Battlefield Priest's Diary

Chapter 37 The Wind Rises
East Prussia, Angersburg, German Eighth Army Field Hospital.

This place is nearly 100 kilometers away from the battlefield, and the smell of gunpowder can no longer be smelled here.

Outside the building that was temporarily requisitioned as a hospital, nurses were helping soldiers with crutches to do rehabilitation exercises, people were carrying stretchers in and out, and doctors could be seen jogging into wards with their medicine kits every now and then.

The autumn wind swirled up a leaf, and the three-pronged oak leaf fluttered and danced in the air, sweeping across busy faces, most of which were smiling.

They won; the entire Russian army of 23 was annihilated in one fell swoop, and the captured weapons could be piled up into small mountains. Inspired by this tremendous victory, everyone felt an immense surge of power coursing through their veins.

There was little doubt that the great Second German Reich would prevail.

The leaves continued to flutter, then a sudden whirlwind swept them up and into a second-floor window.

The young man with bandages on his head pinched a leaf in the air and looked out the window, lost in thought.

Click! Someone closed the window behind me.

"Lieutenant! You opened the window again without permission!" the nurse behind him complained, holding the medical record book.

"Excuse me, I'm a little dizzy and want to get some fresh air," the young officer with his turban wrapped said apologetically, displaying excellent aristocratic manners in front of the woman.

"The doctor told you that you need to rest." The nurse checked the bandage on the lieutenant's head and clapped her hands. "Okay, the bandage can probably be removed in a few days. The wound must not be exposed to wind these days, otherwise you, the battlefield hero, will have to go to the reporters with a crooked mouth."

"A hero? Me?" After the nurse left, Manstein touched the gauze on his head and smiled self-deprecatingly.

He himself doesn't know what he is now.

Logically speaking, he failed that night, caught off guard by the Russian night attack, allowing at least a battalion of the enemy to break through the encirclement. He also suffered a heavy blow to the head. If the enemy hadn't been in a hurry to break out and hadn't missed finishing him off, he would probably be part of the earth by now.

On the other hand, his troops did occupy the positions leading to the banks of the Revents River in East Germany, cutting off the retreat of at least 3 Russian troops, which was a strategic success, and some even regarded him as a hero.

"Strategic success is always greater than tactical victory." This was a saying his teacher had taught him, and one he himself regarded as a truth.

But for some reason, the thought of that Eastern face and the charging crowd made me unable to suppress the emotions surging in my chest.

The end of my memory is that ever-enlarging wooden cross.

A dull ache began to throb in his forehead, and he had to force himself to stop thinking about what happened that night.

Footsteps sounded, and someone stopped at the door.

Manstein thought it was a nurse who had returned. "Nina, I want to rest for a bit. Can we change the dressing later?"

click!
The sound of military boots hitting the ground signaled that someone had entered.

Manstein then turned around, and upon seeing the identity of the person who had approached, immediately stood at attention and saluted.

Lieutenant Colonel Max Hoffmann, Chief of Operations of the Eighth Army and a capable assistant to his uncle Hindenburg.

"Sir!" The young officer straightened his chest and stood at attention with his feet together.

“Please sit down, Lieutenant. This is not a military camp.” Lieutenant Colonel Hoffman nodded in satisfaction.

"I know what happened to you at the front. Well done!" The lieutenant colonel nodded and said encouragingly.

"No, sir, I didn't do a good enough job. I let some enemies escape."

"This is also His Excellency Hindenburg's intention, Lieutenant. Are you questioning the General's judgment?" "No! I didn't mean that at all!" Manstein, who had just sat down on the chair, stood at attention again.

“Alright, standing like this is fine too.” Lieutenant Colonel Hoffman stepped forward, took a small box out of his pocket, opened the lid and inside lay a medal with two crossed swords in the center of the enamel cross, which was very eye-catching.

Hohenzollern Sword Knight's Medal

"Sir, I am deeply honored!" Manstein stood at attention again, flattered.

"Initially, we prepared the Iron Cross First Class for you as a reward for bravery in combat, but at the General's suggestion, we changed it to the Sword Medal. Lieutenant, do you understand the General's deeper meaning?" the lieutenant colonel asked, pacing back and forth.

The lieutenant did not answer, but simply stood at attention, assuming a posture of listening to instructions.

"Your greatest contribution on the battlefield was not how many Russians you killed, but that you controlled the river crossing positions and prevented our encirclement from becoming a hole in the net."

"Therefore, the general and I both believe that the Sword Medal for Strategic Planning Merit is more suitable for you." As the lieutenant colonel spoke, he personally pinned the medal in his hand to Manstein's chest.

"But I did let some of the enemy escape..."

"When farmers harvest wheat, one or two ears of wheat will always fall off. If they keep focusing on getting every grain into the granary, the harvest will never be complete." The lieutenant colonel patted Manstein on the shoulder.

"Did you know? The Russians are forming the Tenth Army again. Even though we've already wiped out 23 Russians, our forces are still stretched thin."

"Think about it, if the Russians had escaped from that crossing, even if it was only ten or twenty thousand people, the situation might be completely different now."

"Open your mind and don't dwell on the outcome of a battle; you have a much brighter future ahead of you."

After finishing his sentence, the lieutenant colonel straightened his uniform. "Alright, I should be leaving now. You should rest well during this time. There might be reporters interviewing you, so remember to cooperate."

After saying that, Lieutenant Colonel Hoffman turned to leave.

"Sir, please wait a moment!" the young lieutenant suddenly spoke up.

"Is there anything else?" Lieutenant Colonel Hoffman turned around again.

"How is the battle going?" Manstein asked from behind.

"Lieutenant, are you trying to pry into military secrets?!" The lieutenant colonel's tone suddenly turned stern.

"No! Sir, I just..."

The next second, the lieutenant colonel waved his hand and said, "Alright, since you're injured, I'll only tell you what you can know."

"Lenningkamp has escaped, and our men are encircling him. That coward left behind a blocking force, so the fighting will probably continue for a while, but the basic situation has been settled."

"In short, we can't keep this cowardly fox, but we can cut off a piece of his tail. Is there anything else you want to ask?"

“Sir, I can’t quite put my finger on it, or rather, it’s a feeling, but I’m worried…” Manstein carefully chose his words, a blurry face appearing in his mind.

"Alright, stop overthinking it." The lieutenant colonel waved his hand forcefully, ending the conversation. "Our flanking force is twice the size of the Russians', so there won't be any surprises in the battle over there."

"Unless God intervenes to help them."

(End of this chapter)