Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

Chapter 377: Chapter 35: The Shack Street

“Vasya! Where are you?” Pierre rushed through the streets, anxiously shouting, “Vasya!”

The narrow street was flanked by low and simple shanties, many of which didn’t even have doors, just a piece of torn cloth to block the prying eyes of the passersby.

The road was narrow and crowded, and Pierre’s shouts were drowned out by the cries of the street vendors.

“Do you want to buy some tobacco, officer?” A dirty kid followed close behind Pierre, “Want to buy? I’ve got good stuff. Pipe tobacco? Chewing tobacco?”

“Not buying!” Pierre replied, annoyed.

The kid was persistent and kept nagging him, “What about booze, officer? Ale? Beer? I also have wine, just tell me what you want to drink…”

Pierre ignored the kid, striding determinedly through the streets, shouting, and roughly pushing aside the slow-moving pedestrians.

Innocent passersby were pushed to nearly fall over and were about to curse out loud, only to inadvertently catch a glimpse of the distinctive forehead hair, the small braid, and the Dusack knife at the man’s waist.

So the vulgar words that reached their lips were swallowed back down, turning into a vicious curse in their stomachs, “Damn Tartar!”

…

Since Marshal Ned built the Shuangqiao Main Camp thirty-one years ago, it has been the Republic of Palatu’s most central logistics hub for every war with Hurd’s tribes.

Now, the “Shanty Street” between the city walls and the barracks, was a slum in Shuangqiao City thirty years ago.

Wherever there are people, there are needs. With the completion of the Shuangqiao Main Camp, all sorts of people flocked to this crowded, dirty, and smelly district: vendors, prostitutes, go-betweens, black-market dealers…

Some scraped a living by providing services to men in the camp, while others waited outside the barracks to sniff out opportunities to make a big score.

Jingling silver coins were paid out to soldiers and laborers by the logistics officers, only to end up in the pockets of the hawkers and runners of the Shanty Street.

Invisible veins linked the Shuangqiao Main Camp to Shanty Street, which, under the nourishment of money and sweat, displayed a kind of diseased prosperity.

…

Many soldiers and laborers spent more time in Shanty Street than in the barracks, but Pierre rarely came here.

Now, as he walked along the noisy street, he was utterly lost. He had no idea which shanty Vashka and the others were in, and shouting their names down the street was useless.

Having no choice, Pierre began to check each shanty:

He lifted a door curtain, and a bunch of shirtless men were gambling. He didn’t recognize them;

He lifted another curtain, where a few laborers were plucking a hen. Not this one;

He lifted yet another curtain, where a pair of hairy legs were busily moving atop a pair of pale ones, neither upper nor lower belonged to Vashka…

Pierre hurried along, causing chaos in his wake, with the kid having to run to keep up.

But the kid, like sticky candy, simply couldn’t be shaken off, incessantly asking:

“What about women, officer? Do you want women? I know which women in which house are sick, and which aren’t. I’ll introduce you for free, no finder’s fee. Or perhaps, officer, you’d like to gamble? I know a good place, with all sorts of games!”

A kid not even ten years old, but his mouth was full of “women,” “tobacco,” “alcohol,” “gambling,”—it was both ridiculously comical and profoundly sad.

But Pierre completely ignored him, well aware that any response would make this little. bastard. even more aggressive.

The kids on Shanty Street had sharp eyes; they could tell at a glance who wasn’t a regular.

So, every time Pierre came to Shanty Street, he was endlessly harassed, to the point of irritation.

These kids running amok on the street also had sticky fingers. Despite calling him “officer,” at the slightest inattention, they would ruthlessly steal even a soldier’s underwear.

After losing a purse once, Pierre made sure to carry a saber whenever he came to Shanty Street.

Seeing that the Dusack in front of him paid him no attention, the kid who had followed Pierre all the way suddenly had an idea.

He asked in a mysterious tone, “Officer, do you need money? If there’s nothing you want to buy, selling’s fine too. Leather boots, wooden planks, gunpowder, lead, muskets, armor, anything you dare to sell, we dare to buy, and we guarantee a fair price. No goods? You can sell information too…”

Already in a state of anxiety and impatience, Pierre finally lost his temper. He turned around, drew his saber, and bellowed, “I’m not buying anything! Not selling anything! If you dare follow me again, I’ll chop you dead with one strike!”

The kid was at first stunned, then turned tail and ran.

But after only a few steps, he stopped, pointed at Pierre’s nose, and cursed loudly, “You damned Tartar! Dusack with bowels full of maggots! Devil and donkey’s crossbreed! Your life isn’t worth as much as my balls! When you become a lonely ghost on the battlefield, let the crows peck out your eyes! Let stray dogs eat your balls! Let the devil drag you to hell to be a [luan] boy!”

After spewing his venom, the kid made a face and disappeared into the crowd.

“Little bastard, don’t run!” Pierre, red-faced with anger, chased after him.

But he stood no chance of catching him and could only watch helplessly as the kid disappeared into the dark alleys of Shanty Street.

The impotently furious Pierre roared at the sky, causing passersby and street vendors to look his way.

“What’s the matter here?” Vashka came running out of a shanty with his belt still undone, holding up his pants.

