Chapter Ten: The Essentials of French State Affairs

The next morning, as the sunlight once again gently caressed the earth from the east, the entire military camp buzzed with quiet activity. Countless soldiers emerged from their barracks, assembling from company level all the way up to the brigade, forming a disciplined and formidable force. The Youth Division was set to march on foot to Beirut Harbor, board the transport ships, and cross the Mediterranean to land in southern France.

The hundred-kilometer march was the Youth Division’s first real test. Fortunately, there was no rush—no orders demanding them to arrive within a strict timeframe—allowing these young men embarking on their first long-distance march some leeway.

Korman was prepared, having wrapped cloth strips around his legs to ease the strain of walking. He also declined the general’s offer of a vehicle; taking a ride was hardly a convenience worth forsaking the collective spirit, which was central to his identity.

Once aboard the troop transport, Korman rested his hands on the railing, gazing at the outline of Beirut. As the largest port in French-mandated Syria, Beirut held only one vivid image in Korman’s somewhat extensive memory: the explosion that had ravaged the city.

Had he been alone, this scene might have struck him as poignantly atmospheric, but with a crowd around him—and Martin and Alain to his right—his expression of sincere feeling did not go unnoticed. Martin spoke up, “Leaving a place you’ve lived in all these years—it’s hard not to feel something.”

Korman raised an eyebrow. He had merely been lost in thought; hadn’t someone once said that when your eyes tire, you should look far into the distance? How did Martin read so much into that?

Just as he was about to respond, Alain added in a low, somber tone, “Saying we’re not reluctant to leave would be a lie. We’ve all lived here for so many years.”

Korman glanced around. The faces before him were either mournful or wistful, clearly immersed in the sorrowful atmosphere. If he explained that he had simply been daydreaming, would that make him an outsider, betraying his commitment to collectivism?

At that moment, a few scattered raindrops began to fall. After marching over a hundred kilometers under the August sun for two days, finally boarding the ship, only for this scene to unfold—when did the heavens become so sentimental?

“Let’s move on,” Korman said, adopting a tone of shared feeling, slowing his pace as he returned to the cabin. The ship’s whistle sounded, and the convoy slowly pulled away from Beirut Harbor, commencing their journey across the Mediterranean.

Though the German U-boats had been heavily suppressed under the overwhelming naval superiority of the Allies, exceptions always existed. After passing through the Strait of Sicily, one of the cargo freighters was still sunk.

Four days later, Korman landed at Palau on Sardinia. Due to the suspected sinking of a cargo ship, part of the Youth Division was required to stay and resupply for two days.

The occupation of Sardinia had been bloodless, with no fierce battles. It was now under the control of the French First Army Group, whose headquarters were also there, fully responsible for operations on the Italian front.

Upon landing at Palau, Korman and his company were welcomed warmly. Someone immediately provided him with a jeep, accompanied by genuine greetings. “I don’t know how to drive,” Korman admitted.

He had always believed that without a vehicle, there was no need to learn to drive. He was part of the “no-car” group—not entirely incapable, but not skilled enough to drive on the road.

“That’s fine. I’ll drive you to headquarters. Your comrades will be well taken care of,” Calia replied decisively, driving Korman while briefing him on the current war situation.

Sardinia was Italy’s second-largest island after Sicily but generally served only as a supply point in the Mediterranean theater. The island had few troops, as Axis forces had already withdrawn before the Allied invasion, making the occupation effectively bloodless.

Due to historical reasons—the simultaneous rule of southern Italy and Spain by the northern Habsburgs, combined with Latin culture and Catholic faith—Sardinia bore a strong Spanish influence.

Calia did not take Korman directly to the French First Army Group headquarters, mainly because the commander was not particularly busy. The intensity of the Italian front was moderate—not high, not low. The Italian peninsula was neither vast nor a place where commanding officers could exercise great autonomy.

The Allied forces on the Italian front were numerous, including the U.S. Fifth Army, the British Eighth Army, and the French First Army Group. The British and French forces were reunited on this front, with the American Fifth Army joining later when it landed in Italy.

Korman got out of the jeep, dragging his suitcase. He glanced at the unfamiliar architectural style of the house before him. Though his mental cultivation was advanced, this was not a subject he had studied.

But since Calia said the commander’s family lived here, there was no doubt. He knocked, and the door was opened by a woman about his age. Upon recognizing Korman, she showed a look of surprise and delight. “Korman, when did you arrive? This is such a wonderful surprise.”

“Madame Adélaïde, it’s been a year,” Korman replied with a slight smile, greeting her warmly. His gaze then swept over her rounded belly. “Father’s well-being is thanks to your care.”

“Korman, actually...” Adélaïde’s tone grew a bit nervous as she noticed Korman’s eyes lingering on her abdomen, seeming somewhat at a loss.

There was no melodramatic twist here; strictly speaking, Korman should refer to her as his stepmother—this woman, nearly his age, held equal status with General Delagon’s wife.

A boy’s voice interrupted. “Big brother.” His eyes showed a mixture of longing and hesitation, and when they rested on Adélaïde, there was a hint of resistance.

“Komo, have you been obedient since coming out here for a year?” Korman said, setting down his suitcase slowly before turning to Adélaïde. “Is father home? If so, take me to see him.”

He took two steps and pointed at Komo. “You come with me.”

They reached the door of the study on the second floor. Korman stopped and addressed his younger brother, “I told you before we have an older brother; it was just an accident. Stand at the door and reflect until I come out.”

Though silent, Komo’s expression clearly showed understanding. He obediently stood by the door, watching his brother push it open, then stared blankly inside.

“Again with Komo being punished to stand,” General Delagon said, having heard the noise at the door. He wasn’t surprised, as he had known Korman had set off recently and had been waiting at the port.

Korman did not answer immediately. Opening his suitcase, he took out a thin document titled “The Outline of French National Affairs.”

“My handwriting isn’t very good, so I had it printed and signed with Father’s name. I need to bring this to France; it’s quite important,” Korman explained.

General Delagon gave a wry smile, resigned. “I think you’d be more suitable as commander. Don’t you have anything to say?”

“What’s there to say? She’s pregnant,” Korman murmured indifferently. “Komo’s only ten; he can’t accept it yet. I’ll talk to him later.”