Orc Tyrant

"It's another unit."

Yushkin sighed, took off the lens from his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"What news did you bring."

He looked up at Colonel Ivanov's face, hoping that the man hadn't appeared here.

The one-armed 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. , And has never been washed.

But at the moment there is not enough pure water in the entire military camp, let alone washing and ironing uniforms.

Even as an officer at the command level, he had to wear the same uniform for many months.

Generally speaking, as long as a while later, most people will not pay attention to the smell anymore.

Just an hour after the end of the combat meeting, Ivanov appeared in his room, carrying a bottle of wine and smiling on his face.

The bottle is one-third empty.

Ivanov snorted and sat in the folding chair opposite Yushkin.

"Dude, is this your way of relaxing now?"

Ivanov's eyes slid across the stack of maps on the folding table beside Yushkin's bed.

Lines of ink of different colors intersect on these maps, and neat handwritten footnotes fill in the blanks next to the areas marked by circles. Yushikin really hopes that he can take them away before Ivanov starts to read them.

"Is everything okay?"

After a long pause, Ivanov asked.

"I mean, can you stand it?"

The imperial admiral shrugged.

In fact, he was very, very tired.

But he didn't want to sleep, but neither did he want to talk to Ivanov.

In the past, they served together in Aswan.

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

Yushkin felt that it was that period of history that made Ivanov consider him a true friend.

The only problem is that he doesn't like this person, never.

"Next time you come to see the chief, remember not to drink, the military police will trouble you."

Yuhijin stood up, preparing to stack the maps.

But Ivanov pressed the glass against the map when Yushikin reached out, and some liquid spilled from the rim of the cup and began to spread on the paper.

"I'm serious, Big Bird, is everything okay?"

Hearing this inelegant nickname again, Yushkin took a step back, restraining the urge to almost throw the opponent to the ground.

"You are the only living person who remembers this **** nickname."

He reached into a pocket of his coat hanging on the wall, found a cigarette there, then turned around and lit the cigarette.

"Want to remind me of the wonderful years in Aswan, when the greenskins were busy tearing it to pieces."

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

"I just think...you need to relax yourself."

"You didn't miss the meeting today."

Yushkin smiled bitterly, then tilted his head back and spit out a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling.

"Almost all the supporting troops were ambushed or blocked. The 23rd Heavy Armored Regiment was almost completely annihilated. As of last night, we have lost more than 50,000 people, 50,000 live boys and veterans, and we still have to Repeatedly trying to break this unbreakable

Destroy the enemy. "

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

"Even idiots can see that Guk used Mount Mihir as a bait to let us go to death willingly... so yeah, everything is fine."

Ivanov sat on Yushkin's bed, and the glass returned to him.

"You know, I haven't really understood this kind of strategic level."

He said, taking a gulp.

"Yes."

Yushkin nodded.

"But in fact, like you, I have never attended a real military academy. I am just a rookie who graduated from the noncommissioned school. I don't know why fate pushed me to this position."

Ivanov shook his head, picked up the bottle and started pouring himself.

After a while, he snorted and raised the wine bottle towards Yushijin, the oily liquid swaying on the walls of the wine bottle.

Yushkin shook his head.

The one-armed colonel grumbled.

"You actually have an idea."

Ivanov put down the bottle, and all the disguised humor disappeared from his face.

"Everyone is worried about you."

"I guess."

"Look, this is the case, you should probably speak out."

"speak out?"

Yushikin raised one eyebrow.

"Let me say what?"

"All these things, regarding your views on this war, you are the highest commander."

Ivanov gestured to the bed, table and chair, and metal door between the exposed chalk walls.

"Even those doglegs are the same."

"That's why they were sent."

Yushkin stared at the floor so that Ivanov would not see the anger in his eyes.

"Guk's plan is actually very simple, or even a commander like me who is half a bucket of water knows that if the solution to the dilemma is simple-a large-scale assault with concentrated forces will do.

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

"But we don't have any redundant reserve forces. Just maintaining the entire line of defense is already stretched. Guk's seemingly simple plan is actually insoluble."

Ivanov was shaking his head, and when he sighed, his depressed mood was revealed.

"So... our only choice."

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

"Let Mihir's defenders hold on to the last minute to buy time for the evacuation of the people of Tyre."

He had a calm tone, but what he said was enough to make waves outside.

"You know, unless something huge happens, this war has no chance of victory, and all that is left is bloodshed... Let more people live by bleeding our blood."

"Holy Father, why did it become like this."

"Because we are too weak, it's that simple."

"Then why didn't you raise it during the meeting, but instead agreed with the suggestion to fill this bottomless pit with militias?"

"Because someone wants to do it."

Yushijin threw the cigarette **** into the glass with an indifferent expression.

"Tyro has not implemented the evacuation plan yet. Some people hope that the war will continue, for some kind of vague miracle."

Ivanov stood up, walked to the door, and slammed it open.

"What do you want to do. I'm just waiting to go to the front line. You promised me... I don't want to run anymore."

After a while, Yushikin stood up, closed the door and sat in a chair.

Carefully, he wiped the ink stains on the map that had been stunned by strong alcohol.

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

"Is that what you want."

He said to himself, then picked up the bottle left by Ivanov, twisted the cork and took a breath.

Then he took another gulp.

Yushkin nodded to himself again.

"Is that what you want."