Chapter 113: Preparations
If there's one thing that distinguishes an army barracks from a school dormitory, it's the certainty that someone will interrupt your sleep no matter the time. Just after five in the morning, while everyone was still nestled in their beds, a signal soldier's voice boomed through the corridor: "All captains! Urgent gathering! Assemble at the camp! Immediately! Quick!" The soldiers, clearly hearing the call yet choosing to ignore it, shifted in their beds to continue their dreams. Meanwhile, the captains from each vehicle group, groggy and yawning, clambered out of their beds and hurriedly donned their uniforms.
They belonged to the Waffen SS, an elite branch of the National Defense Forces and the most loyal soldiers to the head of state. Their uniforms, badges, and level of fanaticism set them apart. Ren, one of the captains, rose from his bed, the Russian book that had covered his face the previous night now lying beside his pillow. He dressed swiftly and buckled his hat casually on his head. After a quick adjustment of his attire, he sloppily walked out of the dormitory door. There, he encountered his classmate from the next room, Captain Marcus No. 112, a young captain who was half a year his junior.
"Hey! Good morning!" Marcus greeted, yawning as he exited his bedroom. "How are you getting along with your new partner?"
"I think they're a bunch of idiots, and they probably think the same of me," Ryan replied as he fastened the buckle of his armband and adjusted his trousers.
"That's not like you," Marcus chuckled, walking alongside Ryan. "If this were you half a year ago, those guys would probably have been knocked down by now."
"You didn't hit anyone, so why should I?" Ryan retorted, patting his pocket and then naturally extending his hand towards Marcus. "Got any chocolate candy? I forgot to bring mine!"
Due to shortages of industrial materials, many non-essential foods in Germany had been severely reduced. Margarine had largely replaced butter, and chocolate tasted increasingly worse due to the addition of various fillers — so much so that even the manufacturers felt compelled to add the word 'sugar' behind 'chocolate' on the packaging to mask their embarrassment. Although the armored forces often received better supplies because of their status as a secret weapon and trump card of the National Defense Forces, they still had to endure meals of potatoes and cabbage twice a week. The nearby 44th Infantry Division, and many second-tier troops, fared even worse.
"Save some candy! It's different in the army than at school. Who knows when we'll get more," Marcus said, tossing a roughly packaged piece of candy to Ryan.
"I don't know when I can apply for a vacation," Ryan mused, pocketing the candy as they walked towards a nearby barracks.
Upon arriving at the camp, they found many captains already seated. The two men found empty seats and settled down. Ryan pulled out a small leather notebook and a pen from his uniform, biting off the cap as he prepared to take notes.
"Good morning, sergeants and captains!" Captain Carter greeted everyone warmly. "We are the 3rd Panzer Division of the SS, recently upgraded from infantry and personally named 'Skeleton' by the head of state. I hope you all appreciate the name." He then revealed a photo of the latest Leopard tank, equipped with a powerful 75 mm cannon. "Our division has been ordered to receive this weapon and use it in upcoming missions," he explained, detailing the tank's features as the captains took diligent notes.
Major Hans, the commander of the 1st Armored Battalion, looked on approvingly. "Any questions?" he asked after Captain Carter finished.
"When can we see our tanks?" a corporal asked eagerly.
"This afternoon, you can inspect your tanks in the garage. For serious issues, report to Captain Hubert at the logistics support company," Hans instructed, emphasizing the importance of daily maintenance.
A captain raised a question about vacations, which seemed to interest several others. Major Hans, however, had disappointing news. "Due to first-level preparation regulations issued recently, all vacations are cancelled."
Groans filled the room as Hans revealed additional duties on the blackboard, including extra training and logistical preparations.
"Rennes, do you think we're really going to fight Poland?" Marcus whispered.
"How should I know? We haven't even received rations yet. They just want us familiar with the equipment," Ryan whispered back.
As the meeting adjourned, the captains discussed their new assignments and the cancellation of leave. Marcus and Ryan headed to the logistics office to check out the new tents, discussing their preferences for tanks along the way.
At the garage, they were greeted by a sergeant major who was overseeing the marking of new tanks. "Good morning!" he returned their salute. "You're early. Didn't you go for the tents?"
"We think this tank might serve us better than a tent," Marcus joked, admiring the tank.
