Chapter Ten: Promotion to Corporal

“The objective of this counteroffensive is to concentrate our forces and annihilate the five German encampments in one decisive strike. According to the coded signals on the map, one of these is a large operational base, three are medium-sized camps, and the last is a lightly manned transit outpost.”

Colonel Marcos began his briefing; every officer in the command tent listened with rapt attention, all clearly having awaited this opportunity for counterattack for a long time.

They had been on the defensive, suppressed by the German forces for so long that it was only a matter of time before their frontline defenses would be completely overrun. But if this counteroffensive succeeded, it would deal a severe blow to the German’s unchecked advance.

“The large enemy base will be assaulted by myself, along with two lieutenant colonels and at least five units. The three medium camps will each be the target of three units, led by officers with at least the rank of lieutenant,” Colonel Marcos explained, gesturing across a large, three-dimensional military map. The map, specially designed for military use, clearly displayed the five German strongholds beyond their defensive lines.

“It seems this time we’re really going all out. With the operations commander personally leading, with intelligence on enemy coordinates, sufficient manpower, and the cover of a night assault—losing this battle would be next to impossible,” Kyle mused to himself. He had personally decoded the cipher messages and knew the intelligence on the map inside and out. As soon as he heard the colonel’s deployment of forces for the assault, he knew victory was all but assured.

Such was the importance of intelligence in war; victory inevitably went to those who seized the initiative.

Soon, Colonel Marcos had assigned every officer their units and detailed their objectives for the night’s assault. Understanding their responsibilities, the officers took condensed operational briefs and swiftly left the tent, setting about preparations for the coming attack.

In no time, only Kyle remained in the command tent.

Could the commander have forgotten about me? Kyle wondered, casting a glance at Colonel Marcos, who had settled back into his chair. He made use of the moment, however, to draw a few valuable green ability cards from the officers during the meeting.

Although accumulating green ability cards of the same specialty yielded diminishing returns in terms of physical and skill improvements, he still found them useful.

Colonel Marcos took a sip of water, his gaze finally landing on Kyle. The tension eased from his face, and he offered a faint smile. “Private Kyle, tonight’s assault is of utmost importance. Although you only returned from the front lines this morning, after some rest this afternoon, you will still participate in tonight’s operation.”

“Of course. To join America’s first counteroffensive against the Nazis is an honor for any soldier. I will give my all tonight,” Kyle replied with conviction.

“I’ve heard much about your resolve and drive as a soldier, as well as your remarkable performance on the battlefield, from several sergeants these past days,” Colonel Marcos nodded approvingly. He was truly satisfied with this new arrival—Kyle was growing on him more and more.

For a new recruit, just delivering seventy percent of their potential in battle would be impressive. Yet Kyle fought like a seasoned veteran, perfectly at home in the chaos.

Over the past days, Colonel Marcos had not only overseen the counteroffensive plan, but had also repeatedly confirmed Kyle’s identity with the rear base, fearing he might be a German spy in disguise.

Clearing his throat, the colonel said meaningfully, “But tonight, I don’t want you to merely participate as a soldier.”

“Not as a soldier? Then as what…” Kyle was taken aback, then a suspicion dawned on him. His expression turned odd. “Colonel, you’re not asking me to lead the assault on the fifth, smaller German outpost, are you?”

“Exactly.” Colonel Marcos nodded, making it clear he wasn’t joking. He retrieved a rank insignia from his drawer and placed it on the desk. “Of course, you won’t be leading as a private, but as a ‘corporal’.”

“Me, a corporal?” Kyle was stunned, pointing at himself in disbelief.

Corporal wasn’t a high rank, but in the army, it marked one’s progression into the ‘officer’ class.

After just three days of combat, to bypass the lower ranks and be promoted directly to corporal? When had this rank become so cheap?

“What’s the matter, don’t you believe in yourself?” Colonel Marcos smiled.

“It’s not that. I just didn’t expect to be promoted straight to corporal,” Kyle shrugged, quickly regaining his composure.

“In peacetime, no one gets promoted from recruit to corporal in three days, not even with a general’s backing,” Colonel Marcos said gravely. “But this is wartime, a world at war! In the past few days, you’ve killed more enemies with your own hands than some career soldiers do in decades of peace.”

“Your outstanding combat skills and exceptional intelligence analysis make you wasted as a mere private. Since you have the talent, the army has the need, and you have the merits to back it up, what’s a direct promotion to corporal?”

“I understand,” Kyle nodded.

In troubled times, heroes emerge. It was precisely because they were in the chaos of World War II that those with ability could rise quickly, unhindered by patronage or seniority.

This was the kind of era he liked.

A faint smile played at Kyle’s lips, his blue eyes shining with confidence. For the first time, he felt fortunate to have been reborn in Marvel’s World War II era.

Colonel Marcos smiled. “Rest assured, since it’s your first time leading a unit, and it’s such a critical counteroffensive, I won’t have you command alone.”

“That’s a relief—I’d hate to botch things on my own,” Kyle exhaled. Now it was clear: the colonel was using the operation as an opportunity to train him.

Colonel Marcos called out, “Orderly, fetch Sergeant Fury.”

“Sergeant Fury?” Kyle stroked his chin; the name sounded strangely familiar.

Moments later, a black officer entered, his left eye still bandaged, but otherwise fully dressed in combat uniform, ready for action.

“It’s you, Sergeant,” Kyle exclaimed in recognition—the very same sergeant he’d met during his first combat experience.

“Private—no, Corporal Kyle.” Sergeant Fury greeted him warmly, then saluted the colonel. “Sir! Sergeant Nick Fury, recovered and reporting for duty. Ready for all operational assignments.”

“Excellent,” Colonel Marcos nodded, then turned to Kyle. “This will be your co-leader tonight—Nick Fury. He’s been leading as a sergeant for some time now and has ample field command experience.”

Kyle blinked. Hearing the officer’s name, he was momentarily stunned.

Nick Fury? The future director of S.H.I.E.L.D. in the twenty-first century?

“Looking forward to working with you,” Sergeant Fury said amiably, nodding at Kyle. He didn’t yet possess that fierce, commanding presence of later years, and looked young—perhaps twenty-five at most.

“Likewise,” Kyle replied, steadying his nerves. This was World War II—there was no S.H.I.E.L.D. yet, let alone a director.

But to go into battle with the future director of S.H.I.E.L.D.?

Now, that was intriguing.