Chapter 5

Chapter 005

Something is strange.

The same day as yesterday, the same week as last week.

Of course, there have been changes, such as inviting external teachers to the camp and additional secondary education for soldiers who only received mandatory training. But at least for me, nothing has changed.

“...Why?”

Reports on training go directly to my direct superior, Colonel Pétain, so there's no risk of them being intercepted.

Yet, it's too quiet.

“Didn't I include everything our colonel would like in the report?”

Refusal of the Elsass-Vosges plan. Adherence to the principle of firepower. Opposition to the advance into Alsace-Lorraine.

I wrote the report exactly to his taste. I didn't just flatter him by saying he's the best; I made sure he understood that we share similar thoughts.

I tailored the style to be thoroughly Pétain's.

Means of acquiring information about the enemy. The validity of tactics established through these means. A meticulous analysis of the validity and results of orders and military actions.

This report is for Pétain, by Pétain, and of Pétain.

What could it be? He must have read it. The lack of response is clear evidence. If the report had been intentionally omitted or intercepted, there would have been some form of reaction.

So, the conclusion is one.

‘He's going home, isn’t he?’

No matter what I say to Pétain now, it will sound like, ‘What does that have to do with me?’

‘It’s obvious. Those who don’t get medals don’t do much work in their last year.’

Even though everyone knows the Balkans are a powder keg.

Even though massacres and wars happen somewhere every year.

France is now enjoying the Belle Époque, the good times. A future where peace and prosperity seem eternal. An era of flourishing society, economy, politics, and technology.

Perhaps even Pétain is blinded by the Belle Époque.

“Yeah, so he can’t see my true worth.”

For a while, I rationalized it by saying, ‘He just doesn’t recognize my value,’ while crossing my arms and nodding to myself.

“Sigh… So what am I supposed to do?”

I know the reports I've submitted so far are bland and mild compared to what I know.

But I can't suddenly write, ‘Hey, this is your future!’ like a Nostradamus chicken edition.

I won't boast just because I know a little more than others.

What kind of country is France, as recorded in history? A country of grandeur and brilliance.

Just like Nostradamus, who didn't know he would die from a bug bite, I don't know what will happen to me, so I must be careful.

Most importantly, the moment I write a prophecy, my military career is over.

In the worst case, if I'm labeled as ‘knowing but doing nothing,’ a witch hunt will begin. This is a problem even after a safe discharge.

It’s not that a senior sergeant nearing discharge is overly cautious about falling leaves. Discharge is a long and arduous process.

“First, let’s try submitting it again.”

Despite many distracting thoughts, I ultimately decided to prepare another report for the ‘moderate standout, just enough to safely experience the war and discharge’ tightrope walk.

I hope this time, my superior, Colonel Pétain, will understand my desperate plea.

***

“Attention! Good morning!”

0600 hours.

At a time when even the most diligent bird would be considering getting up, a loud voice echoed through the building.

The highest-ranking dormitory leader, who would usually groan and toss and turn, was already dressed and waiting.

“Jasper, what’s the schedule for today?”

“0800 hours for morning physical training. In the afternoon, external instructors will come for secondary education and exams.”

Captain Berger, who pushed his men to the brink of death, made the morning and evening roll calls feel like survival checks.

However, his cruelty was beyond imagination. Just as everyone was starting to adapt, the captain began inviting external teachers. When the body was too tired to move, he made them use their minds.

“What about our schedule?”

“Morning is the same, but our squad will have tactical discussions in the afternoon.”

“It’s going to be a headache.”

“But it’s thrilling.”

“You’re crazy.”

Most of the sergeants in the dormitory had lived their lives avoiding debates, but now it was different.

“Jasper, were you called too?”

“Yeah, after completing secondary education, they’ll decide the rest of my military service.”

“I got it right away.”

“Damn, when will it be my turn? William, Jasper, it’s my turn next…”

Their attitude was markedly different from the days when they would start the day with drool from the night before and bloodshot eyes.

Their desperate commitment to their duties was evident.

“William, are you sure? The captain said it himself?”

“He did. He was definitely sincere. The captain must want to hire reliable people.”

While the captain’s overly friendly attitude was hard to understand just for that reason, William didn’t want to question it.

This is both luck and an opportunity. After all, if you suffer a little more in your mandatory military service, you can live like a human, or even better.

‘Even if I die in training, I have to do it!’

This thought grew stronger the closer he got to discharge.

Those who had experienced the miserable and harsh lives of workers knew how terrible it was.

A public rumor that had spread in the unit.

‘The captain introduces incredible job opportunities to those who are about to discharge!’

This rumor became more credible over time with a few testimonies and vivid experiences.

“Come on… How many such opportunities can there be?”

“Yeah, where are the capitalists who care about workers?”

Even those who thought this way were one by one called to the office and came out as passionate believers in the Berger faith, tears streaming down their faces.

From that moment on, daily duties were no longer just ordinary duties.

The unit became a vocational school, an interview venue, and a place where their future was at stake.

What kind of army provides ‘education’ to soldiers?

In an army where only ‘discipline’ or ‘training’ exists, Lieutenant Berger gave them hope.

That doesn’t mean the existing training became easier. It became more complex and difficult, but no one complained.

They had no time to complain because they knew the reward at the end was so sweet.

Sergeants, whose main duty was to manage their subordinates as non-commissioned officers, had to learn until their hair turned white.

