She ultimately found herself led to Lieutenant Xia’s command post for a meal, the stated reason being that dining on the ground would invariably dampen her spirits.
It struck her as peculiar; she wasn’t some fragile little person from the fringe worlds whose mood would plummet by three points simply for eating away from a table.
Yet, unable to resist Nangong’s firm grip, she was pulled along towards the communication trench, past the bunker, and then into a long, winding passage.
As her lunchbox grew steadily colder, she at last returned to the slightly more hospitable entrance of the front-line command post, where Nangong gently nudged her inside.
“I’ve told you all to report before entering… Oh, it’s you two. What can I do for you?”
Lieutenant Xia quickly recognized Lin Yu and Nangong, swallowing his reprimand for the second time.
It was unclear if this was the reason his expression had soured considerably.
“Just borrowing a table for her to eat,” Nangong said, stepping into the dugout behind Lin Yu and nudging her towards a seemingly unoccupied table.
A strange and abrupt request like this surely wouldn’t be granted, she mused. Nangong wasn’t even a non-commissioned officer, and Lin Yu herself was merely a private, the lowest rank.
How could Lieutenant Xia, an officer, possibly…
“Alright, that table’s empty. Take her over there to eat.”
It seemed Nangong enjoyed excellent personal relations with these officers, both with the lieutenant and Commander Yang.
Even actions that might be considered presumptuous went unquestioned.
With a nervous heart, Lin Yu set down her lunchbox, eating intently while subtly observing Lieutenant Xia’s every move from the corner of her eye.
Nangong must have been quite familiar with him, much like those senior medics who attended to Commander Yang.
Even if they weren’t exactly friends, they were at least well-acquainted, conversing with a fluidity that surpassed even her own conversations with Nangong.
This familiarity was why Nangong dared to make such an audacious request, allowing a ‘field medic’ to dine with a lunchbox right inside the command post.
Learning that someone else held such a high regard in Nangong’s heart made even the meat in her mouth seem less palatable.
After only a few words, Nangong waved farewell to the lieutenant, leaving Lin Yu alone at the empty table, devouring her meal with a vengeance.
Looking at it this way, the lieutenant was a good person after all. He had been willing to call Nangong for her during their first meeting and had even asked others to look after her on the front lines.
Though both attempts had failed due to various unforeseen circumstances and changes, his intentions had been noble.
Except for that initial incident when he pushed Lin Yu out of the dugout.
Hmm, it seemed… that very dugout had later been directly obliterated by an artillery shell? Could it have been… that exact one?
Lin Yu recalled being thrown to the ground by a blast wave just moments after being pushed out of the dugout.
Considering her subsequent experience digging in the trenches…
The thought that he might have been her ‘savior’ made any lingering resentment from being pushed vanish instantly.
Everyone was truly kind.
Oh, except for that quartermaster.
Commander Yang hadn’t specified where he’d been sent to ‘fill the lines’ after his dismissal; otherwise, Lin Yu would absolutely have chased him down to slap him twice.
Aside from him, everyone else was genuinely good. Without their help, Lin Yu wouldn’t be comfortably eating her meal so quickly within the dugout today.
Setting down her chopsticks, Lin Yu wiped the grease from the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand, having meticulously finished the special bento lunch her senior had prepared.
What a satisfying meal.
Having finished her task, Lin Yu’s gaze naturally began to wander, drifting from Lieutenant Xia to the various furnishings within the dugout.
As the command post was situated within a trench, and given his rank as a lieutenant, the furniture and decor were far less elaborate than those found in Commander Yang’s quarters.
Additionally, there were numerous objects resembling precision equipment.
Lin Yu surmised these were the ‘radio devices’ of the magic realm; headphones and microphones hung from protruding bolts on the equipment, drawing her eye.
Next to Lieutenant Xia’s desk sat a phonograph, identical to Commander Yang’s, though it was currently inactive.
Perhaps he wasn’t accustomed to playing music while reading or writing.
The only other thing that truly captured Lin Yu’s attention was a photograph.
