Battlefield Priest's Diary

Chapter 114 Master Philip's Redemption
When Qin Hao arrived at the frontline hospital, a familiar figure came into his view.

Chanel, whom they had parted ways with at the bus station, was jumping off another truck.

"Miss Chanel, weren't you going to Paris? What are you doing here again?!"

“All the cars have been confiscated, and now all wheeled vehicles in Baladik are concentrated in Verdun. I can’t go anywhere,” the businesswoman said helplessly, shaking her head.

"So what is your current state...?" The priest in the black robe pointed to the nurse's uniform the other person was wearing.

“I’ve been conscripted. The garrison said that if ordinary citizens serve on the front lines for a week, the army promises to provide them with special train tickets to the rear.” Chanel said, showing her identification, which had a small stamp on it.

"Is it still about that investment? Your business?"

"I won't give up until the very last moment!" The woman stuffed her documents back into her pocket, seemingly encouraging herself. "Besides, it's only a week, time will pass quickly."

"A week?" Qin Hao looked around and said softly, "A week like this could be very long."

boom! ! !
As if to echo his words, the sound of cannons boomed again from the direction of the distant fortress.
-
Earlier, at the Verdun front.

boom! ! ! !

A heavy artillery shell exploded in the center of the position. The huge blast wave blew away all the smaller items. The soldiers buried their heads in the trenches, and small stones kept hitting their helmets with a crackling sound.

A small wooden hut, slightly elevated above the position, was shattered by the bomb. Several planks fell from the sky, the largest of which was inscribed with "Temporary Prayer Site, 5th Division, 2nd Army Group".

The figure in the priest's robes escaped the cabin just before the explosion, burying his head in the nearest cover, his hunched back resembling a large ostrich.

With his head in close contact with the great French land, the air, thick with the smell of gunpowder, filled his nostrils, making Mr. Philippe Vashad feel suffocated.

It's terrible! Everything is terrible!

Once the first advisor to the Tsarina of Russia, and a great mystic who could even influence the entire political landscape of Russia, Mr. Philip Vashad is now just an ordinary person in a panic on the battlefield.

He felt his luck was terrible; ever since he returned from Russia, his life had been as if it were cursed.

First, he completely lost his ability to hypnotize.

Then he was lured into investing and failed, losing most of the jewelry and cash he had brought from Russia.

Having worked as a charlatan for decades and now lacking any real skills, the once-prosperous master of mysticism in St. Petersburg suddenly finds himself facing the danger of running out of money.

Left with no other choice, he used his remaining funds to "donate" a large sum to a well-known local monastery, subtly expressing his desire for an opportunity to "serve the Lord."

The dean's kind promise was perfectly fine; Mr. Philip was so generous that such a request could be easily fulfilled.

At the time, Philip thought he had secured a stable, long-term meal ticket.

A few days later, he was thrown onto the battlefield under the pretext of being "sent" by the monastery!

"Greedy fellows should be punished with utmost severity!" shouted the Frenchman, who had buried his head in the ground in anger as he thought of the money he had been cheated out of.

boom! ! ! !

A shell exploded nearby, and Mr. Philip felt a burning sensation all over his back before his eyes rolled back and he passed out.

When he woke up again, he had been taken to a field hospital. His whole body was bandaged up like an olive that had been squeezed dry, and he would feel pain all over his body if he moved even slightly.

"Someone please help me! Let me get out of here!"

He tried to shout that, but found that his throat couldn't produce any sound.

The wounded soldiers' camp was already packed with people, and painful groans could be heard from all around. No one paid attention to him. He couldn't speak and didn't know how badly he was injured. He could only lean against the stretcher alone and wait for his unknown fate.

The fear of waiting for death was even greater than death itself. Philip tried to repent in order to gain redemption and help, but when he suddenly thought about what he had done before, he became even more terrified.

Will the Lord save someone like him who deceives others in the name of God?

At this point, the instinct to survive overrides everything; money, reputation, and the power one once possessed are all unimportant.

The once mysterious master Philip Vashad cried out in his heart, "Help me! Anyone will do! Angels or demons alike! Just get me out of here! I'm willing to believe in him for the rest of my life!"

His prayer was answered the next moment.

"Lieutenant Colonel, why are the wounded concentrated here? We brought so many vehicles; I want to take as many wounded as possible with us!" A voice like heavenly music rang out behind Philippe. The Frenchman cried out in his heart, [Yes, listen to him! Take me with you!]

But the next second, a somewhat rigid voice poured cold water on him.

“Father El, our main task now is to replenish the fortress’s ammunition and personnel. Returning empty will be much faster, and the risk of being shelled by the Germans will be greatly reduced.”

"Lieutenant Colonel, do you mean to abandon these wounded soldiers?"

“Father, that’s not what I meant. It’s just that prioritizing supplies is the best solution at the moment.” The voice paused. “This is also General Pétain’s order.”

The scene fell silent instantly, the entire wounded soldiers' camp was deathly quiet.

Philip felt as if something had stabbed his heart, and tears welled up in his eyes for no apparent reason. Although he hadn't participated in the battle, he had been pulled away from the battlefield, and the feeling of being abandoned was like a small knife stabbing into his heart.

Although the Frenchman couldn't turn his head, he was certain that the soldiers around him were glaring angrily at the man who had just spoken.

But the next second, he heard a resounding response.
“Lieutenant Colonel, if that’s the case, I refuse to carry out this order! I will take care of these wounded soldiers myself.”

A figure dressed in the same priest's robes stood in front of him. Philip was overwhelmed with excitement. For the first time, he felt ashamed of impersonating a clergyman. The other person's righteous act of standing up for the weak against authority made him feel even more inferior.

“Father El, this is wartime. You should know the consequences of openly disobeying orders,” the officer in front of him said sternly.

“Lieutenant Colonel, I remember I am not under the command of the Second Army Group. The one who can give me orders should be the Religious Affairs Department of the Army Department.” The person in front of him also adopted a businesslike attitude.

"The general has ordered that vehicles near the fortress be placed under the unified management of the Second Group," the lieutenant colonel said, suppressing his anger.

"That just so happens that what I'm driving isn't a vehicle, but a 'mobile church' as ​​explicitly defined by the Army's Religious Affairs Department."

“You…” “Father, if you insist on doing this, I have no choice but to report the truth to His Excellency the General.”

"Please proceed. Also, please tell General Pétain that I will organize nighttime transport of the wounded, which will not delay the supply transport for tomorrow." With that, the man in the black robe stood up. "Are there any men who will join me in helping our wounded get home!"

Applause and slogans erupted, and it seemed that more people stepped forward to respond to the leader's good deed.

Someone lifted Philippe's stretcher, and the French people felt a sense of relief, as if they had been given a second chance at life.

His gaze began to shift; he strained to turn his neck, trying to make out the face of his benefactor. He had made up his mind that the first thing he would do after recovering his health was to confess to this priest and recount all the evil he had done in the past.

Huh? This priest looks quite young from behind, and he seems somewhat familiar.

Past memories began to churn in his mind, but were denied by Mr. Philip time and time again.

The next second, the other person turned around and bent down to check his wound.

The Frenchman found his body trembling uncontrollably.

It was a face he knew all too well.

(End of this chapter)