” Bud added.

"Oh."

"Do you understand?"

"No."

Anglu buried himself in his work, first prying off the horseshoe, then peeling off the hoof layer by layer, like peeling a radish.

Finally, the young horseman picked up a hand drill and made a hole in the left lobe of the horse's hoof.

Thick, dark red pus and blood flowed from the hole, dripping onto the ground in streams, making Winters' scalp tingle.

“This is not a good situation,” Lieutenant Colonel Jessica said, arms crossed.

"Hmm, this is not a good situation," Bard sighed.

After draining the pus and blood, Anglu cleaned the horse's hooves, applied medicine, and finally wrapped them in clean cotton cloth.

“This horse can’t work recently,” Anglu said with concern. “It’s best to let it rest for about half a month.”

Lieutenant Colonel Jessica sighed, a rare hint of sadness in his eyes: "Let it follow us. If that doesn't work... then kill it. Don't waste the fodder."

The young horseman stroked the horse's mane and gave a soft "hmm".

Lieutenant Colonel Jessica looked at Winters again, frowned, and asked, "What are you doing here?"

Winters quickly left and continued pacing towards the camp.

He walked toward the campfire, wrapped in a Hed robe, looking like an ordinary militiaman.

The night was deep, and everyone was busy filling their stomachs, so no one noticed the centurion walking past them.

They laughed, cursed, sang vulgar tunes, or made up stories about an officer's embarrassing moments.

These were things they wouldn't say to Winters' face, giving Winters a strange sense of reality.

An army is a unified whole, a square formation is a unified whole, and each person within it has an indistinct face.

Now, the indistinct individuals sitting around the campfire are gradually transforming into flesh-and-blood human beings.

But Winters couldn't see or hear who was speaking.

Through the stories of individual, flesh-and-blood people, he gained a vague, intuitive understanding of the army as a whole.

This intuitive understanding is like touching the "spirit" of the army, so Winters walks around every day, otherwise he always feels uneasy.

Winters wandered aimlessly when a voice came from beside the campfire behind him: "It's all bubbles, it's almost rotten."

"Bear with it." The other man sniffed and replied in a low voice, "We can't let the farmer's son look down on us."

He couldn't recognize other people's voices, but he was extremely familiar with these two voices.

The previous one was Vahika.

The next one is Pierre.

Winters walked over and asked, "What's rotten?"

"What else? Feet!" Vasika replied irritably, then suddenly stood up in alarm: "Sir...Sir!"

Beside Vahika, the other Dusaks, who were warming their feet over the campfire, also jumped up.

……

To conserve the horses' energy, Lieutenant Colonel Jessica strictly forbade any soldier from riding a horse; even Dusak had to lead his horse on foot—unless they encountered the enemy or were on a reconnaissance mission.

"Even the bowlegs are walking now." The other militiamen muttered, "Let's see if they can endure the hardships we've suffered."

Seeing the usually arrogant Dussac walking with bowed legs, even the "farmer's son" Dussac referred to felt a sense of satisfaction.

In the beginning, Dusak, one of Winters' men, called the peasants "farmers," and the peasants reciprocated by calling Dusak "Tartars."

Both of these terms are extremely derogatory, and their psychological impact on each other is no less than that of a forty-eight-pound cannonball.

If Winters weren't around, a casual remark like "[Tartar]" or "[Peasant]" could easily spark a brawl.

And so, the people of Wolftown left their hometown amidst each other's disdainful glances.

What happened next is unnecessary to elaborate on; some people left, and others came to take their place.

The newcomers initially liked to say "[Tartars]" and "[farmers]", but after they helped each other escape death several times, no one mentioned those words anymore.

However, the antagonistic feelings stemming from differences in background still lingered, and thus the derogatory terms subtly changed.
[Bowlegs] replaced [Tatar], and [farmer's son] replaced [peasant].

To Winters, "bowlegs" and "peasant" were still extremely derogatory terms.

"Can't you use some normal titles?" Winters couldn't help but speak to his militiamen.

According to the militia, these two words are only insulting to the other party; the speaker uses them as neutral terms.

When Winters brought up the matter with Bud, he was still indignant: "Nonsense! They're just fooling themselves! What do you mean by 'I'm not being insulting, but you are being insulting'? Shouldn't the listener decide whether it's a derogatory term or not?"

“It’s still better than ‘[Tartars]’ and ‘Farmer’,” Bard said helplessly.

……

Someone was waiting for Dussack to make a fool of himself, and Dussack knew that someone was waiting for them to make a fool of themselves.

So they didn't complain or grumble; they just walked away silently.

Their spirit was commendable, but their bodies couldn't lie; Pierre, Vahika, and the other Dussacs all had blisters on their feet, some even the size of a thumb.

Winters glanced at the fire and immediately understood what was going on. He was both amused and exasperated: "What's the point of making a fire? Go find the medic and have him prick it with a needle. Don't squeeze it randomly."

Dussac of Wolftown is very close to Winters and is also very bold.

Pierre whispered, "That barber is a farmer's son; he'll definitely be laughing at us."

"What 'farmer's son'?" Winters was furious at the mention of the term. "So you want me to pick one for you?"

Pierre shook his head frantically.

“Don’t shake your head.” Winters reached out and grabbed Pierre’s leg. “I’ll pick one for you.”

“No need, no need…” Pierre backed away, almost falling over: “I’ll go find the army doctor.”

“If you don’t want to hear ‘Tatar,’ then don’t call them peasants.” Winters wasn’t sure if these Dussaks would listen. He looked at the blisters on their feet and said, “Never mind, I’ll get the medic over here. Be polite to them.”

He hadn't walked far when he turned back: "Tell the others to go to Lieutenant Budd tomorrow morning to get their shoes... How are they supposed to walk in riding boots?"

……

Winters returned to his tent as the militia began to extinguish the campfire.

Being in a war zone, he temporarily suspended his spell practice in order to conserve his "magic power" for any eventuality.

He lit the oil lamp; there was one last thing he needed to do.

Winters took out paper, pen, and ink, thought about what had happened that day, and began to write a letter to Anna:

"From this moment on, every single moment, I am getting closer to you..."

The letter was short, containing only a few sentences. Winters carefully folded the letter and put it in the wooden box.

He extinguished the oil lamp and crawled into the blanket.

There were already over a hundred neatly stacked pieces of paper in the wooden box on the small table.

This is yesterday's update [Friday the 18th]... although I'm only finishing writing it now.

Thank you to all the readers for reading, subscribing, recommending, voting, donating, and commenting. Thank you everyone!
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(End of this chapter)