Battlefield Priest's Diary

Chapter 20 The Night Before
Authority is like a fragile crystal ball; once a crack appears, it can only grow larger.

Since the events of this morning, the lieutenant colonel has suddenly found that his orders are not so effective anymore.

While they might not exactly disobey orders in the heat of battle, many people would still frequently say things like "Father Putin's orders."

These were just ordinary soldiers. The more than two hundred people who witnessed the "miracle" that night used the terms "Father" and "our Father."

Living and eating with the soldiers, personally caring for the wounded, and combined with the "miracle" that happened that night, Qin Hao's prestige in this army had surpassed that of anyone else.

If before going to the battlefield, many people only had a vague concept of heaven, and saints were just a term in books and stories, then now the black-haired priest is the embodiment of that faith in their hearts.

"The saints among us," the lieutenant colonel heard a soldier say this with his own ears.

As night fell, when the black-haired priest patrolled the wounded soldiers' camp with a lantern in his hand, Lieutenant Colonel Kazman saw the pairs of eyes that looked like those of a fanatical follower, and his heart began to pound.

He wondered how many soldiers would still obey his orders if he disagreed with Father Putin's will, and how many guns would be pointed at him.

Snapped! !

The sound of shattering glass interrupted the lieutenant colonel's train of thought.

"Kill the corrupt official!" "Scum of the army!" "Corrupt officials!" "Traitor!"

Kazman stepped outside and saw that one part of the military camp was in chaos. Several large wooden crates had been overturned, revealing something shiny inside—high-proof liquor.

There look like there are at least dozens of bottles.

The black-haired priest, his previous amiable demeanor gone, grabbed a man in a sergeant's uniform by the collar with one hand, surrounded by a crowd of agitated soldiers.

He knew the man, Petrov, a sergeant in charge of supply logistics.

“Father Pugin, what’s going on? Why are you holding onto my officer?” the lieutenant colonel asked in a deep voice, emphasizing the word “my officer.”

“Lieutenant Colonel, you’ve come at the perfect time!” The black-haired priest looked pleased and dragged the man a few steps over.

"This guy had a huge stash of liquor; I discovered it by accident."

"Hidden wine, so what..." The lieutenant colonel wanted to say, so what, but his last shred of reason stopped him at the last moment.

High-proof liquor is both a rationed commodity and an important strategic resource. According to regulations, the standard for the Russian army is that each soldier is rationed 50 to 100 grams of vodka per day during non-combat hours.

Due to the shortage of supplies, this so-called rationing was not implemented most of the time, and his troops even canceled the supply of alcohol.

However, the sudden discovery of nearly a hundred bottles of strong liquor from the quartermaster, which the soldiers had never seen before, clearly indicated internal embezzlement.

Normally, he wouldn't care at all. He should be grateful that those pig-like bastards fed him, let alone expect him to drink vodka every day! Do they think they're royalty?!

But not now. After the events of the past two days, it's hard to say how much influence the black-clad priest has had on the soldiers, especially with the shortage of medical alcohol and the fact that some people are embezzling vodka. If we don't handle this properly, there's even a possibility of a mutiny on the front lines.

Most importantly, the alcohol he drinks every day is provided by this guy, Petrov.

"Take him away and lock him up! He'll be court-martialed after the battle!" The lieutenant colonel snorted and waved for someone to take Petrov away. What happened next made his heart tighten.

The two guards first glanced at the black-haired priest to make sure he had no objections before dragging the man lying on the ground away and taking him off.

"Salute to your fairness!" Qin Hao bowed slightly with a smile on his face, then asked, "Lieutenant Colonel, could you please share some of this wine with the soldiers? Also, the first aid station needs alcohol to disinfect the wounded."

"Please do as you please. I won't get involved in this kind of thing." The lieutenant colonel nodded in a deep voice, gestured for him to leave, and then turned to leave.

A moment later, the soldiers throughout the camp erupted in excited shouts: "Hurrah!!!" "Long live Father Putin!!"

Hearing the cheers rising and falling, Lieutenant Colonel Kazman silently clenched his fists.
-
At dinner, all the soldiers received an exciting gift—a long-awaited bottle of vodka.

Although it was only a small cup, less than a mouthwash, it filled the soldiers with uncontrollable joy, and they knew who had brought it all.

As people drink from their glasses, they shout, "To the great Father Putin!"

Meanwhile, the "mysterious saint from the East" that the soldiers were talking about was inside the tent, taking stock of their "harvest".

Bottles of liquor, a bag of sugar that was exceptionally precious at the time, pickled cucumbers in sealed jars, and a whole box of ammunition.

Using his bayonet to pry open the ammunition box next to him, Qin Hao grabbed a handful of bullets and stuffed them into his pocket before proceeding to the next step.

The glass bottle was pried open, and a portion of high-proof vodka was poured into the center, followed by kerosene for lighting, and then sugar was mixed in. Bandages were torn into strips and tightly wrapped around the bottle opening.

A Molotov cocktail, which later became known as the Molotov cocktail, was thus created.

Tomorrow night is the day the German army will attack. His current position is completely different from the previous two times. He is confident that he can pull a group of soldiers to follow him in the chaos.

However, the outcome of a battle can be reversed in an instant; perhaps a soldier's unintentional action can change the course of a battle.

The quality of the Russian army at this moment is what it is. Whether it is the proportion of veterans, or the weapons, equipment and training, it is far behind the German army. Therefore, it needs to add some weight to the scales of victory or defeat.

Ironically, while flamethrowers were invented for combat during World War I, Molotov cocktails, a powerful weapon for urban warfare, were not officially put into use until more than 20 years later during the Winter War between the Soviet Union and Finland.

As it turns out, in close-quarters combat, this easy-to-use throwing weapon has proven to be quite effective against both infantry and armored forces.

In addition, its simple manufacturing process and ability to be mass-produced quickly make it the best choice for short-term combat capability enhancement.

Footsteps could be heard outside the tent.

Qin Hao casually hid the Molotov cocktail he had already made and shouted, "Who's outside?"

“It’s me, Father, I’ve come to accompany you on your night watch,” Pavka said through the tent.

"You don't need to go today. I'll give you a list; you can find all the people here."

"I have something important to do tomorrow night."

(End of this chapter)