“Why should we all make the same judgment in a battlefield that changes every minute and second?”

When Fabien asked this during the tactical discussion, immediate responses came.

“To move as one.”

“More precisely.”

“So that the decisions of my comrades-in-arms and I don’t conflict, allowing for effective response.”

“Exactly.”

Fabien, who had been tormented by Berger every day, was now almost a clone of Berger.

“If you are surrounded, you must know where your allies will come to rescue you and how to respond for that.”

In the center of the circle of sergeants, Fabien preached a doctrine very different from the traditional French Army doctrine.

“If we get bogged down with the enemy, we must all make the same judgment in that situation. Whether to retreat or fight to the death should be based on cold, rational judgment, not on your courage or spirit.”

Taking a breath, Fabien looked around and continued to preach his thoughts. More accurately, he was passing on what had been instilled in him from above.

“Do you believe in honorable sacrifice? Yes, one death is a tragedy. But this is the army. A place where useless deaths are abundant. If you charge and risk your life, all you’ll do is waste a few enemy bullets.”

These words, which buried the honor of the Grande Armée from the Napoleonic era in the mud, were not taken to heart by anyone.

The idea of charging into enemy positions had already been seen as madness in their minds.

‘Fortifications must be attacked with sufficient fire support or by flanking.’

‘Charging in a mass like in the line infantry era is collective suicide.’

While the education they had received so far emphasized courage, hope, and honor, the current education was different.

They learned how to choose and decide. In the process, it was natural that all previous doctrines were treated as garbage.

William, who participated in the discussion, was sometimes surprised by his own attitude.

The more he learned, the more he felt like they were one. The feeling that these people could have his back.

That’s why it was hard but even better. Because it gave him pride and a sense of responsibility.

They were not just ordinary soldiers. William couldn’t help but realize this.

Those in this position were being trained to be officers who could make judgments and issue orders.

As Sergeant Fabien’s class was about to end, the final ritual-like moment arrived.

“Good job today! Don’t forget! Our main enemy is!”

“Incompetence!”

The once gentle and white Fabien was no more. Only a black ink blob, thoroughly dyed by Berger, remained, spreading its color to those around him.

It wasn’t just Fabien. Everyone in the unit had been dyed by Berger.

By his ideology.

By his methods.

Lieutenant Berger, who had fallen into the 7th Company like a dot, had now painted the entire unit black with his color.

***

“Let’s see, the training is still the same, right?”

For some time now, Pétain had been looking forward to this moment. Specifically, he was curious about what new content would be written.

The reports created by a mere lieutenant using all his knowledge were both commendable and intriguing.

Although at first, he thought it was just the new lieutenant’s desperate attempt, by now, he couldn’t ignore it.

“Indeed, there was a purpose.”

From the necessity of the Great War plan to the fresh content about the possibility of independence for the Ottoman-controlled Balkan states.

The thoughts and ideas of Lieutenant Berger, embedded throughout, left Pétain no choice but to admire and agree.

That’s why Pétain was certain.

“This guy wants to enter the École Spéciale Militaire de Saint-Cyr!”

The reason he was so proactive with a colonel who was about to go home was simple: the recommendation letter.

“After all, I also received a recommendation letter to enter the École Spéciale Militaire de Saint-Cyr.”

Although it takes four years, it’s only a level of skimming various military fields.

To learn specific weapon operation techniques and unit combinations, one must enter the École Spéciale Militaire de Saint-Cyr.

“With top grades from the military academy and choosing infantry over artillery, it’s understandable.”

Since the Napoleonic era, artillery has been the core of the French Army. The golden gate for artillerymen is the École Spéciale Militaire de Saint-Cyr, especially the École Polytechnique.

Originally established as a specialized military school for artillery, it later became the premier elite education institution in France, offering a variety of programs.

Even the Chief of the General Staff, Joseph Joffre, is a graduate of the École Polytechnique.

The new lieutenant must know that Pétain himself is also a graduate of the École Polytechnique.

For a capable and well-connected new lieutenant, it’s a natural dream.

“Wow…”

Reading the analysis of the Balkans, Pétain couldn’t help but admire.

“You’re convinced that war will break out in the Balkans. You see it as the endpoint that will completely shatter the board set by Chancellor Bismarck.”

It’s a unique analysis, and there is a real possibility.

However, what he overlooked is that Europe is not so simple.

“Capitalists go berserk over a single coin, and politicians throw a fit over a single vote.”

This young soldier is looking at the world too narrowly.

The world is not a train without brakes. The more it moves forward, the more problems arise, slowing it down, and there are numerous diplomatic and agreement stations along the way.

The problems in the Balkans, or more precisely, the internal issues of the Ottoman Empire, cannot completely shatter the board set by the Iron Chancellor.

Even France couldn’t do that.

“Still, it’s impressive. Especially the combat doctrine. I want to have a direct conversation with him. Adjutant!”

“Yes!”

Not just a passing grade, but more. Pétain was willing to write a recommendation letter for Berger.

“When is the next admission to the École Polytechnique?”

“There’s no transfer system, so it’s probably early next year. Therefore, the application must be sent by the end of this year.”

“It’s only a few months away.”

Although he is a powerless old man, can’t he write a recommendation letter for a bright future for France?

Helping a promising young man before retirement is a truly fulfilling task.

“If it were some random person, it wouldn’t matter, but Lieutenant Berger, you deserve it.”

Pétain willingly picked up his pen for Berger.