The sergeant major agreed, proudly describing the tank's advanced features, including its inclined armor and powerful engine. "This tank is a masterpiece of industrial design, perfect for modern warfare," he boasted.
However, Ryan expressed a preference for the older, more reliable tanks, citing concerns about the new tank's reliability given its many new technologies.
"Your job is to use it heroically in battle," the sergeant major reassured them, promising that the best two tanks were reserved for them.
As they left the garage, the reality of their situation settled in — they were soldiers, prepared for war, with new tanks as their shelters and weapons. The challenges ahead were daunting, but they were ready to face them together.
"Which one?" both young captains asked simultaneously.
"Now, these are the two," the sergeant major said as he led them to the new tanks that lacked identification numbers. He pointed to two older tanks coated in light gray paint. With a salesman's flair, he promoted the merits of these machines to the promising young officers, "These two are tested prototypes, and their parts have been well run-in! Plus, the sights use top-quality components, making them more accurate than other mass-produced models."
"Sir, are you trying to sell us some old tanks that no one else wanted to fix?" Marcus raised an eyebrow skeptically at one of the older tanks.
"What do you mean? If you don't want them, just pick a new one, and I won't offer these to you," the sergeant major retorted with a sneer.
Ryan, touching the steel joint on the tank's track, nodded in satisfaction, "Thank you, sir! This really is a great tank. Could I have this one marked with 113? I want it."
"See? Knows his stuff!" the sergeant major exclaimed, pointing at Ryan and then taunting Marcus, "You! You're not as sharp as your friend here!"
"Then I'll take this one! This very one!" Marcus quickly pointed to the remaining old tank, shouting as if he feared losing out, "I'm number 112! Don't forget!"
"Got it, got it! I'll mark your number first," the sergeant major said, looking at the two young officers. He then waved at the soldiers who were painting numbers not far away. With a friendly smile, he called out, "Hey! You guys! Come over and help them with the numbers first! These are the two."
By 9 o'clock in the morning, Marcus and Ryan had hurried back from the garage to the logistics office where tents were being issued. The place wasn't crowded, but there were dozens of folded simple tents piled on the ground.
"Hey, Sergeant Mill! What's with this?" Marcus complained, pointing to a hole in one of the tents. "We're the main force, and we get stuck with this junk?"
Ryan didn't speak; he just carefully sorted through the folded tent, smoothing out some of the stretched folds with a gentle touch, as if worried about causing further damage. After organizing it, he looked up at the more damaged tents.
"Sergeant Mill! Why are there so many holes and damages?" Ryan asked, gathering a large bag of items including a piece of dark green canvas and some iron buttons removed from the damaged tents — items Mill had given him.
Compared to the tents, the quality of the sleeping bags and military raincoats was slightly better. Even the dark green waterproof canvas given by Mill for the damaged tents seemed superior to the tents themselves.
Mill sighed and spread his hands, "There's no way around it. The top brass prioritizes weapons and equipment, and these supplies are handed over to smaller manufacturers, so the quality varies... The armored forces are in a slightly better condition, so we let the infantry pick first."
"Asshole!" Marcus cursed. "With everything going on, they're still making a profit off the blood of soldiers! If war breaks out, won't they still rely on us to die? And yet, they can't even prepare a decent tent!"
Ryan smiled, "You can't be so indignant. The heads of state and generals would surely prefer that we all have the best, but due to lack of funds or unavoidable corruption, things change by the time they reach us. That's normal."
"Yeah, that's our Captain Rennes thinking!" Mill laughed and nodded in agreement. "Be content! I'll return the rest of the tents and send them to the second-tier troops. If they use them, they might only serve as raincoats."
"Mill, a question!" Ryan leaned in and asked quietly, "Got any inside info? When are we moving?"
"I don't know anything about that!" Mill quickly waved his hand. "I'm just a quartermaster. How could I know such confidential details?"
"Two packs of cigarettes," Ryan offered with a smile. "If you tell me what you know, next time supplies are allocated, you can deduct two packs from my share!"
"Three packs! You don't smoke anyway!" Mill joked, knowing Ryan's habits well.
"Deal!" Ryan nodded. "Tell me everything you know so I can count the days."
"We just received a batch of gasoline, enough for the entire battalion to run a few hundred kilometers," Mill whispered. "My buddy in the division told me he saw the Air Force reconnaissance report received by the division, a thick stack... It seems to be happening fast."
