While Albert II and his two “powerful ministers” were discussing matters in Sanssouci Palace, Morin, after exchanging greetings with Schmidt and the sentries, entered the encampment of the 1st Battalion, 33rd Infantry Regiment.
This temporary camp for the combat troops was even noisier and more chaotic than the regimental headquarters.
The air was filled with the mingled smell of damp earth, sweat, and cheap tobacco. One windproof oil lamp after another swayed in the night breeze, stretching the soldiers’ shadows long and short by turns.
The place was full of the roughness and simplicity of a First World War style, something Morin found familiar.
Although it was already deep into the night, this unit was clearly still on standby and had not gone to sleep as a whole.
Soldiers wearing the classic spiked helmets gathered in twos and threes by their respective units, inside and outside the tents. Some were wiping down their rifles, while others spoke in low voices.
But more of them simply sat in silence, staring hollow-eyed at the flickering firelight.
Clearly, not everyone could be like the messenger Schmidt and understand why they had come to a foreign land to fight.
Most of them were merely obeying orders as soldiers.
Schmidt led Morin through the temporary camp. His liveliness seemed to have been infected by the oppressive atmosphere, and he spoke much less.
Before long, the two stopped in front of a somewhat larger tent.
“Second Lieutenant, this is battalion headquarters. Major Thomas is inside.”
Schmidt pointed at the tent, then lifted the heavy tent flap and went in first.
Morin took a deep breath, straightened the wrinkled and rather stained uniform on his body, and followed him in.
Only one oil lamp had been lit inside the tent. The light was not particularly bright; in fact, it was somewhat dim and yellow.
A burly middle-aged officer with a standard Saxon handlebar mustache stood before a field table spread with maps, his brows tightly furrowed.
Hearing the sound of the tent flap being lifted, he raised his head. His gaze first fell on Schmidt, then moved to Morin behind him.
When he clearly saw Morin’s obviously bruised face and the bandages showing at his collar, the major’s eyebrows twitched uncontrollably.
Schmidt took a step forward and handed over a document pouch, then rapidly gave a brief account of Morin’s ordeal.
Morin was taken aback. He had not expected Lieutenant General Mackensen to refrain from having others conceal the matter.
“…That is the situation, Major! General Mackensen ordered me to bring Second Lieutenant Morin directly here to report.”
After listening, Major Thomas looked Morin over once more, his expression somewhat complicated.
“You really are lucky to be alive…”
He opened the document pouch, pulled out the order letter inside and skimmed it, then nodded.
“I understand. Go back and report.”
“Yes, Major!”
Schmidt saluted crisply, turned, and quickly left the tent.
Major Thomas set the order letter aside casually, pointed to an ammunition crate nearby, and spoke in a much gentler tone.
“Sit, Second Lieutenant. Your experience… could be considered quite legendary.”
Faced with Major Thomas’s words, Morin did not know how to respond for a moment. He could only give a simple, honest laugh and sit down.
On the other side, the major opened the documents the messenger had brought, quickly glanced through them, then sighed.
“Morin, given your previous experience and your current condition, I ought to let you get a good rest first… but the situation has changed. The troops are very likely about to begin moving.”
“I’m fine, sir!”
Morin knew that as a newcomer, he naturally had to find a way to leave a good impression on his superior officer. And in the straightforward world of the army, what he had to do was very simple.
“Please give me your orders!”
“Very good! 3rd Company has been waiting for you, their platoon leader, to arrive for a long time. I’ll send someone to take you over right now.”
Thomas was clearly very satisfied with Morin’s attitude. He called out toward the outside of the tent, and an orderly immediately walked in.
“Take Second Lieutenant Morin to 3rd Company and hand him over to Captain Hauser.”
“Yes, sir.”
After leaving Major Thomas’s tent, Morin, led by the orderly, soon found the station of 3rd Company.
The atmosphere here was somewhat livelier than at battalion headquarters. A shrewd and capable-looking captain was assigning tasks to the noncommissioned officers under him.
When he saw Morin brought over by the orderly, the captain’s eyes lit up, and he immediately strode over to meet him.
“You must be Second Lieutenant Morin, right? Thank God, you’ve finally arrived!”
The captain warmly clasped Morin’s hand, gripping so hard that Morin bared his teeth.
“I’m Karl Hauser, commander of 3rd Company.”
“Sir!”
Morin immediately followed the muscle memory of this body and saluted his direct superior.
“No need to be so formal!”
Captain Hauser patted him on the shoulder, his face filled with undisguised joy.
