Orc Tyrant

"There must be other reasons..."

Mountbatten said so, removing the lens from his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"...It stands to reason."

He looked down at Colonel Anthony Fask's face, hoping that this man would get rid of the indescribable gloom.

The officer seemed to have dried out after being soaked in water. A layer of oily shine was attached to Fask’s double-chin face. His officer uniform seemed to be worn by him and slept many times. Not washed.

But right now is the time of the war. Everyone is not interested in grooming, let alone cleaning and ironing uniforms. Even if you are a senior officer, you have to wear the same uniform for many months. Anyway, it only takes a while. Few people will pay attention to the smell anymore.

Just an hour after Fask completed the support mission, Mountbatten appeared in his small small room, carrying a bottle of wine with a smile on his face, the bottle was one-third empty.

The general snorted and sat in the folding chair opposite Fask.

"Holy Father, this is how you relax now?"

Mountbatten's eyes slid across a stack of maps spread out on a folding table beside Fask's bed. Lines of different colors of ink intersected on these maps, and neatly handwritten print footnotes filled the blanks next to the areas marked by circles.

"Is everything okay?"

After a long pause, Mountbatten asked:

"I mean, can you stand it?"

Fask shrugged. He was very, very tired, but he didn't want to sleep. After completing the support for Raven Ridge, he felt more and more melancholy.

In the past, they used to study together at the Ulln Military Academy and later joined the same army.

They were all company commanders at the time, young and full of cozy nonsense that is common in soldiers' lives.

Fask felt that it was that period of history that made Mountbatten consider him a friend. The only problem was that he didn't like to talk. He had never been. He was a taciturn person who only conceived the details of the war in his own mind.

He sighed and stood up, preparing to stack the maps.

Mountbatten pressed the glass against the map when the opponent reached out, and some liquid spilled from the edge of the cup and began to spread on the paper.

"I'm serious, old friend, is everything okay?"

Fask took a step back, restraining the anger that almost shot out of his eyes, he put his hand into a pocket of the military uniform, found a cigarette there, he turned around and lit the cigarette.

"I'm so excited that I can rest in this ghostly place of stagnant water, while the other guys are busy tearing it to pieces."

He sat in the folding chair and slowly exhaled a thick smoke.

"Ok’s offensive is very fierce. They decided to turn that big mud pit into a battlefield. Then we decided to join the battle. My men suffered heavy casualties. It was in that battle. As of last night, we had our biggest defeat. We are still trying again and again to defeat this enemy who is known for his brutality."

He paused and nodded to himself, seemingly satisfied with what he had just said.

"And we don't know why they are here, or how this battle started, so yeah, everything is fine."

Mountbatten sat on Fask's bunk, and the glass returned to him.

"You don't need to know the answer to the fight."

He said so, took a big sip, and then pointed his finger in the direction of the map.

"Ben Lier is a stupid pig. His negligence caused the Second Army to die, and the headquarters also behaved badly. He was ordered to return to Cardillon instead of seizing the time to recapture Ash Mountain. If you give up the Second Army, That’s all, but why do we have to send two more distant Third Army and Fifth Army to support? Fight without fighting, withdraw and without."

"Yes."

Fask nodded.

"If we want to win, we must be decisive."

Mountbatten shook his head, picked up the bottle and began to pour himself. After a while, he snorted and raised the bottle to Fask.

The oily liquid dangled on the walls of the wine bottle.

Fask shook his head, and Mountbatten could only grumble.

"You are really as evil as they said."

Mountbatten put down the wine bottle, he used both hands to close the glass he had just filled, but did not lift it to his mouth, all the disguised humor disappeared from his face.

"The decision of the headquarters worries me."

"I guess."

Fask nodded cautiously.

"Look, this is the situation. Yaling is under tremendous pressure on the front line, and even asked the Fourth Army to transfer a division to the North Aid to the Second Army. I suggested to Commander Greck that our division should go to support him, but he was too cautious. Or too timid, even asking us to withdraw Cardillon, leaving only one regiment to defend Mud Town."

"Withdraw Cardillon?"

Fask raised one eyebrow.

"how come?"

"All these things, about why the enemy understands our deployment, about the chaotic command of the headquarters, and other reasons, etc., indeed, people will talk about it afterwards, and in this place..."

Mountbatten scanned the crowded beds, tables and chairs, and door panels between the bare concrete walls.

"...We must have our own decision."

"That's why you sent us?"

Fask stared at the floor so that Mountbatten wouldn't see the anger in his eyes.

"Do you know how bad our condition is? Ten hours of rushing, five hours of traveling, five hours of fighting, during which Ouke is still trying to turn our defeat into a massacre of victory."

He stopped and nodded, frowning on his face, as if thinking deeply.

"We almost lost our position."

Mountbatten was shaking his head, and when he sighed, his pessimism was revealed.

"You know, this should have been an easy conversation."

Fask nodded, trying to make his expression sensible, gentle, and calm.

"When was the last time you sat by the crater, sir?"

He asked softly, in a calm tone.

"You know, in a place like that, stay with dead people and gunfire."

"I'm sorry, but we must accept such a loss. Raven Ridge cannot become a second Vader, but you can resist it, a regiment, tens of thousands of enemies."

Mountbatten stood up, walked to the door, and slowly opened it.

"Your sacrifice bought time for the Fourth Army. They are very grateful to you. Lieutenant General Hugh Drum is outside. He wants to have a chat with you."

"Please tell him for me, I have received his respect."

After a while, when Mountbatten left, Fask stood up, closed the door and sat on the table, carefully wiping the ink on the map that had been fainted by the spirits.

Once again, he stared at the lines, circles, and notes.

It is not complete yet, he can only collect so much information about his encounter with Ouke and their allies, but even so it still means something.

"war."

He said to himself, and reached out his hand carefully under the bed, and took out a wine bottle.

The liquid inside was golden like honey, and it hung on the wall of the bottle when he twisted the cork to take a big mouth.

Fask gasped for a moment, took another sharp breath, and then took another gulp.

After a while, he nodded to himself again.

"war……"