"Not just fast!" Ryan glanced at Marcus, who was listening intently. "Frequent aerial reconnaissance indicates that the high command is analyzing the movement patterns of the enemy. When the photos reach the division, it means most of the strategic objectives have been assigned."
"Is that so?" Marcus frowned seriously. "At most ten days, we'll be on the front line, and war will break out."
"No, it won't take ten days!" Ryan interrupted, tossing a piece of chocolate candy into his mouth and speaking vaguely, "Mill, you better get ready to be busy! If they're distributing oil, it means things will kick off in less than three days."
"Alright!" Mill nodded. "You wait, I'll arrange for a couple of guys to help you haul this junk back."
"Thanks!" Ryan said with a smile.
"I said, you just brought back such a broken tent?" Bruce looked at the egg-sized hole in the tent with a sneer and dissatisfaction in his tone. He then turned back, facing Andre and Bowman, and shouted loudly, "I told you! The kid is unreliable! The captain of tank 105 next door is tall and in his thirties and snatched a new tent."
"It's okay! I checked out the tank. There's plenty of space in it. We can sleep two people inside, so the leaks won't bother us," Rennes responded naturally, carefully folding the tent as if he hadn't even heard Bruce's provocation.
"Gather! Everyone gather!" a signal soldier shouted down the corridor, interrupting their conversation. Everyone quickly got up and assembled on the parade ground. The long-distance race announced in the morning arrived as scheduled, and everyone had to sing their military songs and march on the track, lap after lap like clockwork.
Surprisingly, the seemingly thin and short Rennes started with a steady rhythm. His endurance was such that even Andre, following closely behind, wondered just how far the captain's stamina could carry him. After all, a tank soldier is still a tank soldier. After running five kilometers, many were out of breath and looked quite pale—like Clark, the mechanic from tank unit 113, who was a bit overweight and turned as white as a sheet after the run.
"Hey! I said... Ryan... why doesn't he look tired?... Huh?" Clarke asked Bowman, who was lying on the ground catching his breath, but Bowman didn't answer, just continued to breathe heavily.
Andre wiped the sweat off his chin with the back of his hand, glancing at the young boys not far ahead in the lap, and couldn't help but sigh: youth is a blessing. Although he didn't feel overly tired, he noticed his stamina wasn't as robust as those fresh out of school.
"Ma's stamina is great?" Bruce snorted disdainfully, holding his waist. "When I was his age, running a few dozen kilometers was no problem."
But even though he continued to complain, at least Clark, who had the worst physical fitness, felt in his heart that his captain was very strong, indeed.
The next morning, everyone tested their tanks with a bit of the allocated oil and helped the soldiers in the logistics department distribute ammunition. They then followed instructions to check the various equipment distributed in the vehicles: shovels and large screw pliers mounted behind the tank's body, a fire extinguisher inside the vehicle, three submachine guns, and nine matching magazines.
Seeing his tank's body with an older "broken mouth," Bruce, of course, lost his temper again. However, Bowman, who had been given a kick after voicing a diametrically opposed opinion, argued, "This tank is well-maintained. It's indeed much better than those new products that have just left the factory and still smell of paint."
Regardless of Bruce's own willingness, Rennes had already nicknamed him "Broken Mouth Bruce," the name of a poor man. The habit of giving people nicknames might not be very commendable, but after all, it was one of the traditions of their school, and Rennes naturally couldn't avoid it.
In the afternoon, it was still the five-kilometer run that Clark dreaded. This time, Rennes, Marcus, and others ran an extra two kilometers. Bruce, not wanting to be outdone, ran the same length but ended up looking almost as exhausted as Clark after the run.
On the morning of the third day, it was live-fire shooting training. Each tank crew fired five shells. As the only crew that failed to hit the target, tank 113 was criticized by name. For some reason, Rennes didn't complain about the gunner, Andrea. Of course, the afternoon still involved a long run...
The calm days ended on the fourth day when the troops began distributing canned and dry compressed biscuits to the soldiers. And through Sergeant Mill's connections, Rennes managed to secure some extra "private goods" of canned beef for several captains.
That night, they were instructed to drive their tanks away from their station and follow the road to the German border, not far away.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone