Chapter 169: Lessons from the Field
Godric had the documents put forward before Beorn had fully taken his seat at the map table.
Three stacks sat in front of him. Each positioned according to when it would be needed.
Godric handled reports the way he handled every other task. Information came first. Then organization. Then execution.
Lewin had brought a single compiled sheet from his embedded personnel. He had placed it apart from Godric’s company reports.
Beorn looked over both sets of documents, then nodded to Godric.
"Let’s start with the rations."
Godric picked up the first report.
"The most common complaint across all three operations was the Stearne biscuit."
He skimmed down the page, found the field note, and read it aloud.
It was a quote from a soldier, "’The biscuit keeps you going, but after three days in the cold it’s like chewing river clay. By the fourth morning it tasted like a dirty ass and was hard enough that you could knock out a grown man with it."
Nobody spoke for a moment.
Lewin lowered his sheet and stared at the wall.
Beorn considered the complaint. The question was whether the problem came from the recipe or the environment.
"Cold, or the recipe?"
Godric replied, "Both. The double-baking keeps it firm during storage and transport and the cold makes it worse. Three men cracked teeth before the operation ended. Nothing serious."
The biscuit itself was fine.
The problem was in how it was made.
Beorn nodded, "Then change the shape. Break it before packing into smaller pieces. It will be the same biscuit, but no soldier should have to bite through a brick in the field. Keep the baking process."
He made a note in the ledger.
Godric turned to the next page.
He continued the report, "No complaints regarding the salt-cured meat itself. The issue came from the salt consumption. The meat and the salt twists together created problems, and by the second week of marching in the foothills, soldiers were showing fatigue consistent with dehydration."
That sounded less like a food problem and more like a logistics problem.
"Do we issue a standard flask?"
"No. Soldiers carry whatever container they happen to own."
Which meant water capacity varied from man to man.
Beorn flickered a hand, "Add a flask to the extended-operation field kit. Nothing oversized, just enough to cover the march between supply points."
He paused, sorting priorities.
"Put the flask on the foundries pending production list."
Another note went into the margin.
Godric turned a page.
He continued the report, "The Bēan cake. Multiple units reported digestive discomfort beginning around week one. No soldiers were rendered ineffective, but the reports are consistent."
A predictable tradeoff.
Good nutrition. Poor long-term tolerance.
Beorn considered the problem, "Then cut the Bēan cake in packs meant for longer operations. Replace the calories with more Stearne biscuits. We can rebalance things later once the variety of options improve."
Godric nodded.
His final ration note was shorter. "The dried apple was consumed on the first days by most soldiers. The rest of the deployment remained nutritionally balanced, but many reports noted that every later meal felt identical."
Beorn immediately understood.
"That’s a morale issue."
Food did more than sustain the body.
Variety mattered.
Beorn continued, "Spread the apple out across the pack. Smaller portions over four days instead of one large portion on the first."
He glanced down at his notes.
"Nevertheless, it seems the military rations were a success."
A finger tapped the page.
"Now we only need to refine the variety of options."
He set down the quill and looked to Lewin.
Lewin slid his compiled sheet forward.
He started to report, "The TCCC systems operated through the deployment using improvised materials. These observations come from embedded personnel in two operations and captain reports from the third."
Tactical Combat Casualty Care. It was one of the concepts Beorn brought to the army.
Lewin’s eyes moved across the page. "The tourniquet mounted on the forearm strap was used in at least one confirmed combat case. A soldier received a thigh wound and suffered significant blood loss and another squad member applied the tourniquet under fire. He had no formal medical training beyond the basic protocol. The casualty survived transport."
That answered one of the major questions.
"Good. That confirms it works."
"It does."
Lewin looked down again.
"The remaining uncertainty involved one abdominal casualty."
He flattened the page against the table. "The soldier survived. The company moved him to transport, and he reached a surgeon in Ashmark in time. He is currently recovering."
A brief pause. "The system worked as intended. Everything beyond that depended on surgical treatment."
Beorn nodded.
"In this case, the issue was a lack of a field surgeon present with the company."
The distinction was important for future discussion.
Lewin nodded once.
He turned to the formal proposal.
"Based on the results, the recommended standard medical kit contains five components."
He began listing them.
"Pre-packed sterile wound bandages sealed in wax cloth."
Then, "The tourniquet remains on the forearm strap. Soldiers already train with that position, and field use has validated it."
"A willow bark paste sealed in paper for inflammation management after injury."
"A probe pick for removing debris from surface wounds."
And at last, "An illustrated card covering the primary buddy-care actions. Tourniquet placement, pressure bandage, application, transport positioning."
Beorn considered the list.
The contents were important.
So was who carried them.
Beorn explained. "One trained soldier per squad gets the full kit. That man handles the initial response. Everyone else carries only the tourniquet for emergency use."
He picked his quill.
"The designated carrier remains a combat soldier first. Medical duties are secondary."
Beorn wrote another entry into the ledger.
"Squad surgeon."
Lewin added it to his own ledger.
Godric reached for the next stack.
He started, "The blank-fire rotation continues to show a misfire rate of approximately one in twelve. The rate remains effectively unchanged from the baseline."
That was a problem.
The improvements should have produced better results.
"The boring machine improved barrel quality. The failure rate should’ve dropped."
"Agreed."
Godric tapped the report. There was one obvious possibility left.
"Maintenance?" Beorn asked.
"The evidence points to maintenance."
Godric nodded. "Soldiers currently clean their firearms whenever they feel like it, with whatever materials they can find. Some clean them properly, many don’t. The results reflect that."
That explained the disparity between expectation and field performance.
"Then we will issue a standard maintenance kit."
Beorn started to list them out. "Four things."
"A bore brush mounted on a short iron rod. It removes dirtiness from the spiral groove."
"A pre-oiled cloth sealed in wax wrap for lock maintenance and barrel preservation."
"A touch-hole pick. Filth in the flash passage remains the leading cause of misfires."
At last, "And a spare flint sealed in wax wrap. Flint edges wear down, and most soldiers don’t carry a replacement."
The solution was straightforward.
Beorn continued, "The foundries can manufacture the brush and pick during normal civilian production lines. The cloth and spare flint are logistics work."
Another note.
"Add the maintenance kit to the foundry orders alongside the flask."
A standardized kit would create standardized results.
Beorn leaned back.
The quill returned to the table.
Godric summarized the points, "Three action items for production order to the foundries. Flask added to the pending list and the squad surgeon kit specification forwarded to Lewin’s department for training development."
Lewin closed one report and opened another. "Additional intelligence summaries will be ready within the week. Both the northern merchant investigation and the eastern highway traffic analysis have created new information."
Godric added his own update. "Recruitment remains on schedule. The army work conditions has spread through the slums and refugee clusters. The result is a substantial increase in men volunteering themselves for conscription."
Beorn nodded.
"Send both reports over when they’re ready."
Then he closed the ledger.
The meeting was over.
The door shut behind him as he stepped outside.
Training continued in the yard.
A squad leader’s count carried across the grounds.
"Lock."
The response followed in practiced rhythm.
Beorn crossed the edge of the training area toward the garrison gate. By the time he passed the barracks corner, the cadence had faded behind him.
To the warehouse district.
His next appointment was already waiting.
He had told her to expect him in the middle of the afternoon.
She was a weaver from one of the Badlands settlements. The refugee influx during the previous seasons had brought her into Ashmark, and Lewin’s department had identified her as the most experienced textile worker currently in the city.
That made her valuable recruitment option.
The textile project still lacked an expert that could take the reins and fill the gaps his knowledge lacked.
What she knew would determine how much could be built immediately, how much required new equipment, and how much knowledge already existed within the population.
Loom construction.
Thread management.
Production limits.
Available skills.
Every answer narrowed the problem.
As he walked, Beorn sorted through the questions he intended to ask.
