When the Saint comes, she does not collect food

Chapter 1039 It’s rare to be confused
The night was dark, and Gale, the commander of the left flank division, was still sleepy, his gray hair sticking up in a messy, frizzy mess.

He forcibly supported his head with his hands to prevent it from getting buried in the documents that were taller than his helmet.

For an elderly person in their seventies, even with the aid of breathing techniques, getting up in the middle of the night to handle military affairs was still too exhausting.

"...Based on my experience in the Thousand River Valley War, the enemy had at least five hundred men."

So far, when I returned, I had not seen any of my comrades, nor had the beacon fires been lit. I suspect this is the beginning of a large-scale attack…

Standing at the table, Pierre, covered in blood, spoke nervously.

Nodding his head slightly, Gael's fingers slid across a tattered, greasy volume of the "Franzan Military Code," his eyes half-closed like an old cat just waking up.

"Are you a deserter?"

“Huh?” Gale’s first words left Pierre stunned.

"The beacon fire wasn't lit, and you ran back by yourself; you're a deserter."

"No, I, I, I came back to deliver a message, how can I be considered a deserter?"

"Go read Chapter 5, Article 7 of the 'Fran Army Code' yourself. You failed in your duty, there's nothing more to say. Guards, drag him away."

"Your Excellency, Your Excellency... Damn it, you old fool, you know I could have chosen not to come back? I came back hoping to win the battle!"
How can you win a battle with an insect like you? You're bound to lose!

Pierre, the deserter, was dragged out of the tent along with his angry curses. The captain of the guards next to him shouted, "How arrogant! What's so great about a deserter? Go and slap him!"

“No need, just punish according to the rules.” Despite being scolded for being senile, Gail’s composure was truly solid, and she lightly let it go.

Turning his head, he spoke to the clerk and the chief priest: "Write it down, the outpost was attacked, casualties... um, several."

“Your Excellency!” Millet, the commander of a thousand men, stepped forward. This officer, who came from a newly noble family, had the brass buttons on his uniform collar polished to a gleaming shine. “Pierre is a veteran of the Thousand Rivers Valley War. He said the enemy had at least five hundred men, and the gunfire was as dense as hail.”

This was definitely not a chance attack; the reconnaissance force wouldn't have that many people. Their numbers were definitely not small.

"We should follow Count Kazi's advice, proactively tighten our defenses, reinforce the stone fortifications on our flanks, and wait for the main force of the legion to arrive and join us!"

Gail rubbed her reddened eyes but didn't say anything. Instead, she slowly pulled out a document sealed with wax from the pile of files.

The iris on the wax print was a little blurry; it was sent by the commander of the Montel regiment three days ago.

Despite the military conference where Count Cács, the advisor, expressed the idea that the left flank should contain the enemy's flank and not launch any attacks without orders, thus creating conditions for the main force to encircle them.

However, the order Gael received from Monteil was to seize any opportunity to attack small groups of troops and win a decisive victory for the army.

Count Cács said not to take the initiative, while Montaire said to take the initiative.

Caught in the middle, Gail was now in a dilemma, having gone from being stubborn to being blocked from both sides.

"Take a look at this document yourselves," the general tossed the order to the three centurions present. Gale leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

He may be old, but his mind is not.

Although he was born into a civil service family, his family was originally a military aristocracy; otherwise, he would not have been appointed as a regimental commander.

He could clearly tell that Count Cazi's strategy was more prudent, but the problem was that Count Cazi was only an advisor.

His verbal pronouncements at military conferences were only for reference; the actual military orders still depended on Montyr.

It would undoubtedly be more risky for Montel to give the order, but he was the one who issued the order, and Gale was merely the executor.

If anything goes wrong in the future, the responsibility lies with Montel, not Gael.

If Gale refuses to comply, he will not benefit from winning the war, and he will suffer even more if the war is lost.

Although from a military perspective, Gael preferred Count Cács, nothing was better than nothing.

"You mean, follow His Excellency Montaire's advice?" a centurion asked tentatively. "Yes, take the initiative. We have five thousand men, mostly combat soldiers, unlike the right flank army."

"But the commander of the Monterey Corps isn't here!" Miller was sweating profusely. "This is definitely not a small-scale skirmish..."

“Count Kazi is just an advisor!” Gale suddenly raised his voice. “Article 5 of Chapter 3 of the Military Code states that lower-level regiments must unconditionally obey the orders of their superior legion commanders.”

Montyre is the legion commander; his orders carry more weight than anyone else's.

“Lord Gale, you should have already figured it out, shouldn’t you?” Miller took another step forward. “This is definitely not a small force. One hundred cavalry and one hundred infantry, and only one escaped.”

Their level of expertise and their reaction speed definitely exceeded our expectations.

Based on this expectation, we are very likely to encounter an elite legion of the Holy Alliance equipped with extremely strong winds, such as the Black Champion or the nearby Divine Punishment Army.

They even have clockwork cannons; a Holy Alliance chapter should have forty-eight three-pounder cannons, and we only have half that…”

“Chief Miller!” Gale slammed his hand on the table, the ink bottle jolted, and black ink splattered onto the cover of the Military Regulations. “Mind your place! You are a chief of staff, I am the regimental commander!”

Miller wanted to argue, but was stopped by the looks from his colleagues.

Old Gale stood up, his joints cracking softly like a snapping twig: "Since Miller is so determined, then go and reinforce the stone fortifications. Well, that's it."

"But……"

"If there's nothing else, go back and prepare. We'll set off at dawn."

Miller looked around at his colleagues with disappointment, only to find that they were all looking down at each other, not saying a word.

“Sigh…” All three centurions had gone out, leaving only Gale in the tent.

He brought out a candle, stared at Montaire's official documents for a long time, and then took out his own clerk's memorandum.

The document was filled with records of the military supplies being inventoried in a certain year and month, and the documents being neatly filed in a certain year and month, but there was not a single decent battle achievement.

He sighed, picked up his quill pen, and scrawled the order in a crooked hand: "The left flank advances at dawn, following the strategy of the Montyr corps commander, seeking out the enemy and annihilating their small units."

The ink spread on the paper, like an ugly black spot.

The next morning, wisps of smoke rose from the chimneys.

The soldiers yawned as they emerged from the camp and lined up on the grass.

In the pre-dawn mist, Miller watched the Franz soldiers marching in neat rows and couldn't help but glance back at old Gale.

To be honest, in this situation, dividing the troops to defend the stone fortress actually preserved Miller's thousand soldiers.

If old Gale had actually gone to the battlefield, Miller guessed that he probably wouldn't have gotten a good result.

However, old Gale probably doesn't care; as long as his actions are correct, it's just a matter of ability.

It wasn't even a matter of his ability; Montel also had to take half the responsibility.

As for the outcome of this battle, Gale naturally cared, but there was nothing he could do. If he were thirty years younger, he would definitely have disobeyed orders.

During the first Battle of Windmill Land, he was also a passionate young man who defied orders and charged forward.

But Fran is different now, and so is he.

Gale sat on his horse, clutching the signed order in his hand, the sweat on his palms making the pages wrinkle.

It's good to be a little confused in life.

"Forward!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, his voice half-swallowed by the morning mist.

(End of this chapter)