The drinks

It's been a couple of days since I woke up from a pit, finding myself stranded in another timeline and in a different body, which has left me deeply concerned for my life, fearing that death might claim me at any moment. However, I've had to put all those worries aside for now, as I find myself in the role of a lieutenant. It appears that the body I've inherited belonged to an officer of the Imperial German Army, specifically of the 21st Schwaben Infantry Regiment, during World War I. My entire Regiment was wiped out during an assault near a French city close to Reims.

Following the incident, I was interrogated by Major Maxer von Steuben, who surmised that I had lost some of my memories due to the concussive force of the artillery fire. Remarkably, I was considered lucky since my body only sustained scratches, rather than losing a limb, as so many others did in the conflict.

After the interrogation I was then reassigned As the lieutenant of the prestigious 84th Eisenadler Regiment, I found myself under the command of Colonel Wolfgang Hartmann, a seasoned leader with a reputation for both tactical brilliance and stern heart for his men. On this particular day, I was tasked with inspecting the soldiers under my command.

Standing tall and proud in my crisp uniform, I moved through the ranks, scrutinizing each soldier's appearance and equipment with a keen eye. Despite the hardships of war, discipline remained paramount within our regiment, and I made sure to enforce it with firmness tempered by reward and punishment as discipline and skill of the regiment will ensure my safety.

I checked their rifles, their uniforms, and their demeanor, ensuring that they were ready for whatever challenges lay ahead on the battlefield. As I moved among them, I offered words of encouragement and support, knowing that morale was just as crucial as military preparedness.

As I completed the last inspection and prepared to report to Colonel Hartmann, a familiar voice called out my name.

"Oy, Friedrich, want a drink?" an arm suddenly enveloped my shoulder.

"Not today, Heinrich," I replied, recognizing the voice of a fellow lieutenant.

"Oh, come on," Heinrich persisted, "you're always working hard as if Satan himself will come for you."

I chuckled at his remark, appreciating the camaraderie amidst the seriousness of our duties. But duty called, and I politely declined, excusing myself to fulfill my responsibilities to the regiment and to Colonel Hartmann.

Knocking on the solid wood door of the makeshift officer's bunker, I waited for a response. A moment later, a firm voice from within called out, "Enter."

I pushed the door open and stepped inside, finding Colonel Hartmann poring over maps and documents spread across a makeshift table illuminated by a dimly lit lamp.

"Permission to report, Colonel Hartmann," I said, standing at attention.

The Colonel looked up from his maps, his eyes briefly scanning me before nodding. "At ease, Lieutenant Friedrich. What's your report?"

"Sir, the men of the 84th Eisenadler Regiment have been fully inspected and are ready for deployment. Their morale is high, and they stand ready to follow your command," I reported succinctly.

Colonel Hartmann leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression crossing his features. "Thank you, Friedrich. Your diligence is invaluable to this regiment. How do you assess our preparedness for the upcoming engagement?"

I paused for a moment, considering the question seriously. "We are as prepared as we can be, sir. The men are trained and disciplined. However, I believe additional reconnaissance might give us a strategic advantage."

The Colonel nodded, seemingly pleased with my insight. "A prudent suggestion. I'll arrange for a scouting party at dawn. Anything else?"

"No, sir. That concludes my report," I replied.

"Very well. Dismissed, Lieutenant. And Friedrich," he called out as I turned to leave, "ensure you get some rest too. We'll need every officer at their best and with luck like you."

"Understood, sir. Thank you," I said, acknowledging his ordered with a nod before exiting the bunker, feeling the weight of the upcoming battle yet confident in our preparation.

As I stepped out of the bunker, my mind raced with the knowledge of the major battles that would unfold on the Western Front in 1915. Memories flooded back to me, drawn from the countless history books I had read in my previous timeline.

I recalled the horrors of the Second Battle of Ypres, where the Germans unleashed deadly chlorine gas for the first time, causing widespread panic and devastation among the Allied forces. The Battle of Neuve Chapelle flashed before my eyes, with its fierce artillery barrages and brutal trench warfare.

My thoughts turned to the Battle of Loos, where British forces launched a massive offensive, only to be met with fierce German resistance and staggering casualties. And looming on the horizon was the Battle of Verdun, a grueling and protracted conflict that would claim hundreds of thousands of lives on both sides.

As I entered my bunker, a sense of relief washed over me. Inside, six men greeted me with crisp salutes, ranging from the first-class private to the seasoned sergeant.

"Good evening, gentlemen," I said, returning their salutes with a nod of acknowledgment.

The men relaxed amidst the dim light of the bunker, some engrossed in a game of cards while others enjoyed a rare luxury—a few bottles of beer procured from a recent supply drop.

"Evening, Lieutenant," replied Private Heinrich Müller, the youngest of the group, flashing a grin as he shuffled the deck of cards.

Sergeant Klaus Weber, a grizzled veteran with a stern demeanor, sat nearby, keeping a watchful eye on the proceedings. "Reporting for duty, sir," he said, his voice betraying a hint of exhaustion from the day's activities.

Corporal Franz Wagner, a wiry and quick-witted soldier, leaned back against the bunker wall, a bottle of beer in hand. "Cheers, Lieutenant," he said with a nod, raising his bottle in salute.

Beside him, Private Dieter Schmidt and Private Johann Fischer, both steadfast and reliable, joined in the camaraderie, sharing stories and laughter amidst the somber backdrop of war.

Lastly, there was Lance Corporal Karl Becker, a quiet and reserved figure who kept to himself, his eyes darting around the bunker as if searching for hidden threats.

As I settled in among my men, I couldn't help but appreciate the brief respite from the chaos of the front lines. Here, in the company of comrades, we found solace and strength in each other's presence, united by a common purpose—to endure and prevail in the face of adversity.