The Postwar Review Meeting and the Medal

The funeral ended in a somber and solemn atmosphere. Roderick and his few surviving comrades silently gave their final military salutes, turned and left the cemetery, their steps heavier than when they arrived.

The setting sun cast long shadows of them. No one spoke along the way, only the soft rustling of their boots on the gravel path.

By the time they returned to the military camp, it was nearly dusk.

Squad leader William was standing at the barracks gate waiting for them. His expression was equally solemn, but when he saw his brothers return, he mustered his spirits and patted Roderick on the shoulder as he approached.

"Take a breath," William's voice was a little hoarse. "Lord Karl has ordered that there will be no training tonight. Our class will have a debriefing meeting."

The group nodded in silence and followed William into their familiar barracks.

A dozen or so people, dragging their weary bodies, sat in a circle around the central open space.

William pulled a small notebook and a piece of charcoal pencil from his pocket and cleared his throat.

"The battle is over, and our lives are spared, but the matter isn't over yet," he said, glancing around at his dejected brothers. "The Lord has ordered each squad to summarize the gains and losses of the battle. Any problems or thoughts, speak up now—good or bad, say whatever comes to mind. It's all for the sake of giving our brothers a better chance of survival in the future."

Silence reigned in the barracks, broken only by the sound of heavy breathing.

The grief and exhaustion from just losing a comrade left everyone listless.

William waited a while, and seeing that no one spoke, he directly called out, "Mark, starting with you, you're the talkative one."

Mark, the young man whose name was called, scratched his head and hesitated before speaking, "My... my Matchlock Rifle, while I was firing, somehow the match went out twice, almost letting a Sauron Barbarians rush up to me. Luckily, the brother next to me fired a finishing shot."

He paused, then mustered his courage and said, "Squad leader, I think the Flintlock Rifle used by the Firearm squad don't have this problem... Could... we be issued those as well?"

William raised his eyelids and glanced at him. "Flintlock Rifle? Do you even know how to handle one? There are so many delicate parts in that thing, much more complicated than Matchlock Rifle. You'll be punished if you break it! Do you think all those guys in the Firearm squad are like you, barely literate?"

Even so, William still scribbled a few notes in his notebook. "Request to switch to Flintlock Rifle, Mark suggested it, I'll submit it, whether it's approved or not depends on the higher-ups."

The atmosphere eased slightly, and William continued calling out names, "Oliver, it's your turn. You've got a lot of tricks up your sleeve, so tell me."

Oliver, a burly veteran, stroked his stubble and said, "I have two points. First, there's a problem with the coordination between the Musketeers and us pikemen. Sometimes the officers order us pikemen to hold the line, but the Musketeers in front retreat too slowly, getting stuck and almost causing problems. We need a clearer signal, or for them to retreat more efficiently."

"Second," he raised his voice, clearly dissatisfied, "Couldn't we get some more armor? Those plate armors of the Sauron are terrifying to look at! Our cloth and leather armor is practically made of paper. Couldn't we at least get some Chain Mail?"

"Furthermore, I believe that the brothers who fight the hardest at the front should receive the thickest armor and the highest pay! It can't be the same for everyone! We're risking our lives at the front, while some people are dawdling at the back, and in the end, they get the same pay. I'm not happy about that!"

William nodded, still engrossed in taking notes. "Regarding the coordination issue, armor and pay are allocated based on risk... Oliver mentioned it." His tone was calm, offering no judgment on right or wrong.

"Roderick," William said, looking at the young man sitting in the corner, still somewhat dejected, "You say something too."

Roderick opened his mouth, but only managed a mumbled "I... it's nothing..." He hadn't fully recovered from the loss of his comrades and the horrors of the battle.

William looked at him, his tone softening slightly. "Speak freely, Roderick. You've rendered a great service in this battle, and Lord Karl has noticed. He will reward you. If you have any thoughts, speak them; it's for everyone's benefit."

Under the watchful eyes of his sergeant and brothers, Roderick had no choice but to lower his head and say in a low voice, "I... I also think it would be great to have more armor. Last time... last time when Lord Karl made me wear the captured Sauron plate armor, although it was heavy, I felt... very reassured. Without armor, I feel anxious."

His words drew a few good-natured chuckles, and someone joked, "Roderick, are you addicted to wearing plate armor?"

"What are you laughing at!" William snapped, raising his head and sweeping his gaze over the crowd. "Roderick was the bravest in this battle, and Lord Karl even witnessed it himself! How dare you laugh?"

After saying that, William reached into his pocket and took out a small cloth bag, which he then carefully opened.

Inside was a medal with a metallic sheen, a simple five-pointed star, with what appeared to be the coat of arms of Carnford engraved in the center.

"Look closely," William said, holding the medal in his palm, his voice carrying an unprecedented solemnity, "This was designed personally by Lord Karl, and it's called the ' Carnford Hero Medal '."

He looked at Roderick, "This one... well, it's a slightly flawed defective product. Here, take it. You can wear it around your neck. Tomorrow, the Lord will personally hold an awarding ceremony for you meritorious brothers and present you with the official medals."

William paused, his tone turning serious. "However, the one officially awarded must be handed over after the ceremony and kept by the company headquarters. It's not that we don't trust you, but we're afraid you rough guys might be careless and lose it or break it, understand?"

Roderick looked somewhat bewildered, but still solemnly extended his hand.

William personally pinned the medal, still warm from his body, to his dirty military uniform. The five-pointed star, even in the dim barracks, still reflected a faint but clear light, looking particularly conspicuous.

For a moment, the barracks fell silent, and everyone's eyes were focused on the small medal. The teasing smiles from before disappeared, replaced by silent respect and undisguised envy.

Roderick looked down at the medals on his chest, then looked up at his comrades around him. A warm current, mixed with sadness, honor and responsibility, slowly dispelled the gloom in his heart.

He instinctively straightened his spine.