Framed exquisitely, it occupied the most prominent spot on a shelf, and every so often, Lieutenant Xia would glance in its direction.
Hadn’t the shelf been empty when she arrived that morning?
Involuntarily, Lin Yu rose and approached Lieutenant Xia, scrutinizing the photograph within the ornate frame.
Photography in this other world was far from advanced; not only were the pictures black and white, but the images were also slightly blurred.
Of course, it was also possible that photography wasn’t among the priority technologies Diacla had learned, leading to the use of outdated techniques for capturing these antiquated, landline-phone-quality photographs.
The image depicted two men in military uniforms and caps, standing shoulder-to-shoulder, both smiling as they faced the camera.
The background appeared to be a hall-like building.
She could just barely make out Lieutenant Xia as one of the figures, but the identity of the other man remained utterly indiscernible.
“This is a photo of me and Mr. Lu Xunwu,” Lieutenant Xia’s voice resonated through the quiet command post, making Lin Yu instinctively recoil and take half a step back. “He was a very good man, and initially, he vehemently opposed this war.”
‘Wasn’t he looking at documents? How did he notice her staring at the photo…’
“Th-this… this…”
Her subtle transgression suddenly exposed, she grew flustered, her gaze darting left and right, unsure where to settle.
“Seeing him die this morning left me somewhat distraught, and I owe you an apology,” he said, setting down the papers in his hand and approaching the shelf to remove the photograph from its frame.
“No, no, no, h-how could you possibly apologize to me? I’m the one who should be apologizing, for not possessing enough medical knowledge to save his life.”
Lin Yu frantically rejected Lieutenant Xia’s apology, insisting that the fault lay entirely with her. “If Nangong had been assigned to the front line instead of me, perhaps he would have received proper treatment. If I had moved faster on the way here and through the trenches, perhaps he wouldn’t have bled out so quickly.”
“My inadequacies indirectly led to his death; I am the one who should apologize.”
Lieutenant Xia gently caressed the surface of the photograph with his left hand, not accepting Lin Yu’s apology. “Further words are useless now. He died in this war he detested so much.
With his capabilities, if he had simply answered the conscription call honestly, he would undoubtedly be a colonel enjoying life in the rear by now…”
An anti-war advocate dying on the battlefield did indeed sound rather darkly humorous.
What more could she say?
Watching Lieutenant Xia return the photograph to its frame, Lin Yu silently mourned her former commander for another three seconds.
A moment later, he turned his gaze to Lin Yu, who stood in the center of the command post. “You’ve eaten your fill, haven’t you? How about helping me with a small favor, consider it the fee for using the table.”
“Of course, Lieutenant. Just tell me what you need.”
“Help me with some clerical work. The day I met you, this command post was obliterated by a single Lanforthian shell; no one else survived.”
Lieutenant Xia succinctly explained why he was the sole occupant of the command post. “The requested personnel replacements still haven’t arrived, and the locals around here are all from outside the mountain country, so none of them can read or write Diacla.”
Lin Yu, being able to read and write, counted as a minor intellectual in this era.
The uncle with the broken leg had told her that besides being a medic, she could also serve as a messenger, or even a communications officer, responsible for translating encrypted radio messages in a safe location…
She wasn’t yet sure what this other world called magical long-distance communication, but it was similar work nonetheless.
It was a very promising prospect.
Though not as comfortable as being an entertainment soldier (TL Note: A soldier whose primary role is to boost morale through performances, often considered a safer position.), at least it wouldn’t involve firing guns or getting shelled in the trenches.
Her path as a medic now carried the risk of being blown up by a single shell, so finding an opportunity to work as a secretary didn’t seem like a bad idea at all.
Settling into the seat Lieutenant Xia had previously occupied, and picking up the still-warm fountain pen, Lin Yu suddenly realized something.
She seemed to be able to read but not write? She could understand traditional characters, but as for writing…
“How does one write ‘Melancholy Turtle’?”
Only now did Lin Yu realize that before the Diacla Empire began promoting simplified characters, she had actually been half-illiterate.