Battlefield Priest's Diary

Chapter 15 This Priest Isn't So Cold 1
At dawn, on the position of the Russian 43rd Siberian Infantry Regiment, soldiers were wielding shovels to reinforce the position. Because of the light rain the night before, the trenches were like mud pits, and once you stepped in, it would take a lot of effort to pull yourself out.

The soldiers numbly dug up the mud with shovels and threw it outside the trench; everyone's movements were stiff.

"Dinner's ready!" a cook called out, carrying a wooden bucket.

A simple sentence was like pressing a button; these puppet-like soldiers suddenly came to life. People lined up haphazardly, waiting to be distributed food, while the more astute ones prepared to slack off in the chaos.

A piece of black bread, a potato, and a bowl of bean paste in a wooden bowl—that's all there is to a meal.

The soldiers, holding their wooden bowls, sat in twos and threes in the corners of the trench, casually wiping their hands on their clothes before putting food into their mouths. Soon, the sound of slurping could be heard from all over the trench.

"Did you know? A big shot came here yesterday," a soldier whispered, nudging his comrade.

"A big shot, hmph... the one overseeing the battle, huh?" His colleague replied without stopping chewing, so his words were mumbled.

"No, he's a priest from Moscow."

“Father, hiccup~ So what? Will the wood of the cross on our graves be thicker after we die?” his companion said nonchalantly, swallowing the black bread in his mouth.

"You're overthinking it. We'll probably get dug up and buried together. Let me make this clear, old Joseph, I'm definitely going to be on top of you." Someone nearby made a rather wicked joke.

“I mean, maybe he could lead us in a prayer… or help me write a letter home, you know I can’t read…” The soldier rubbed his hands awkwardly.

"Don't even think about it. He's a priest, how could he possibly pray for you or write you letters? Right now, he's probably drinking milk and eating white bread, preparing to give the officers Holy Communion with wine. He doesn't care about the lives of us," his companion said, pursing his lips.

“Not necessarily,” a stranger interjected. “Maybe he just likes being with soldiers. Maybe he can not only help write letters, but also dig trenches with them.”

"Impossible!" the soldier in front immediately denied. "I bet if that were the case, I'd eat the mud I dug out."

"Count me in on the bet!" someone chimed in, joining in the fun.

"Me too...me too...me too..." The soldier, who had just opened his mouth to join in the fun, suddenly found his mouth wide open, with half a bean in it, looking just like a big toad with its mouth open.

The person who had just interrupted was wearing a clean, collarless officer's uniform, with short, jet-black hair and dark eyes. He was casually squatting to one side of the soldier, assuming a listening posture.

Someone saw him; he was standing with the commander yesterday.

“M-M-Sir… Oh, no, Father… We were just joking.” Someone explained, trembling. The conversation could be interpreted in different ways, and based on past experience, if the other party got angry, a whipping would probably be the least of their worries.

“I’m not a gentleman. I prefer people to call me by my name, Putin, or you can call me friend.” The man in front of me was polite, a stark contrast to the arrogant officer.

He turned to the guy who had suggested the bet. "Nosayev, I really don't recommend you eat mud. You'll burst your stomach."

The rough-looking veteran opposite him was first frightened, then stunned. He took off his hat and asked cautiously, "You... know my name?"

“Of course, I saw you fighting yesterday; you threw grenades really far,” the young priest said with a smile, then looked at another person in the distance.
"Andrei, you protected a comrade on the battlefield, you are a hero." "Sergei, you are very strong, you lifted two ammunition boxes by yourself."

“Igor, Sasha, Ivanov…”

He called out each of their names one by one. The soldiers were initially flattered, but then their faces showed expressions of disbelief.

This priest, who only arrived yesterday, actually knows my name and understands them so well!
The priest, who was once aloof and unapproachable in everyone's eyes, suddenly became kind and approachable, and the atmosphere around them began to relax.

A discordant voice interrupted everything.

"What are you swine doing?! Why are you surrounding Father Putin?!" The short, fat lieutenant colonel, holding a short whip, appeared at the edge of the trench with his men. When he saw the clumps of mud in the trench, he stopped and pulled his shiny riding boots back.

When the lieutenant colonel looked at Qin Hao, he immediately put on a different face. He smiled obsequiously and said, "Father, you'd better not stay here. These are all uncouth fellows. Besides, there might be a German sniper at any time. I've prepared a breakfast befitting your status for you."

But the young priest in front of him shook his head the next moment.

"On the contrary, Lieutenant Colonel, I think this is where I should be."

"Our soldiers need encouragement and comfort; they need us to stand by them."

"Furthermore, as I have told you, I am an ascetic and do not need lavish food."

After saying these words, Qin Hao stood up, took a step and jumped into the trench. His newly changed boots were instantly covered in mud, and even his newly changed military uniform was covered in mud.

The black-haired priest, trudging through the mud, first walked over to the cook, stretched out his hand, and asked, "Could I have a potato?"

Completely bewildered by the situation, the soldiers instinctively did as instructed.

The next second, the priest in everyone's eyes, the big shot from Moscow, and the army group commander's personal friend, took a bite of the dark boiled potato, picked up a shovel, and began digging the mud in the trench.

The scene fell silent for a moment, with some people rubbing their eyes repeatedly, thinking there was something wrong with their eyesight.

"Huh? Why are you all looking at me?" The black-haired priest looked at everyone with a puzzled expression.
"Guys, have breakfast first, then I'll work with you." As he spoke, the dark-haired man took a rather rough bite of potato.

chap!
The first soldier's shovel fell, then the second, then the third.

Click! Click! Click! Click!
Soon, the sound of shovels being swung could be heard all around the trenches. As if under a spell, the soldiers took a bite of a potato and then swung their shovels.

Working while eating is a unique "style" of this Russian army unit. The soldiers didn't know how the priest could be so "expert" on his first day, but everyone felt very welcome.

Surprisingly, this feeling wasn't bad at all.

(End of this chapter)