Damien found in Lentry's letters as much as they pleased him, as much as they weighed him down and burdened him.
So he said to himself: 'Here I must stand.
Before it's too late I must put an end to the matter.'
[Then I send them by urgent mail, but it seems to me that the time for the letters to arrive is getting longer day after day.
Do you think I'm deluding myself?
No, I did not mean to disturb you, as you are undoubtedly busy with something greater.
But sadness overwhelms me without my choice, for I am only a young girl with a gentle nature.
So be patient with me with some of this complaint.]
Lintry wrote these words as a joke and in a pleasant manner, but Damian repeated her phrase in his mind repeatedly, contemplating it seriously.
[Always protect yourself, and may you have luck in the new year and happiness, the euphoria of victory
On the last day of the year 1878, on the twenty-seventh of December.
Lintree writes to you.]
Dalmian grabbed the letter, folded it violently until it became a ball, then raised his hand to throw it away, but he quickly lowered it slowly, and it fell from his palm and rolled to the ground.
There is Damian's resolve not to send New Year's greetings to Lentry.
[To my close friend, Lieutenant McCord.
Half a month has passed since I sent my last letter, and I have not yet received your answer.
Do you think there was a problem with its delivery?
Or has something great happened to you?
I wish the first thing was right!
I have not yet received a New Year’s greeting from you, and I fear that time will pass until the time becomes critical and the year will no longer be called a new year.
On the fourteenth of January 1879.
Preoccupied with you and very worried about you, Lintree.]
[To my lord, Lieutenant McCord, whose slowness of answer makes my heart uneasy.
The days have passed until a time has reached me that it is not appropriate to call a new year.
February is knocking on the door.
And then I have not yet received your response, so my fear increases.
Is the address I sent my messages to wrong?
Or did you leave your camp with a transfer order to another place?
Did this prevent my letter from reaching you, so that you would think that I got tired of writing to you, so you neglected to respond?
If you refrain from writing under the influence of my delusion, that is a great disaster!
But the matter remains strange.
If you had moved to another place, you would have informed me of your new address, since you are the one who is keen on that.
You are fine, aren't you?
Nothing bad happened to you, right?
By God, send me an answer
On the twenty-ninth of January 1879.
Preoccupied with you and preoccupied with worrying about you, Lintree.]
[To Lieutenant McCord, I don't know whether he's alive or dead.
My lord, are you alive?
Have you been injured on the battlefield?
If your hands are fine and you still don't send me a message, I'll take the train to Lev myself!
Hurry and send me a letter.
On February 16, 1879.
She was a little angry, Lintree.]
"Lieutenant Stern, if you don't request them yourself in time, the letters will be left piled up."
Paul had entered Damian's tent, and found him wrapped in a blanket over his body and eating dry army food.
Paul brought him a package of letters rolled into the shape of a cylinder, and he began pressing it against his temples due to his headache.
Damian moved his eyes towards her slightly, then turned his face away from her.
"It's not mine.
It's Lieutenant McCord's."
"I know for sure that you use the name McCord as a mask for your correspondence!
How can you deny it?"
"How did you know?"
“Don’t you know that every letter comes to me and I inspect it and read it?
Do you think that this is hidden from me?”
Damian was silent for a while as he chewed his food, until when he swallowed what was in his mouth he said: “I am not McCord now.”
"What is this talk?"
"The matter is over.
As mentioned, inform whoever is concerned that everything in the name of Lieutenant McCord must be destroyed."
Paul looked at the letters in his hand, then at Damian.
“So you stopped messaging?”
"Yes."
"did not?"
"I'm fed up with her."
"Hmm…"
Paul's face showed confusion, but Damian's features did not change.
Paul was still offering him letters, so Damian slowly reached out his hand and took them, then threw them directly into the fire he had lit to heat his food.
Paul shouted: “Woe to you!”
"What's wrong with you?"
“At least read it as a thank you to the sender.”
“What is the need?
I will not answer him.”
"Aren't you curious about what was written?
Then why are you burning it?"
“Does curiosity mean anything?
I decided not to care.
Even the previous letters I received have been burned.”
"You got into a fight with her?"
"No.
But I'm really bored."
Paul shook his head desperately and said, “Are you okay?”
"What's wrong with me?"
“Maybe you're right.”
Paul watched the letter turn into ashes, sadly, while Damian did not pay it a single glance.
Damian said, turning the words clearly: "Let's stop with this.
Tomorrow is the operation.
Do you think we have a sufficient battalion?"
Paul looked at him with a frown.
“I don’t want to throw my men into destruction.
I demand reinforcement.”
“This is your request for the third time, and my answer is the same: no reinforcement.”
Damian said sharply: “Why?
We were told that it was a deception operation, so if in reality it is a trap, then we will be the bait.
If we die or live, the goal is to surprise the enemy from behind.
But the numbers are not enough, and it is clear that the plan is throwing us into destruction.”
“No one said that you would be left to perish.
You were told: withdraw to a safe place and wait for the bombardment.
The battle will be decided by missiles after the enemy is surrounded.
If the plan goes as it should, you will not be annihilated.
We are not sacrificing you.”
But Paul showed no intention of changing the decision.
Damian changed his question:
“Why did you choose my battalion over others?
We are not better than others.
What is the reason?”
Paul looked at him with a stern, military look, and Damian smiled sarcastically and said, “Because I’m in it?”
"What are you getting at?"
“If you were asked: Which soldier would be most appropriate to be killed, your choice would only fall on me.”
Paul grabbed his collar and lifted him up, saying: “Repeat your words!”
Damien laughed and said: “If I had died, Marquis Jessica would have been happy.
However, I have lived for two years steadfast, and there is no doubt that his chest is burning with rage.
And here you are throwing me into a suicide operation.
If I die, no one will blame you!”
Paul shouted angrily: “Do you know what you’re saying, Lieutenant?”
“I don't trust you,” said Damian.
“You're a Jesca.
You say you're a close cousin?
Nonsense!
You remain an eye for the Marquis.”
“I can't stand any more insults!” Paul said.
“So give me reinforcement,” Damian said.
“I don’t want my men to die.”
Damian stared at him with dark eyes, and Paul returned the look until he uttered his tongue in anger and said, “I chose your battalion out of confidence in your ability.
You received two medals and were promoted quickly thanks to your competence.”
Damian said: “That is my competence alone, not the competence of my soldiers.”
Paul said: “The ability of soldiers depends on the ability of their leader.”
Then he moved his neck left and right until his bones cracked, and he sighed, saying: “I will treat what I said a moment ago as if I did not hear it, but do not repeat it again, or I will sentence you to an immediate punishment.”
Damian looked away from him, knowing that he was creating an argument to vent his anger, and perhaps to obtain an opportunity to exit the operation or request reinforcement.
“No matter what you say,” Paul said with military sternness, “there will be no reinforcement.
That’s an order.”
Damian bit his lip.
---
Our brother is angry with himself because of the messages and is putting his blame on poor Paul.