Battlefield Priest's Diary

Chapter 124 The Corpse Collector

April 1, 1916, 21 days before Easter, Verdun, Belvedere Hill.

6:30 a.m.

call! ! ! !

German albatross reconnaissance planes roared overhead, their pilots constantly taking pictures of the French positions with handheld cameras.

Strangely, despite the enemy being right above them, the soldiers operating the anti-aircraft weapons did not show any signs of tension on the battlefield; in fact, they were rather "indifferent."

After all, the war has been going on for so long that even the most clueless soldiers have started to gain experience.

It was obvious to anyone with eyes that the German machine guns couldn't reach them at all. The anti-aircraft guns modified from the 75mm guns were more suitable for dealing with slow-moving but valuable airships, and the precious shells shouldn't be wasted.

Intelligence leak?

Please, the Germans fly so high that the photos they take are basically just blurry. They're not much of a threat anyway. As long as they don't fly below 300 meters, just let them be.

What if the enemy drops bombs?
Please, there's no such thing as absolute safety in a place like Verdun. Even if you're hiding in a trench, you might still get shot through the head by a stray bullet that comes flying from anywhere.

If you get killed by one of those "little gadgets" dropped by an albatross reconnaissance plane, then you're just incredibly unlucky.

With this mindset, a very subtle tacit understanding emerged on the battlefield—German reconnaissance planes would come high up, take a few pictures, and then leave safely. As long as they didn't dive low, the ground troops wouldn't use their precious anti-aircraft guns.

Just like clocking in on time, the Albatross reconnaissance plane swayed its broad body and turned back.

After the roar of airplanes in the sky completely disappeared, the entire position became silent, so silent that it almost didn't feel like a battlefield.

next second.

A helmet resembling a flat-topped hat began to sway in the tunnel, followed by a second, a third, a fourth... As if the arid land of Africa had just been rained on, the entire battlefield suddenly came alive again.

The French soldiers hiding in the tunnels stood up like moles. They bent over and moved through the trenches, rummaging through their personal belongings—meal boxes and spoons.

Breakfast is about to begin.

"Hurry up and eat! The Germans will be here soon!"

A cook carried a wooden bucket and stuffed black bread into the soldiers' hands. This staple food, made from a mixture of rye and oats, was as hard as a brick and would break teeth if eaten directly.

Fortunately, the cooks also provided a side dish—a soup made by cooking dandelion, oil, and animal offal together.

Although it had a pungent taste that soldiers called it "cannonball soup," it had a unique purpose at this time.

The soldiers tore off pieces of black bread and threw them into the soup to soften them, then devoured them while the soup was still warm—once the bitter taste of the dandelion was cooled, it became easier to taste.

For a moment, the entire trench was filled with a snoring sound, which sounded just like somewhere in a rural farm.

However, amidst these rising and falling voices, a young soldier stared at the black bread in his hand, remaining motionless for a long time.

"Hey, I advise you to eat something while you can still swallow something." An old soldier who looked to be around forty years old pushed him, and the young man staggered forward two steps, causing his companions behind him to burst into laughter.

"I...I can't eat..." the young man replied softly.

"How long have you been in the army?" the veteran asked, squatting down.

"Sir, it's been a month..."

The veteran looked again at the other man's hands, which were free of calluses. "A scholar, perhaps?"

"Sir, I attended a public high school for two years and studied painting."

"You killed a German?"

The recruit shook his head in fear.

Seeing the other person's bewildered look, the veteran sighed, "If people your age are dragged into the battlefield, I really don't know what France will become after the war."

"Come with me."

The veteran swallowed his food, brushed the dust off his clothes, and grabbed the pickaxe beside him. The young man, puzzled, followed the veteran forward, crossing the winding trenches to reach the fiercely contested front line. The area had been almost entirely ravaged by German artillery fire; everywhere were tattered barbed wire and charred wood.

The smell of blood began to fill his nose, and the young man felt his stomach begin to spasm, with stomach acid surging up his throat.

"Put this on, it can save your life in a critical moment."

The young man took the item and found it to be a blue and white armband with a prominent black cross on it.

"Alright, let's get to work. Remember, don't shout." The veteran waved his tools and led the young man into a new tunnel.

The young man's heart suddenly clenched.

Inside the tunnel, which was about 20 to 30 meters long, lay several corpses lying haphazardly. The corpses were dressed in French military uniforms, and fatal wounds and dried blood could be seen on their bodies.

The stench of blood was overwhelming!

Woo! ! !
The young man couldn't take it anymore and started vomiting violently, leaning against the wall.

"You know why I made you eat breakfast, right? That way you'll at least have something to throw up on." The veteran, unfazed, tossed the tools over.

"Come help me as soon as you've finished vomiting, the Germans will be firing again in a bit."

So they wanted him to be a corpse collector!

Despite their physical discomfort, the young men worked with the veterans to gather the corpses together, load them onto a cart, and haul them away.

I thought it was a temporary job, but when the new recruit tried to return the armband, he was stopped by the other party.

"This is your job from now on! Twice a day, morning and evening, you'll come to the front lines to collect corpses. Remember to eat something before you come!" The veteran shoved the armband into his hand without giving him any reason to question it, and then left without looking back.

The soldier felt a sense of humiliation and bullying rising within him as he smelled the stench emanating from his own body. He remained silent, but then, at a certain point, he began to feel nauseous again.

Someone handed him a water bottle, which the soldier took and gulped down a large mouthful.

The person next to him then stuffed something that looked like a pie into his hand.

The aroma of grain irritated their nasal passages. The soldier, whose stomach was completely empty, took a big bite and discovered that the pie was actually made of potatoes. Its delicate texture was far more pleasant than hard bread.

It made his stomach feel much better after he had just vomited.

Turning around to say thank you, I discovered that the person who handed me the food was the second-in-command on the front lines, Father El, a figure with many legends.

“Father! I, I’m sorry… I mean… thank you…” The soldier looked embarrassed, wanting to explain but not knowing where to begin.

"It's alright, aren't you full?" The priest in the black robe smiled and handed over another potato pancake.

As the soldier took the potato pancake, his nose tingled with emotion. Remembering the man's deeds, he hesitated for a moment and opened his mouth slightly.

"Father, may I have a moment of your time?"

"Of course, it is my duty to listen to the voice of every believer," the other person said with a smile as they turned their head.

“Father, my name is Jean-Pierre, and something happened to me this morning…”

The soldier then recounted how he had been forced to collect the corpses and how this task had been consistently assigned to him, while the black-haired, black-robed priest simply listened quietly from the side.

After he finished his statement, the priest in the black robe nodded and sighed softly.
"He's such a gentle person, just too shy. He should have explained things to you in person."

? ? ? ! ! !
The fact that a priest with a good reputation would say something like that, condoning wrongdoing, was hard for the young people to accept.

However, he froze the next second.

"You don't know this, do you? In this area, the corpse collectors are the only soldiers who don't have to go to the battlefield. Wearing that armband, the Germans won't shoot at you unless they've lost their minds."

"Your current status is probably safer than Lieutenant Colonel Eugen's."

"Furthermore, we are short of manpower, and the number of corpse collectors is strictly controlled. He handed his armband to you. Do you know what that means?"

(End of this chapter)