Chapter 16: Dining on the Battlefield

As the main force secured its foothold in the village, the battalion’s supply convoy cautiously made its way to a concealed spot on the outskirts. The Hf.11 field kitchen vehicles of each company soon began to emit wisps of cooking smoke.

Morin, who had barely eaten a few pieces of dry bread since yesterday, was already ravenous. So, after parting with Captain Hauser, he eagerly followed the first group of soldiers rotating off duty to the 3rd Company’s kitchen vehicle like a starving wolf.

The staple food of the Saxon Imperial Army was black bread, typically eaten with thick soup or stew, and occasionally supplemented with canned meat. On the folding tables beside the field kitchen, stacks of “Kommissbrot” — the army’s specially supplied black bread — filled the air with the fresh aroma of newly baked loaves.

Morin was not surprised by this; he had learned that the 16th Infantry Brigade was equipped with a division-level “Field Bread Company,” responsible for baking most of these loaves and delivering them to the various companies’ field kitchens. Indeed, the Field Bread Company, with over a hundred bakers, primarily supplied black bread to the entire division. Among these bakers were more than a dozen technical sergeants who had been professional bakers for years before joining the army.

Supplying bread to an infantry brigade was a trivial task for a Field Bread Company that produced over 20,000 loaves daily. Morin swallowed hard at the sight of the bread, then noticed a plump cook at the kitchen vehicle slicing something resembling sausage into a pot.

“Great, there’s sausage too...” Morin’s eyes lit up. He knew that in the Saxon Army’s rations, several dishes containing various sausages actually tasted quite good.

“Lieutenant, I could just bring you the food; you don’t need to come here yourself...” The orderly accompanying Morin couldn’t help but speak up, seeing their platoon leader’s starving ghost-like expression.

“No, no, no, I want to eat as soon as possible!” Morin shook his head, took his picnic box from the orderly, and patiently queued among the soldiers waiting to be served.

However, when he saw the cook ladle out a slightly viscous grayish-white thick soup from a large pot, accompanied by two chunks of black bread as thick as ballistic plates, Morin’s hopes for field rations were utterly dashed. Then, noticing the discarded packaging of the “sausage” on the ground, he finally understood.

“Oh, Erbie sausage... that’s alright then.”

Not all “sausages” were actual sausages. The Saxons called most packaged, long, cylindrical food items “sausage.” One of the most famous across both worlds was the “Erbie sausage.”

This concoction, made of bacon, onions, peas, and dehydrated vegetables, bore no resemblance to the sausages Morin knew. The proper way to eat it was to slice it thickly, then dissolve it in hot water into a thick soup.

By the way, in Morin’s original world, the inventor of Erbie sausage eventually sold the patent to a company called “Jiale.” Their most famous product was concentrated soup cubes. Unfortunately, for the famished, taste hardly mattered. A warm, thick soup brought some comfort.

Morin had always wanted to try Erbie sausage before, but regrettably, Jiale ceased production of this century-old product in 2018. So, in a way, this was his chance to make up for that lost opportunity after crossing time and space.

After receiving the thick soup and bread, Morin and the orderly sat down beneath a tree. Following the example of other soldiers, Morin tore the hard black bread into pieces, soaked them in the soup until softened, then ravenously stuffed them into his mouth.

Saxon-style soaked bread—hit the mark!

A hot meal at last, and Morin’s hunger finally abated.

After the pleasant lunch, Morin and the orderly returned to the 3rd Platoon’s position. As soldiers gradually finished eating in shifts, Morin gathered Sergeant Klaus, four corporals, and eight squad leaders around him.

Their faces bore puzzled expressions, expecting yet another combat order.

Morin cleared his throat and told them there were no emergencies at the moment and that he wanted to take the opportunity to hold a combat debriefing.

This left the veterans and non-commissioned officers bewildered, exchanging glances in confusion. In their experience, battles meant obeying orders, winning or losing, then waiting for the next command—never sitting down afterward for a meeting.

Morin was unsurprised by their reaction and didn’t elaborate. Instead, he straightforwardly asked if anyone had thoughts on the morning’s battle or ideas on what could be improved.

Now the group was even more perplexed, the atmosphere slightly tense.

None of them had experienced such a scene, and with Morin being a newly appointed commander, no one dared to speak first.

Finally, a young squad leader who had charged ahead with Morin during the farmhouse raid hesitantly spoke up.

“Lieutenant... I... I think the physical exertion was much greater than I expected.”

The young squad leader awkwardly scratched his head.

“Especially the section where we circled around the riverbed and sprinted several hundred meters through rough terrain. By the time we reached the farmhouse wall, several of my men were already gasping for breath.”

Morin nodded approvingly.

“You’re absolutely right; physical fitness is the foundation of all tactics.”

He was pleased someone responded with such a meaningful observation.

“Judging by the current training syllabus and rations, physical fitness is indeed a weak point... I’ll keep that in mind and try to account for everyone’s stamina in future mission planning.”

With the first brave voice spoken, others gradually relaxed and began to discuss openly.

“Lieutenant, you told us to move forward in squads dispersed, which does help avoid enemy attacks and prevents us from getting wiped out! But once the gunfire starts, it’s hard to manage scattered units, and sometimes we can’t even hear orders clearly.”

A corporal raised his concerns.

Another squad leader echoed, “Yes, especially when separated from the main force and without direct sight of you, it’s unsettling not knowing what to do next.”

Morin attributed these issues to one thing: insufficient training.

“These are new tactics; it’s normal to be unaccustomed... After a few more times and building mutual understanding, things will improve greatly.”

He explained patiently, though inwardly he was delighted. The Saxon Empire’s “mission command” system was a perfect fit for him.

Higher-ups only issued mission objectives. How subordinate units achieved them, as long as they didn’t violate military law, was generally left to their discretion.

The famed “Storm Assault Teams” of his previous life had emerged precisely under such a framework, developed by frontline officers.

This model afforded Morin great freedom of command and was the fundamental reason Captain Hauser agreed to let him lead a platoon on a solo mission that morning.

The debriefing lasted nearly half an hour, growing increasingly lively.

Morin ended by instructing the eight squad leaders to take time to talk with their squads later, to hear their thoughts and difficulties.

Once everyone dispersed, Sergeant Klaus stayed behind. The seasoned veteran looked at Morin with genuine admiration.

“Lieutenant, today has been an eye-opener. Since last night, following you, I’ve learned so much I never encountered before.”

“Sergeant Klaus, you flatter me. I’m just sharing some of my experience, hoping to reduce casualties in battle...” Morin replied modestly.

Building rapport with the platoon sergeant, who held great prestige in the unit, was a boon for Morin, signifying his growing control over the troops.

As they chatted, a battalion courier came running up.

“Lieutenant Morin! Major Thomas requests your presence immediately!”