Chapter 3
The first day's training was running, followed by marksmanship training the next day, then bayonet drills and trench-combat training the day after that.
At the end of that hellish week, the barracks area of Third Platoon had fallen deathly quiet. The defiance they had shown before was nowhere to be seen. The soldiers were too exhausted to do anything but rest.
No one dared to complain. In one week, I had completely taken control of Third Platoon.
Of course, the process hadn't been entirely smooth.
On the first day, putting Gunter in his place had only been the beginning. Simply instilling fear and putting them through training wasn't enough to fix their rotten attitudes.
Starting the very next day, subtle resistance began. Some requested to be excused from training, claiming they had twisted an ankle. Others 'accidentally' lost their supplies, while still others pretended not to understand my orders and deliberately slacked off. Aside from Gunter, there were plenty of scumbags eager to test my patience.
Each time, my [Status Analysis] skill proved its worth.
"Sob, Lieutenant! My ankle... It hurts so much I can't go on...!"
I nearly burst out laughing at the pathetic performance. I sneered inwardly and activated my skill.
'Status Analysis.'
As expected, an information window appeared in front of the soldier faking an injury.
[Name: Fritz]
[Status: Discontent with training, slight tension from malingering]
'Tension from malingering? This bastard....'
I patted Fritz on the shoulder and said,
"Oh dear, oh dear. This is a serious problem."
For a moment, the bastard looked relieved at my kind gesture. But the real fun came next.
"Isn't that so? But from what I can see, it doesn't seem serious enough for the infirmary. So while the others train, put on your full combat gear and dig the ground behind the barracks. Your body only gets stiffer if you don't move."
The moment I finished speaking, Fritz's face turned white. Soon, he was dragged away.
"S-sorry! Platoon Leader...!! Please let me off just this once...!"
The barracks rang with his desperate pleas. But I didn't even blink. His screams gradually faded away, and eventually the barracks fell silent.
Thud, thud, thud! The only sound was him digging the ground behind the barracks.
Gulp. The throat of the man who had been clutching his stomach and hoping to be next bobbed hard. He quietly lowered the hand clutching his belly.
"Anyone else in pain?"
No one answered.
In fact, the most troublesome ones weren't the simple shirkers. The truly dangerous ones were those who harbored deep resentment and incited the others. I kept [Status Analysis] active throughout training, using it like a radar that swept over the entire platoon.
On the fourth day, we were in the middle of marksmanship training. One soldier dropped a spent cartridge casing. At that moment, a faint smile appeared at the corner of the mouth of the corporal beside him, a man named Kurt.
I immediately used my skill on him.
[Name: Kurt]
[Status: Strong antipathy toward the new officer, discontent over his shrinking influence, covert incitement to shirk]
'Covert incitement to shirk? Well, look at this bastard....'
That night, I called Kurt aside.
"How's the training, Corporal Kurt?"
"Yes, Platoon Leader."
He pretended to be calm.
"During training today, a few soldiers were unusually slow. Almost as if they had arranged it beforehand."
"I wouldn't know."
His eyes wavered ever so slightly. At that moment, the information window flashed into view.
[Status: Flustered, anxious that his plan has been seen through]
"Anxious?"
I draped an arm over Kurt's shoulders. His shoulders jolted beneath my arm. Even so, he continued to lie.
"I-I don't know what you're talking about."
"Heh heh, you're no good at this, are you?"
I took my arm away and stepped back. His eyes briefly lit up, as though he had decided that he had weathered the crisis. Kurt straightened up as if he had never trembled and opened his mouth.
"Platoon Leader. To damage a soldier's honor with baseless suspicions is..."
"The company commander has entrusted me with full authority."
I cut him off.
"The authority to immediately transfer any soldier in Third Platoon who refuses to obey or is deemed a liability—anyone at all."
I paused for a moment and stared straight into his eyes. Kurt's eyes were trembling.
"For example, to somewhere like the Eastern Front Pioneer Battalion."
The moment that name came up, Kurt's face turned white.
Here, 'pioneer' did not have its ordinary meaning. It was similar to the concept of combat engineers in a modern army, except they were tasked with opening the way at the very front of the fighting. That was where the name 'pioneer' came from.
In short, they handled minefield clearance, breaking through barbed wire and trench lines, building bridges for river crossings, spearhead assaults, and so on. They carried out the most dangerous missions imaginable on the Eastern Front, the front with the lowest survival rate. Supplies barely reached the place, and brutal cold descended as soon as autumn arrived.