“Hurry back to camp with me!” Pierre, having finally found him, didn’t have time to be angry. He grabbed Vasya’s arm and urgently said, “A big officer has come! The lieutenant wants everyone to assemble.”

Vashka panicked too, “What? Damn! Where’s my belt?”

“Where are Toman, Guoquan, and the others?”

“Hey! They didn’t go with me!” Vasya slapped his thigh. “I’ll go look for them with you.”

“Let’s go!” Pierre lifted his leg to leave, but was held back by a Centurion.

“Pierre, did you bring money?” Vasya asked awkwardly. “I haven’t paid over there yet.”

Pierre sighed helplessly and reached for his waistband.

After fumbling for a moment, his expression suddenly changed: “My wallet! The damn little bastard stole my wallet again!”

Where the wallet should have hung from the belt, there was now nothing but emptiness.

The leather cord that tied the wallet had been cut with a sharp blade.

…

After finding the other three in the tent street, Vasya and Pierre hurried back to the camp.

But it was still too late. Colonel Jeska had already returned from headquarters with three lieutenants, and three hundred-man squads stood in neat formations on the field.

Sneaking in was out of the question, so Vasya and the others had to grit their teeth and approach.

“Ten lashes each,” the one-eyed colonel declared coldly without asking where they had been. “Fall in.”

The five Dusacks breathed a sigh of relief and quickly rejoined their ranks.

Truth be told, they’d rather be whipped a few times in plain sight than endure the humiliation of standing there for everyone to see—it felt more straightforward.

Afterward, other militiamen gradually returned, and Colonel Jeska treated everyone indiscriminately, administering ten lashes to each.

It took nearly two and a half hours for three hundred-man squads to assemble completely, and the colonel made everyone stand in the small parade ground for the same amount of time.

Once everyone had assembled, it should have been time for the new commander’s speech, but John Jeska skipped all that.

“The execution will take place before sunset,” the colonel announced, looking at his three Centurions with his one eye. “You three will carry it out personally, take care of your own soldiers. If there’s a Centurion, add five lashes, and replace them.”

Afterwards, he disbanded the three hundred-man squads.

Even after the dismissal order, the troops still stood in place, not moving an inch. Everyone felt that something was missing and didn’t know whether they should leave or not.

The militiamen were perplexed, but to the three lieutenants new to the commander’s style, this was no longer surprising.

…

You see, the first thing the one-eyed colonel said after meeting them was “How did the three of you end up commanding militia?”

“What do you mean? Pretending not to know?” Hearing this, a myriad of thoughts flashed through Winters’s mind. “Is this a show of authority? A provocation? Is he trying to deliberately anger us?”

The awkward position of Venetian lieutenants in the Republic of Palatu was common knowledge among “orthodox” officers.@@novelbin@@

[Note: “Orthodox” refers to officers who graduated from the Land Academy, also known as academy-educated or institutionally trained. This contrasts with emergency wartime officer training and battlefield promotions, with officers from the latter two paths finding it difficult to advance to the level of staff officers.]

Nevertheless, there was a kind of camaraderie among alumni, so although the Palatu Army in principle never compromised, most seniors still took considerable care of Winters and his peers.

Objectively speaking, the position of a garrison officer in the Newly Reclaimed Land was actually quite comfortable and pleasant. With great power and little restraint, one could feel like a noble lord locally.

For non-academy officers to retire in a garrison officer’s role was considered quite generous; sparing them from a fate like Lieutenant Mason’s, who was sent to shovel horse dung, was already showing them favor.

In the vast Kingdom of Galloping Horses, seniors would pat Winters on the shoulder and comfort him kindly, “Just endure a little longer, hold on a bit, and you’ll be able to go home once things are settled.”

“Why have you ended up commanding the militia?”

Facing such a question head-on and being bluntly insulted was a first for them.

The three lieutenants exchanged looks, none of them speaking.

No need for words; seeing Andre’s flared nostrils and twitching cheeks, Winters understood that Andre was on the brink of exploding.

Winters bumped Andre’s shoulder inconspicuously.

Preventing the words “Isn’t this an idiotic question, as if it’s our fault for not being capable enough?” from flying out, Winters managed to shove it back into Andre’s throat.

But at that moment, the colonel asked again, “Why don’t you speak? You lot are at least Land Academy graduates, so how have you sunk to competing for a job with officers from other schools?”

[Note: Officers from other academies, in contrast to Land Academy officers, represent professional military officers who didn’t graduate from the military academy of the army.]

Winters had only one thought: it’s over, Andre is going to blow.

Lieutenant Montaigne’s thoughts momentarily drifted to “becoming Andre’s second in a duel” and even further afield.

A deliberate voice rose in the room, “To serve our country, there is no distinction of high or low. As for Colonel, aren’t you also fallen to the point of commanding us?”

Andre was startled, and Winters was taken aback.

Unexpectedly, it was Bard, the most even-tempered of the three, who had spoken up first.

Colonel Jeska was stung by the retort but didn’t get angry.

“Not a fall, for me it’s a promotion,” he said with a hint of a smile, unconcernedly. “I’ve had it worse than you; I just returned from an overseas military district.”

COMMENT
0 comment

Vote
3 left

SEND GIFT