Battlefield Priest's Diary

Chapter 128 Who exactly is that guy?

“Potan El? Isn’t he on the front lines at Bellville Fortress? Same name?” Pétain asked, frowning.

"Unfortunately, that may not be the case."

“Sir, we’ve investigated this man’s resume.” Staff Officer Bernard Seibert opened another document in his hand.

"Pottan Ayr began his studies at the Lyon Theological Seminary in 1905, majoring in Latin. In 1912, he was assigned to a local monastery, where he participated in volunteer work during the 1914 influenza pandemic. Other than that, he was unremarkable."

“He is usually a loner, timid and rarely contacts the outside world. When he received the call to serve as a field chaplain in January of this year, even the citizens around him did not know that there was such a guy in the church.”

“Most importantly, he is a pure Lyon native, his father is a clerk at the Saint-Nizzi Church, and he has no relation to any Eastern blood.”

“In other words…” The staff officer took a deep breath.
“Our Father El, who has performed so many miracles, is probably an imposter.”

The atmosphere in the room suddenly became serious.

General Pétain took out his pocket watch from his pocket, rubbed it gently, and began to slowly pace his feet.

The room suddenly became very quiet, with only the ticking of the clock.

The staff officer stood quietly to the side, not disturbing his superior's thoughts.

With a click, Pétain closed the metal case of his pocket watch, as if he had made a decision.

"Bernard, what do you think his motives were for impersonating someone?"

"Your Excellency, as we all know, the status of Eastern intellectuals in this region is actually not high. I suspect that the identity of a clergyman is very helpful in improving one's social status."

“A very pragmatic statement,” Pétain nodded. “So, my friend, what do you think…”

"Could he be a spy?"

The atmosphere suddenly became tense. Staff Officer Bernard remained silent for a moment, seemingly considering his words.

When he looked up, he said in a very formal tone, “Your Excellency, I think the possibility is very low, or even almost nonexistent.”

"Bernard, tell me your reasons."

“Sir, the reason is simple: if the Germans were to use such a person as a spy, the price they would pay would be far too high. I cannot think of an effective and equivalent return.” Bernard Seibert bowed slightly.

Upon hearing his assistant's words, General Pétain nodded.

Yeah, this guy has already done too much.

His appeal to both the people and the army was almost irreplaceable in opening up the Balduk-Verdun section of the railway.

The army once received more than twenty secret reports from German carrier pigeons captured by the enemy in a single day, so much so that he had a nickname in the intelligence department—the carrier pigeon killer.

Bellwell's prestige is reportedly growing, and he has rallied a group of people to fight the German army to a standstill. In fact, the orders of the Foreign Legion's interim commander are almost becoming meaningless.

“Bernard, we think alike,” the old general said, placing his hands together on the table.

“As long as he’s not a spy, what he did before is not important to us. What we need now is Bellville Fortress, and Bellville Fortress needs him.”

The general took the documents from the staff officer and threw them away with a thud.

"Lock up that trainee pastor. Don't spread this news yet. We'll deal with other things after the war is over."

"Yes, Your Excellency!"

"Also, have the intelligence department collect information on him to see if he could be a key person on file."

“Bernard, I have a feeling this guy won’t be unknown.”

"Your Excellency, are you just going to keep him at the front lines like this?"

"Hmm~" The general pondered for a moment, "After Easter, if there is an opportunity for rotation, I'll transfer him back to the second line."

“We need to talk to him.”
-
*Thump!* A pile of white letter paper was thrown onto the table, and Lieutenant Colonel Eugen placed his hands on the table.

“Father El, we need to talk.”

"Please speak, Lieutenant Colonel." The priest in the black robe did not turn around; he was still writing something with a pen dipped in ink.

Seeing the other party's attitude, the lieutenant colonel took a deep breath and tried his best to calm himself down.

"Father, can you tell me why the soldiers' letters were opened without permission?"

Qin Hao looked at the other person. "You mean those breakup letters?" "Of course."

The priest in black clapped his hands, stood up, and faced the lieutenant colonel, handing him a letter.

"Soldiers now have to endure more than four hours of shelling every day. Even going to the toilet could result in a stray bullet blowing their head off. And the food they eat is so bad that even crows and rats wouldn't touch it."

"Then, just before Easter, when they were all excited to go home, a letter arrived telling them that they had been dumped!"

"This could lead to someone's death! My commander!"

Lieutenant Colonel Eugen lowered his head, hesitated for a second, and then quickly read through the letter in his hand.

His already somewhat rigid face then became even more stiff.

"What are you going to do?"

"Find them all, copy and modify them, or if all else fails, just destroy them and tell the soldiers they didn't receive them."

"This isn't a solution; they'll find out eventually!"

The priest in the black robe continued writing, using a letter opener to cut open another letter from home. After scanning it once, he simply threw away one of the pages and began to continue writing.

“Lieutenant Colonel, our medical team has used thousands of doses of morphine, but no one has ever mentioned the potential problems it might cause. Because compared to the unbearable pain, those troubles are something to be considered later.”

"Rather than letting soldiers die in the agony of betrayal, it's better to give them a false sense of comfort; perhaps some of them will live on because of it."

"Is this something a priest should say?" The lieutenant colonel crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow.

"It doesn't matter, I'm just an intern anyway."

The lieutenant colonel looked at the guy in front of him, shook his head, and sighed.

Finally, he silently pulled up a chair, picked up paper and pen: "Let me see all the letters you've revised. Your French is too rigid; it'll be obvious."

"I didn't expect you to be so adaptable."

"Don't get me wrong, I'm just afraid of a mutiny if we're exposed."

The two men sat facing each other, rummaging through the soldiers' letters in the sack. The priest in the black robe began to mutter to himself as he opened the letters.

"Including potatoes, the staple food should last about three weeks. There's not much oil left, but I managed to get some sugar from the Germans..."

"It's best not to use Miss 75's shells for anti-aircraft purposes; they're basically useless..."

"It seems the Germans have gotten their hands on some pretty ruthless guys. Watch out for their Molotov cocktails and flamethrowers. I've got some men digging firebreaks..."

"Oh, by the way, there's a guy named Pierre. I think he'd be good at being a clerk. If you're looking for an adjutant, you could give him a try."

Boom! !

The lieutenant colonel slammed a stack of letters on the table with a sullen thud.

"Why do I get the feeling you're making your final arrangements?!"

The priest in the black robe was taken aback, then a mysterious smile appeared on his face.
"Who knows? Maybe one day I'll be taken away by a stray shell."

"You guy..."

In a spot out of the lieutenant colonel's sight, a diary was being turned over, and the number of wounded soldiers remaining on it continued to decrease.

He's leaving soon.
-
Meanwhile, the German positions.

Manstein stared at the strangely shaped shell before him, his face ashen as still water.

“Captain, I know what you’re thinking.” Lieutenant General Dildorf von Schäfer stood next to his adjutant.

"Using this on the battlefield may not be honorable, and some even call it a coward's weapon, but war cannot be about chivalry."

"We need victory, and so does the Empire. Do you understand what I mean, Captain?"

The lieutenant general's last words carried a subtle warning, and Manstein did not defend himself, but simply stepped back in silence.

He knew that without his uncle Hindenburg's orders, these poison gas bombs wouldn't be able to be brought in.

(End of this chapter)