It was effectively known as a graveyard for soldiers. It was a sort of penal unit used to legally dispose of soldiers who violated discipline or fell out of favor.
So the moment he heard that name, Kurt's attitude changed. The color drained from his face, and his jaw began to chatter as if he were freezing.
"P-Platoon Leader. Th-that..."
Thud! At last, Kurt slammed his head against the floor.
"I was wrong! Platoon Leader! I... I've committed a crime worthy of death!"
His words were slurred with fear. He crawled toward me and tried to grab my boot. I casually pulled my foot away. Perhaps taking that as a sign of rejection, he finally began to cry.
"J-just once...! Pl-please forgive me...!"
'Status Analysis.'
As expected, an information window appeared in my field of vision.
[Name: Kurt]
[Status: Extreme fear for his own safety, intense desire to survive, absolute willingness to obey]
Fear. And the desire to live. Those weren't an act either.
"I... I must have lost my mind for a moment! The others goaded me into it...! Please, just give me one chance, just one, and I'll serve you faithfully like a dog! Anything you order...!"
He repeatedly pounded his forehead against the floor and begged. His forehead split open and blood began to flow, but he didn't stop. I watched him for a moment before speaking.
"Raise your head."
Kurt's movements stopped. He slowly raised his head and looked up at me. His face, smeared with blood and tears, was a pitiful mess.
"By tomorrow morning, finish everything you started with your own hands. Otherwise, your military career ends there."
"Yes! Yes, understood! Thank you, Platoon Leader!"
At roll call the next morning, Kurt stood in the front row among the assembled platoon members. The dark circles under his eyes showed that he hadn't slept a wink all night.
As usual, I received the personnel report and announced the day's training. Then, at the end, I added,
"Oh, and I went to see the company commander yesterday. He promised to send anyone in our platoon who was particularly poor at training or lax in discipline to the Eastern Front. Anyone interested?"
An icy silence descended. At that moment, every platoon member's gaze converged on the same person: Kurt. He trembled all over at my words and lowered his head.
Fear is contagious. In the eyes of the platoon members watching Kurt, fear began to replace curiosity.
"Everyone, prepare for training."
Even at my quiet command, the platoon members jumped as if they had been struck by a whip and scattered. As they gathered their weapons and equipment, voices could be heard from all around.
"...Did you see that just now? Corporal Kurt, I mean."
"His face was completely... Damn, I was thinking of faking sick yesterday."
"Shut up. The Platoon Leader might be listening."
One soldier looked around in alarm.
"How did he know? Corporal Kurt had been talking about us behind our backs..."
"I don't know, fuck. Maybe someone snitched?"
That's when a shadow suddenly loomed behind a soldier who was slow to prepare for training. It was Kurt.
"Hans! You crazy bastard! Get a grip!"
Smack! Kurt smacked the back of Hans's head. Hans turned around with an incredulous look on his face, but he couldn't say a word beneath Kurt's murderous glare.
"Do it properly, you bastard!"
Kurt was the first to finish gearing up and bolt out of the barracks. He was faster and more precise than anyone else.
*
Rumors about Third Platoon spread through the company in the blink of an eye.
"Hey. Look at those guys from Third Platoon over there."
"……Haven't they changed somehow?"
"Changed? They're a completely different unit now."
A corporal from Second Platoon standing nearby lowered his voice and said,
"Did you hear? There's a rumor that the new Third Platoon Leader can read people's minds."
"Come on, Corporal Steiner, we know you're making that up again. Does that even make sense?"
A Private First Class snickered, but the corporal's expression remained serious.
"It's true. There was a guy faking sick, and they say the Platoon Leader just tapped him on the shoulder once and knew right away. Apparently, that guy dug dirt behind the barracks until sunset that day?"
"…Holy crap, really?"
Just then, a sergeant sitting beside them joined the conversation.
"More importantly, do you know what happened to that bastard Kurt? He used to act like the king of Third Platoon, but overnight he became the Platoon Leader's dog. They say he went all out trying to curry favor, smacking his own platoon members on the back of the head."
"You mean Corporal Kurt? What happened?"
"Rumor has it... when he was alone with that platoon leader, the platoon leader said exactly one thing: 'Do you want to go to the Eastern Front Pioneer Battalion?'"
"That man isn't just some officer. He trampled Sergeant Gunter the moment he arrived."
"……Isn't he freaking crazy…?"
"Watch your mouth, you punk."
Tap. The corporal ended the banter by tapping the Private First Class on the back of the head. Surprisingly, not a single rumor was false.