Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters-Chapter 418 - 54 Expanding the Meeting

Chapter 418: Chapter 54 Expanding the Meeting

The ironclad General Yanosh was gone, the tough man with a voice like a tolling bell and who walked with his head held high was gone, and on the military cot lay only a frail old man, his breath weak as the thinnest of threads.

Seeing the scene before him, Brigadier General Sekler was so shocked that he lost his speech.

Major General Alpad, upon hearing the news, rushed into the tent following in Sekler’s footsteps, but the truth could no longer be concealed.

“What’s happened?” Sekler’s lips trembled.

“It started with typhoid,” Alpad walked to the bedside, neatly tucked in the sheets for the old man, and whispered, “Then it was a stroke.”

Sekler charged at Alpad, clutching the other’s collar fiercely, his rage causing him to lose all reason, “How dare you! Isolating us from the inside out! You… you dared to hide it and not report! You! What exactly are you trying to do?”

Alpad being disrespected by his junior in such a manner, didn’t get angry at all; he silently met Sekler’s gaze.

To Sekler, Alpad’s seemingly unconcerned actions were more infuriating than the loss of General Yanosh’s ability to command, and it was no different than a military revolt.

Sekler’s chest heaved violently, “Hide it for one more day, and we’re besieged for one more? What’s your next move? What will you do on the day you can no longer hide it? Kill us all? Speak up!”

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“Are you done throwing a tantrum? Then listen to me,” Alpad removed the other’s hand from his collar, “Once the news of General Yanosh’s stroke spreads, the morale of the troops will definitely waver, only giving the Barbarian Chief [Yasin] a chance to exploit.”

“Shut up!” Sekler couldn’t restrain his fury, “The general is seriously ill, we should retreat immediately! By hiding this news, you’re just trying to continue the battle! Just for another star on your epaulette! For your own selfish desires, you disregard the safety of the entire army, Alpad Duyome! You and I are irreconcilable!”

Major General Alpad let out a disdainful snort, casually dragged over a stool, sat down leisurely and asked, “Do you think I’m doing this for power? For position? For stars?”

Sekler said nothing, his eyes nearly spitting fire were the answer.

Alpad patted the dust off his riding trousers, and said nonchalantly, “As long as you support me, once the war is over, I’ll apply for retirement and go home to raise horses and plant flowers.”

The only response to the major general was a cold snort from deep within the nostrils.

The other clearly didn’t believe him, but Alpad did not bother to swear any more oaths; he stared at Sekler, questioning word by word, “Do you know why we are here?”

Sekler was taken aback, his rage somewhat subsiding, but he still did not speak.

“Let me tell you, this war isn’t about land, slaves, money, power—it’s unrelated to all of that!” Alpad gestured toward the direction where the Herdsmen’s earthen city stood, “We are here to take down this very city!”

Alpad paused for a moment, then continued, “The man who built this city, eighteen years ago when he was serving as a scout on an old horse for me, I had already taken notice of him. Fifteen years ago, when he only had fifty households, I already marked him on my list. Over the years, I watched him grow on the grasslands like an avalanche, growing bigger with each roll, and it would even wake me from my sleep in terror.”

Sekler didn’t expect the other party to say such things; for a moment, he felt overpowered by the major general’s momentum.

“The Republic is now like a drunkard sleeping on a pile of firewood.” Alpad’s words were through gritted teeth, “I don’t care about any stars! I came here to flatten the Red River Tribe! I am here to put out a fire for the Republic! General Sekler!”

…

Nobody knew what agreement Alpad and Sekler had reached, but that very afternoon, all the officers of the rank of colonel and above in the army were summoned to an expanded meeting.

Though it was called an expanded meeting, no matter how much it expanded, it would not extend to the likes of Winters and other non-commissioned officers.

Lieutenant Colonel Jeska did attend the meeting—though currently part of the lowly militia sequence, he was still a bona fide colonel.

No sooner had the lieutenant colonel gone off to the meeting than Winters, Bard, Andre, and Mason gathered in the tent for their own little meeting.

Mason and his convicts had officially been assigned to Jeska’s battalion; these brothers in hardship now banded together for warmth, and had someone to watch their backs.

With no outsiders in the tent, the few gathered around the Soria stove discussed freely.

“My guess is that neither side can suppress the other, otherwise they wouldn’t resort to military democracy,” Mason, clasping a cup of hot water in his hands, smacked his lips, “They might even have to use anonymous voting.”

Winters placed his boots by the iron stove, casually remarking, “Whether to fight or withdraw, making a decision is better than wasting away in a stalemate.”

Andre, who was reaching out to warm his hands, nodded in agreement.

No one understood the unrest and impatience within the Paratu army better than the lower-ranking officers.

There had even been incidents of self-harm among the soldiers, and many were quietly packing their belongings.

“I think we will still fight,” Mason yawned, “I heard that they’ve sent four groups of slaves into the city in succession. If we were to withdraw now, wouldn’t that be a huge loss for the nomads?”

Andre perked up with interest, “Sending slaves into the city, what’s that about?”

The others also pricked up their ears.

“Before we arrived, General Alpad ordered to drive the captured slaves into Bianli City—of course, only the old, weak, sick, and disabled. Those inside, the Herders, though they had backbone, accepted them all.”

The tent fell silent for a moment, with only the sound of the wood crackling within the stove.

…

Driving the old, weak, sick, and disabled into the city was a “highly dishonorable” siege tactic.

Allowing people into the city was equivalent to adding mouths that drain the reserves. Not allowing them in would weaken the resolve of the defenders.

At times, the defending forces even took the initiative to drive these helpless individuals out of the city, followed by tragic scenes among mankind.

Winters was well aware of this; he had not just heard of it, but witnessed it with his own eyes.

In the siege of Gusa, the defenders, lacking supplies, resolutely drove the “useless mouths” out of the city, only to have them immediately pushed back by the besieging army.

With nowhere to go, starving and fearful, those pitiful people wandered for eight full days between the city walls and the siege lines.

Winters had never seen more desperate human beings than those; not one of them survived.

The Herder people in the city actually dared to let people in, an unwise act, but Winters couldn’t help feeling a faint admiration.

…

Bard suddenly frowned and asked, “Tanilia has stopped buying slaves, do the Paratu People still capture them?”

The islands have been divided between The Federated Provinces and Vineta. The Federated Provinces allow the slave trade but forbid keeping slaves within their territory; Vineta has outright banned it altogether.

“Really? I’m not well-informed and wasn’t quite sure,” Mason said, slightly dazed: “But even if the islanders aren’t buying, they can still sell to the several duchies south of the Jinding Mountains. Herder slaves are in high demand—they are all heretics, enslaving them doesn’t carry moral pressure.”

The slave capturing tradition of the Paratu People has long been criticized by other allied nations and is also an important part of the stereotype that “Highlanders are all barbaric.”

“May the Paratu People capture and sell you off as a slave” is a classic phrase used by Sea Blue citizens to scare children.

But it was not until Winters arrived in Paratu that he found almost no Herder slaves within the borders of the Kingdom of Galloping Horses; they were all taken for export. Perhaps because it was too close, they were afraid of the Herders running back.

After a moment of thought, Mason added: “There’s no need to sympathize with the Herders, they used to capture Paratu People as slaves too. It’s just that in recent years, the battles have been one-sided, and the Herders have been getting thrashed, leaving only the Paratu People to take captives as slaves. It’s said that the Herders themselves would enslave each other too… Hey, this history, when you start to tally it up, there’s no end to it.”

Lieutenant Mason’s words caused the others to sigh. The Herders and Paratu People have been locked in a seesaw struggle for hundreds of years, a complicated history likely not even clear to themselves, let alone outsiders’ presumptuous disregard for the whole picture.

The four of them then chatted around the stove about old days, amusing anecdotes from the military academy—life in the front-line camp was hard and dull, making this a rare leisure time.

With two main forces from the Standing Army nearby, even if there was a fight, the militia wouldn’t be called upon.

Squad Jeska finally took on the real duties of the militia, mainly engaging in manual labor like digging trenches and latrines, and every other day going to cut down trees far away to bring back for firewood.

Andre and Lieutenant Mason were sullen every day, feeling underutilized, and therefore lacked energy.

Winters, on the other hand, didn’t mind; he was more than happy to stand behind and cheer for the Paratu People while they fought.

At one point, Berlion came into the tent to deliver the repaired rifle barrel for the ensign’s inspection.

This rifled musket had been overused in practice and combat, resulting in lead fouling the bore. Not only had the accuracy worsened, but there was also the risk of the barrel bursting.

Initially, Winters didn’t have a solution because it should have been handled by a gunsmith, but Berlion said he could fix it.

The blacksmith’s method was simple and clever. He inserted an iron rod into the barrel, poured lead over it, pulled it out, and then rubbed it with rapeseed oil.

To maintain the splendor of higher-ranking officers, the logistics department had shipped in a lot of porcelain tableware from Paratu, which inevitably suffered damage during transport and use.

Berlion collected shattered porcelain pieces, ground them into a powder, screened them, and sprinkled them on the lead rod.

By rubbing the lead rod coated with porcelain powder back and forth inside the barrel, the fouled parts were soon polished clean.

Winters inspected the barrel in the light of the furnace and saw the inside bright and shiny, without any burrs.

Its smoothness was comparable even to the two spring-loaded muskets the Oathbreakers had given to Antonio. Plus, those were smoothbore guns, while Winters’ was rifled, making the polishing all the more difficult.

Polishing has always been the most challenging and expensive part of weapon and armor production.

Moved by an idea, Winters asked the blacksmith,”Mr. Berlion, can you cut rifling grooves?”

“Cut rifling?” Berlion seemed troubled, hesitantly said: “I don’t really understand, but I’ve heard it requires a lathe.”

“Can you make a lathe?”

“I’ve seen one, never made one.”

Winters understood somewhat, the blacksmith didn’t want to say more, so he didn’t press further.

The ensign smiled and patted the blacksmith’s shoulder: “Mr. Berlion, it’s a pity for you to stay in Paratu. Come with me to Vineta, you’ll make a fortune. I guarantee, the Sea Blue People would definitely love rifled handguns.”

Andre laughed loudly upon hearing this, but Mason and Bard, both from The Federated Provinces, were a bit bemused.

It didn’t take long for Bard to figure it out, and he started chuckling, shaking his head. He whispered to Lieutenant Mason to explain, and the lieutenant couldn’t help but chuckle.

Inside the tent, only Berlion was left clueless and at a loss.

“What’s so funny? Why the laughter?” Another person lifted the tent flap and walked in, bringing a gust of cold air.

The officers, recognizing the familiar voice, all stood up at once.

Colonel Jeska walked straight to the stove, extending his hands above the stove lid to warm them.

Seeing this, Berlion prepared to leave.

Winters pulled out his purse, tossing the rifle barrel and the purse to the blacksmith just before he exited the tent.

Only a few officers remained in the tent; Lieutenant Mason nervously asked, “Finished that early, sir?”

Colonel Jeska sneered, “It wasn’t even a meeting, just summoning us to set up the battle plans.”

“Have the higher-ups come to an agreement?” Winters asked.

“I don’t know what sort of trickery Sekler and Alpad are up to, and General Yanosh doesn’t show his face,” Jeska said with a hint of suspicion: “In the end, we’ll have to fight… but we won’t be the ones going into battle.”

All four officers heaved a sigh of relief.

“Tonight, you’ll get a shovel.” The colonel continued: “Tomorrow, we’ll be digging trenches.”