Starting from the Planetary Governor - Chapter 868

Chapter 862: The Universe is Burning (Part 9)

Bai Qiao and his soldiers were stunned upon seeing the Heroic Elves appear in a flash of lightning.

Although these sudden, fearless, and powerful Elves, ready to aid humanity in battle, had appeared more than once within the Alliance, they had previously appeared in naval battles, landing directly on enemy starships to aid in combat. Few had actually seen these Elves in person, and they were almost always Space Marines.

Space Marines were known for their close-knit nature.

This meant that the story of these “Heroic Elves aiding humanity” was limited to rumors, circulating among a small number of people.

More broadly, news of these Elves remained largely unknown.

At least, even Bai Qiao’s class was completely unaware of them, let alone the ordinary soldiers.

It’s no surprise that the soldiers were stunned upon seeing these Elves.

However, identifying them as friendly forces was easy.

These Elves remained silent, their actions thrashing the greenskins.

Beyond this friendly behavior, the Heroic Spirits’ behavior also made Bai Qiao and his fellow soldiers feel close. Though these Heroic Spirits appeared translucent and shimmered with electric arcs, they wore Alliance Army uniforms. Their tactical gestures were identical to those of Alliance soldiers.

This familiarity quickly made Bai Qiao and his soldiers consider these Heroic Spirits their own.

After a brief hesitation, Bai Qiao ordered his remaining troops to turn and join the suddenly appearing Heroic Spirits in a counterattack against the Greenskins.

Against the remnants of the human army, the Orcs might have been strong enough to annihilate them all. But the appearance of the Heroic Spirits completely reversed the situation.

They fought back, destroying the Orcish biotope within the underground base.

Once their mission was complete, the Heroic Spirits’ bodies gradually faded and vanished.

Throughout this process, Bai Qiao continued to attempt to greet them, but no Heroic Spirits responded.

He could only let this incident sink in his heart with regret.

…

After confirming the mission was complete, Bai Qiao left the underground cave and reported to his superiors.

He recounted the entire mission and highlighted the discovery of the “Heroic Spirit.”

Bai Qiao received no accolades.

With such a heavy sacrifice, the mission nearly fell apart, only to be completed thanks to the incarnation of the Heroic Spirit. Recognition is a rarity.

Of course, the final judgment on his performance in this battle remains to be seen. The military has a dedicated department to conduct a post-battle investigation. Whether he was a war criminal, or simply commanded the troops well but the enemy proved too strong, implying no fault of his own; or perhaps his command was excellent, achieving the objective despite a powerful enemy, harsh conditions, and an impossible mission…

all depend on the circumstances.

Bai Qiao wasn’t overly concerned.

From the moment he received the mission, to the start of the battle, to its conclusion, he maintained a clear conscience. Neither his own command decisions nor the heroic sacrifice of his entire regiment were questionable. The military police, as long as they reviewed the battle report normally, wouldn’t bother him. At most, they’d dismiss him for the sheer magnitude of the sacrifice and the bizarre way the mission objectives were ultimately achieved, which meant he wouldn’t receive a high evaluation.

Instead, Bai Qiao was more concerned with the lives of those heroes.

What had happened?

But the response from his superiors soon arrived.

He wasn’t given any explanation, simply told that they knew about the incident and instructed his troops to keep their observations and experiences confidential.

That’s it?

If his superiors had asked him to keep it secret, he certainly wouldn’t have said much; if they had asked him to discipline his men, he would have done so.

But…

without a signed confidentiality agreement, no specific confidentiality training, and even no serious emphasis on the consequences of leaking secrets… Bai Qiao seriously doubted the effectiveness of this mere verbal demand for secrecy.

Over six hundred people! Any drunken remark could easily have leaked the secret.

He smiled bitterly and shook his head. There was nothing else he could do. He could only sternly convey the order and keep his mouth shut. There was nothing else he could do.

He continued to read his superiors’ response.

The battle report he had submitted highlighted his regiment’s devastating losses, essentially depleting it of combat effectiveness.

He hoped that upon seeing their current situation, his superiors would dispatch a large number of new troops to fill his regiment, allowing it to quickly recover and participate in the frontline battles.

But he knew the probability of this happening was very low.

Not only did his regiment have so few men left, but every one of them was injured. Instead of sending over 3,000 men, the equivalent of an entire regiment in reserve, to them, it would be more convenient to split them off and assign them to other units.

However, neither of these ideas came to fruition.

The superiors’ orders to their regiment gave them a location at a rear landing site, approximately ten hours’ journey. At that point, transport ships would arrive to resupply ground troops and supplies and bring them back to the sky.

This was difficult for Bai Qiao to accept.

His campaign at Ankach was over.

This wasn’t what he had hoped for.

He wanted to participate in the war, to achieve great things.

The Ankach campaign was the most crucial battle of the expedition so far. He was only a lieutenant colonel, commanding an infantry regiment. He couldn’t possibly achieve anything that would impact the entire campaign. In fact, his troops would be expendable on a battlefield of this magnitude, quickly depleted.

But even so, he wanted to fight.

According to the Alliance’s traditional merit-recording system, on a battlefield of this magnitude, every minute, even every second, of fighting and performing military missions on the front lines counted as merit.

It might sound a bit cruel, but he was willing to lead his troops into the fiercest battlefields, earning merit.

After all, as an officer, his survival rate was much higher than that of a soldier fighting on the front lines.

The ideal scenario was to fight on the front lines, where if one of his troops was decimated, a reserve force would arrive to replenish his regiment. The regiment and its commander remain constant, but the soldiers are ever-changing. In the end, if he could fight on the front lines for a few Terran days, the accumulated merits would be a significant and lucrative income for him.

In the Alliance Army, the path to promotion is smooth, but not everyone can get there easily. If everything just proceeds step by step, his life might be predictable. Perhaps with accumulated experience in the future, he could retire with the rank of colonel or major general, serving as deputy division commander or deputy chief of staff of a division.

As for general?

He probably had no hope of becoming a general in this lifetime.

But he wanted to be a general, very badly.

And the battle on Ankachi VIII was his rare opportunity.

But now, it was gone.

No matter how unwilling he was, he could only accept the order and board the returning transport ship.

It wasn’t until he returned to a giant-bellied transport ship and heard a piece of news at the officers’ club that his dejection turned into relief:

“On the surface battlefield, a regiment is wiped out every 3 minutes and 27 seconds. The mortality rate for officers below the rank of colonel is 68%. An ordinary infantry regiment under a Class C division like yours is probably lagging behind the average.”

Hearing this number, Bai Qiao fell silent, finally relieved.

(End of this chapter)