“Do you know, our original platoon leader suddenly fell ill and died outright on the train to Aragon! The 3rd Platoon under me has been without a platoon leader for almost a month now, and it’s been commanded by the platoon sergeant the whole time. He’s been run ragged!”
Only then did Morin come to a sudden realization. So he had been dragged in to fill a hole.
Captain Hauser was clearly a man who acted swiftly and decisively. After exchanging only a few pleasantries with Morin, he called over the company headquarters personnel and the other officers.
“Everyone, let me introduce you. This is Second Lieutenant Morin, the new platoon leader of our 3rd Platoon! Get acquainted!”
Hearing Captain Hauser’s words, everyone gathered around one after another and greeted Morin in a friendly manner.
Morin also took this opportunity to quickly familiarize himself with the organizational structure of a grassroots unit in the Saxon Imperial Army.
Aside from directly commanding officers such as the company commander and platoon leaders, an infantry company actually had quite a number of people in company headquarters.
One company sergeant major, who served as the core figure;
One quartermaster NCO, assisting the company sergeant major in managing rations, clothing, barracks, and other affairs;
Two clerks, responsible for handling the company’s various documents and reports. After all, the company commander was usually quite busy and had no time to deal with the more complicated paperwork and reports;
Four medics, equipped with basic medical kits and responsible for battlefield first aid and evacuating the wounded to the battalion aid station;
A six-man signals squad, responsible for establishing and maintaining communications with battalion headquarters. Under ordinary circumstances, they were used directly as messengers. If company headquarters needed to establish telephone contact with battalion headquarters, they would be the ones to lay the lines;
Finally, there was an eight-man baggage group, responsible for managing the company’s field kitchen cart, food reserves, drinking water, extra ammunition boxes, spare weapon parts, tools, and so on during marches and encampments.
Of course, there was also the company headquarters’ baggage~
Morin even saw that among these eight men, two were specifically a farrier and a harness maker.
Because under an infantry company of the Saxon Empire, aside from the officers’ and messengers’ army horses, there were also two additional baggage wagons, responsible for transporting the entire company’s luggage during marches.
Good old Holy Mule-and-Horse Empire…
As he became acquainted with everyone, much of the knowledge this body had learned at the Richterfeld Central Military Academy also began to resurface, and his own “golden finger” continuously popped up one notification after another about information updates.
Morin realized that, as someone with obsessive-compulsive tendencies, he would probably be unable to avoid a “great battle” of clearing red notification dots later.
After the others dispersed, the other two platoon leaders—a taciturn lieutenant and a very cheerful-looking second lieutenant—also took the initiative to come over and greet Morin.
This relatively friendly atmosphere within the company allowed Morin’s taut nerves to relax considerably.
After the brief exchange of pleasantries ended, a stern-faced middle-aged sergeant with the rank insignia of a senior NCO walked up to Morin.
“Second Lieutenant, I am the platoon sergeant of 3rd Platoon, Klaus.”
“Hello, Sergeant Klaus.”
Morin nodded and took the initiative to shake his hand.
“Please assemble the troops. I’d like to meet everyone.”
“Yes, sir.”
Very soon, the soldiers of 3rd Platoon had assembled on the open ground in front of the tents.
The current infantry squad of the Saxon Empire was a nine-man infantry squad.
Every two infantry squads formed one section. Eight squads, or four sections, made a total of seventy-two riflemen, who were the main combat personnel of the entire platoon.
Adding the platoon leader, platoon sergeant, four NCOs, and two messengers, they together formed an eighty-man “supersized” infantry platoon.
Among them, aside from the platoon leader, the most central figures were the platoon sergeant and the four noncommissioned officers, whose ranks were generally corporals.
The platoon sergeant was the platoon leader’s assistant. Like the sergeant major at company level, he was the soul of the entire platoon and also the bridge between the platoon leader and the soldiers.
Many of the platoon’s daily affairs, large and small, were often arranged by the platoon sergeant.
And Sergeant Klaus, who was responsible for assisting Morin, was a veteran NCO with more than sixteen years of service. For an infantry platoon, he was absolutely an heirloom-level existence.
The other four NCOs were responsible for assisting with the platoon’s daily training, as well as leading the four sections under them in combat.
The assembled soldiers stood in neat ranks. Under the cold moonlight, one young or weathered face after another turned toward their new commander.
The strict hierarchy within the Saxon Imperial Army made them maintain absolute silence.
Although before transmigrating, he had also been a military academy student, he had not yet reached the stage of being assigned to a company after graduation. But based on the experience of some upperclassmen, at this moment he absolutely could not show nervousness or stage fright, or else there would definitely be major problems later.
