Trench Bolts and Magic

Chapter 87: Rest and Recuperation End
The temporary garrison of Company 1, far away in the Kingdom of Aragon.

Compared to the turbulent Paris, the atmosphere in this place, which is closer to the center of the conflict, is much more relaxed.

For the soldiers on the front lines, the political maneuvering in Paris was too distant a concern.

They were more concerned about what they would eat for their next meal and when they could take a hot shower.
And whether the company commander will provide extra training.

This afternoon was a rare rest time, and the soldiers finally had time to tidy themselves up and air out their uniforms and blankets.

Morin didn't stay in his officer's tent, but sat on the open ground outside the row of tents.

Surrounding him were his three platoon leaders, Klaus, Bowman, and a group of other sergeants, as well as officers and sergeants from other companies and neighboring battalions.

A group of Saxon men, each with a military mess kit filled with dark, black coffee, were gathered together, engaged in lively conversation.

Men seem to have an innate interest in discussing important matters and world affairs, and this is true in every world.

When a group of men get together, no matter what they were talking about before, they will eventually veer in one of two directions.
Keynote speech and absurdity.

Especially under the influence of Morin, the "political expert," the officers and sergeants in his company gradually fell in love with the beneficial collective activity of "bragging about international affairs."

"If you ask me, these Gallic people just want to have their cake and eat it too."

A second lieutenant platoon leader from the 2nd Company of the 1st Battalion shook the lunchbox in his hand; the coffee inside was almost gone. He pursed his lips and continued to offer his "profound" opinions.

"They definitely want us to fight the Britannians to the death so they can jump in and reap the benefits, ideally by swallowing that brilliance crystal vein whole!"

"I think so too!"

Ram, the second platoon leader under Morin, nodded vigorously and echoed:

"That guy in the military newspaper, what's his name, Viviani? He doesn't look like a good person. Besides, aren't the Gauls and Britannia in cahoots, using magical technology too?"

"What do you know? This is called diplomacy."

Sergeant Klaus leaned against a pile of boxes, lecturing everyone in a tone of someone who had been through it all.

Although he usually looks like a typical Saxon soldier, he is also the 'strictest father' to the entire company during training.

But in reality, when it comes to the "keyboard politics" segment, he is more engaged and attentive than anyone else.

Highlighting a contrast.

"Fighting is fighting, and negotiating is negotiating; they are completely different things. Look at the company commander; he's not as loud and boisterous as you guys."

All eyes immediately turned to Morin.

Morin was sipping the coffee, which was so bitter it could kill you—he had already confirmed with the soldiers in the field kitchen that it was indeed coffee beans, not the 'coffee without coffee' commonly seen in the later stages of World War I by the German army.

When he saw everyone's attention focused on him, he simply smiled and did not give any lengthy remarks.

He couldn't very well tell these grown men that the Gauls' actions were actually stealing the job from the Britannians.

In the world before he transmigrated, there was a specific term for it: 'troublemaker'.

However, seeing his officers and non-commissioned officers transform from rough men who initially only cared about pay and leave into "military enthusiasts" who can now sit together and discuss international affairs gives him a great sense of accomplishment.

This at least shows that his company is slowly developing an atmosphere of thinking, rather than being a group of machines that only obey orders.

"Company Commander, could you analyze for me what kind of outcome the talks in Paris could possibly produce?"

Bowman asked with a curious look:

"Haven't you become a spellcaster? Shall we get you a crystal ball, then you can make the prophecy?"

“Sergeant Bowman, are you sure you’re not talking about the Roma witches at the market?” a corporal teased.

"Bullshit! I've been inside their tent before, there's no crystal ball at all!"

"Then you probably just went straight into the innermost tent~"

"Ha ha ha ha."

Once they realized what was happening, the group started joking around in a playful tone.

See, this is how you seamlessly switch from political commentary to erotic content.

However, the topic eventually circled back to Morin, and everyone turned their attention back to him, hoping he would say a few words.

How would I know?

Seeing this, the little bear shrugged.

"However, I guess the Britannians, having failed to reach any agreement in Seville, are unlikely to give up easily."

“As for our side, I don’t think His Majesty can just vomit up what he’s already swallowed.” “Then we still have to fight?” a platoon leader asked.

"Fighting is inevitable. Just remember one thing: war is a continuation of politics. The negotiations in Paris and the development of the war in the Kingdom of Aragon are closely linked."

Morin held the lunchbox, took another sip of coffee, and then continued:
"Besides, what you can't get on the battlefield, you can't get at the negotiating table either. So for us, it's always good to be prepared for war at any time."

Just as everyone was engrossed in online discussions and oblivious to the world around them, several hurried footsteps could be heard in the distance.

The crowd looked in the direction of the sound and saw several messengers running towards their open space from different directions.

Judging from the route they came from, it seems they came from the camps of several other companies.

The messengers ran up and exchanged glances.

They all looked somewhat surprised, as if they hadn't expected the people they were looking for to gather together.

Then, they all stood still in front of Morin and the others, snapping to attention and saluting with their feet together.

"Lieutenant! Orders from headquarters!"

The surroundings fell silent instantly, everyone stood up, and the relaxed atmosphere of casual conversation vanished without a trace.

Molin and the other company commanders exchanged glances, a sense of unease creeping into their hearts.

Messengers don't usually appear in such large groups.

"Lieutenant Friedrich Morin, Company Commander of the 1st Company, 1st Battalion!"

"Company Commander of the 2nd Company, 1st Battalion"

"Proceed to the battalion headquarters for a meeting immediately!"

Immediately afterwards, several other messengers also spoke up, they were looking for the company commanders from other battalions who were also present.

After relaying the order, one of the young messengers couldn't help but mutter to himself, "Hey! What a coincidence, they're all here."

Without any delay, Morin and his men handed their lunchboxes to their subordinates, gave them a few brief instructions, and then hurriedly followed the messenger toward their respective battalion headquarters.

The battalion headquarters was set up in a relatively spacious tent.

The 1st Company's location was closest to the battalion headquarters, so Molin and another company commander were among the first to arrive.

Before long, all the other notified officers arrived.

Major Thomas stood before a folding table covered with a map, his face serious, completely devoid of the excitement he had shown at the parade ground.

Seeing that everyone had arrived, he didn't waste any words and simply tapped the map with the pencil in his hand.

"Gentlemen, the rest period is over."

"We have just received orders from our superiors that the 8th Infantry Division will immediately proceed to Cuenca to prepare for combat."

The atmosphere inside the tent suddenly became somewhat tense, even though everyone was prepared and knew that they would inevitably have to continue fighting.

But when the order was actually given, that heavy pressure instantly enveloped everyone.

"According to the division's military train transfer plan, our battalion will board the train and depart this afternoon."

Major Thomas's gaze swept across the faces of the four company commanders, then he glanced at his wristwatch.

"It's 12:42 now. Go back and have your companies prepare for departure. Field rations and bread will be distributed to each company by the supply train shortly."

"By 14 PM, I want the entire battalion assembled in the open area outside the battalion headquarters. Anyone who disobeys will be dealt with according to military law!"

"Do you understand everything?!"

Major Thomas emphasized his words.

"Yes, Major!" the four company commanders replied in unison.

"Very good, go back and prepare now."

Major Thomas waved his hand, indicating that they could leave first, while the quartermaster and other support units would stay behind to coordinate the transfer.

Morin and the others didn't say a word, saluted the major, and then turned and walked out of the tent with the other company commanders.

The afternoon sun outside the tent was still bright, but Morin felt no warmth in his heart.

The holiday is over.

(End of this chapter)