Morin could feel everyone’s eyes glancing, openly or covertly, toward the injuries on his face. Quite a few shoulders were trembling slightly, as if they were about to injure themselves from holding back their laughter.
He cleared his throat and said, “I know what you’re looking at.”
He pointed at his own face.
“If you want to laugh, laugh. Don’t hold it in.”
As soon as he finished speaking, the ranks were briefly silent, then burst into laughter that could no longer be suppressed.
Morin also smiled along with them. Only after the laughter gradually died down did he continue:
“From today onward, I am your platoon leader. My requirements are very simple… obey orders, trust your comrades, and never shrink from battle! If anyone in the platoon, myself included, violates this, military law will be enforced strictly! Is that clear?!”
“Yes, sir!”
After continuing to say a few things about discipline and combat, Morin dismissed the formation. Watching the soldiers leave, he understood very clearly in his heart that the laughter just now had only closed the superficial distance between them.
The soldiers’ respect came more from his rank.
If he wanted them to truly accept him, there was still a long road ahead.
Thinking of some of the “tips for joining a company” he had heard from upperclassmen who returned to school before he transmigrated, Morin, after dismissing the formation, called over the platoon sergeant and the four corporals to briefly understand the current state of the unit.
It could also be considered a chance to get more familiar with them and narrow the distance between both sides.
Everyone first gave simple self-introductions and talked about their service experience.
Morin discovered that aside from Platoon Sergeant Klaus being an “old army hand,” the other four corporals were no simple figures either. Each of them had served for no short period of time.
But after thinking about it briefly, this was not too strange. After all, they were not officers produced through formal commissioning procedures, but NCOs promoted from among the soldiers.
This situation was also very similar to that of the “Second Reich” in the world before Morin’s transmigration, before the outbreak of the First World War—a very high proportion of grassroots NCOs had created an army with excellent combat quality at the basic level.
It was just that these NCOs had also been consumed in large numbers during the early stages of the war, ultimately causing the proportion of NCOs in grassroots units to drop sharply.
As both sides became somewhat more familiar with each other, Morin could clearly feel Klaus and the others relaxing a little.
One of the corporals, curious, also asked where Morin was from.
Hearing this question, Morin searched the memories in his mind and answered without hesitation, “I’m from Dresden.”
“Ah?! So you’re from the capital, sir!”
“No wonder your bearing seems different. Your family background must surely be very distinguished…”
Looking at the eager gazes of these NCOs, Morin was slightly stunned for a moment. Only then did he suddenly realize that this country’s capital was not “Berlin.”
But once he thought of how this country had already become the “Saxon Empire,” Morin instantly felt that it all made sense.
In this worldline, it was most likely not the Hohenzollern family that ruled this land, but the Saxon Wettin family instead.
In that case, it was only reasonable for Dresden, the “place where the Wettin family rose to power,” to become the capital of the Saxon Empire.
Finally, after asking for some information, such as whether there were any non-combat injuries or illnesses and the soldiers’ emotional state, and confirming that there were no major problems with the platoon’s basic combat capability, Platoon Sergeant Klaus brought Morin to a small tent.
He and the orderly had just set it up. It was an independent tent belonging to the platoon leader.
“Second Lieutenant, please rest first. I’ll go get you some hot water.”
“Thank you, Sergeant Klaus.”
After Klaus left, Morin sat down heavily on the camp bed. An extreme sense of exhaustion surged over him like a tide, making him feel as if his bones were about to fall apart.
Not long after, his orderly on duty—a soldier who also looked very young—walked in carrying a cup of hot water and several pieces of hard, dry bread.
“Sir, I just went to check. The company kitchen cart’s fire has already gone out. Please eat something to fill your stomach first… This is the hot water Sergeant Klaus got for you.”
“Thank you. You should rest too. I can handle it myself~”
Morin nodded, then struggled to gnaw on the somewhat hard black bread with the hot water. Everything that had happened today left his mind in complete chaos.
An inexplicable transmigration, an inexplicable capture, an inexplicable rescue…
And now, even more inexplicably, he had achieved the accomplishment of a “military academy student being assigned to a company.”
After wolfing down the food in a few bites, Morin felt his eyelids begin to fight each other as well. Just as he was about to lie down in his clothes and sleep for a while, an urgent whistle suddenly sounded all around him.
The tent flap was also lifted, and Platoon Sergeant Klaus’s head poked into the tent.
“Sir! Orders from company headquarters! Everyone is to assemble. We move out in two hours!”
“Huh?”