Copyright

The Saga of Tanya the Evil, Vol. 2

Carlo Zen

Translation by Emily Balistrieri

Cover art by Shinobu Shinotsuki

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are
the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is
coincidental.

YOJO SENKI Vol. 2 Plus Ultra

© 2014 Carlo Zen
All rights reserved.
First published in Japan in 2014 by KADOKAWA CORPORATION
ENTERBRAIN
English translation rights arranged with KADOKAWA CORPORATION
ENTERBRAIN through TUTTLE-MORI AGENCY, INC., Tokyo.

English translation copyright © 2018 by Yen Press, LLC

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Zen, Carlo, author. | Shinotsuki, Shinobu, illustrator. | Balistrieri,
Emily, translator. | Steinbach, Kevin, translator.
Title: Saga of Tanya the evil / Carlo Zen; illustration by Shinobu
Shinotsuki; translation by Emily Balistrieri, Kevin Steinbach
Other titles: Yōjo Senki. English
Description: First Yen On edition. | New York: Yen ON, 2017-
Identifiers: LCCN 2017044721 | ISBN 9780316512442 (v. 1 : pbk.) | ISBN
9780316512466 (v. 2 : pbk.)
Classification: LCC PL878.E6 Y6513 2017 | DDC 895.63/6—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017044721

ISBNs: 978-0-316-51246-6 (paperback)

978-0-316-51247-3 (ebook)

E3-20180228-JV-PC
 Contents

Cover
Insert
Title Page
Copyright

Chapter I: The Dacian War

Chapter II: Norden I
Chapter III: Norden II
Chapter IV: The Devil off the Coast of Norden
Chapter V: The Devil of the Rhine
Chapter VI: Ordeal of Fire
Chapter VII: Preparation to Move Forward
Side Story: A Borrowed Cat

Appendixes: Mapped Outline of History

Afterword
Yen Newsletter
 [chapter] I The Dacian War

SEPTEMBER 24, UNIFIED YEAR 1924, RANSYLVANIA

REGION, TURAO COUNTY, IMPERIAL ARMY FIELD
MANEUVER AREA

The first thing Battalion Commander von Degurechaff asks about is the
situation in the air.
When the radio operator from Command replies that they have no
information about enemy air strength nor any aerial contacts at all, she
cocks her head as if she can’t believe what she just heard. Her distrust is
plain in her next question—whether their communications are in working
order.
But the operator assures her that both wired and wireless
communications are functioning normally. They’re even fully monitoring
the Dacian FAC’s contact channel.
The next moment, the personnel at Command feel a chill go up their
spines. Major von Degurechaff’s smiling—an intoxicated smile? An
indescribable shock ripples through the room.
No one knew at the time, but if Lergen had seen that expression, he
would probably have smiled the same way. It’s the smile of a ferocious
hunter, and it contains the delight of a starved wolf eyeing its prey.
That’s right. She can hardly believe her improbable good luck, but logic
tells her it’s the truth, enveloping her in a burst of joy. Yes, this is what they
mean when they say filled with emotion. It’s no wonder she can’t keep her
lips from curling into a grin—the opportunity in front of her is that good.
 A battlefield entirely devoid of enemy air cover?
Yes, a battlefield entirely devoid of enemy air cover!
The significance of that is so luscious, so terribly seductive. How many
officers, how many men, have yearned for relative imperial air superiority
in Norden and the Rhine?
Thanks to the complete lack of enemy air forces in Dacia, which is
unthinkable in modern warfare, complete supremacy is guaranteed.
No hostile forces in the sky? I have to confess that never in a million
years would I have thought the Principality of Dacia’s military was this
hopeless!
I wanted to avoid the foolish error of underestimating the enemy, but to
think I overestimated them to this extent! They say any number of
unforeseen incidents can happen on the battlefield, but I heartily welcome
any that are this happy.
Has there ever been such a fortuitous turn of heaven’s will? Yes, the
heavens are literally on our side!
September 24 is only her birthday on paper.
Still, this could be considered her first birthday present ever. Today
seems like it’s going to be such a wonderful day I’m liable to start skipping
around like a giddy little kid. Tanya’s cheeks flush, and without thinking,
she whispers, “Dear God, thank you for this one-in-a-million chance.”
In a normal mental state, she wouldn’t even entertain the thought of
parting her lips for such an utterance. It must be an expression of her tender
feelings toward this command.
The establishment of absolute air supremacy… At least at that moment
in time, the only one who understood the significance was Tanya. That’s
why she shot off running with periodic little skips.
And that entire scene played out where Lieutenant Colonel von Lergen
could see it, even as his face was still twitching from the report that six
hundred thousand Dacian troops had crossed the border.
Thinking of the dire effects this would have on the front, he wanted to
bury his head in his hands. And so, when Tanya ran off with her unit’s
deployment orders in hand, apparently skipping her briefing, all he and
some other personnel from HQ could do was stare after her as if the whole
thing wasn’t actually happening.
 If someone asked what was lacking in the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion,
which had withstood being drop-kicked off a ridge in the Alpen Mountains
as part of their extremely authentic training, Tanya would immediately
declare, “Combat experience.” Not that the need to further develop esprit de
corps and continue training are insignificant issues, but their commander
can’t stand the fact that her subordinates lack a most critical baptism by fire.
No matter how much rookies train at an exercise range, once stationed on a
real battlefield they’re sure to muck it up.
 Not to mention that they’ve been drilling at the Turao Field Maneuver
Area in the southeast—the exact opposite direction from the fighting. She
can’t deny that they’re getting a bit overly comfortable, as everyone does
when stationed too long at the rear. It would be a waste if the human
resources meant to serve as my shields went soft, so after receiving word to
keep an eye out for Dacia, I’ve been considering it a useful expedient to
maintain some degree of tension—and not much more.
Given the disparity of strength between the two nations and the Empire’s
habit of freely throwing its weight around, I figured Dacia would get the
message and mind its own business.
Which is why when the alarm goes off, I’m at a total loss. The Dacians
would go to war, risking occupation of their fatherland, in the name of
international cooperation? I can’t believe idiots like that actually exist! She
half expects a stern order to call off combat maneuvers because the warning
was a mistake.
But for better or worse, for reasons Tanya can’t fathom, they don’t seem
to care if they really start a war.
“Two hundred and third, to your battle stations, on the double. How’s
Border Command?”
Command personnel run around shouting requests into radios and
telephones to be connected to one post or get information about another.
“Lieutenant Weiss! Reassemble and have someone pass out
ammunition!”
“Major, we have a theater report from the Seventh Air Fleet. We’ve
received the Command Post frequency.”
“Verify immediately. And get me Lieutenant Serebryakov!”
Efficiently canceling the exercise and giving instructions for their next
move, Tanya scowls slightly in the direction of Colonel von Lergen, who
seems to have anticipated this. He had dropped her a hint, but if their
neighbor Dacia is really planning to oppose them, she would have liked a
chance to scope out the area as a military attaché or liaison officer. That
way she would have a better grasp of the lay of the land and thus a clearer
image of what needs to be blown up.
“…Well, this attack is certainly a bolt from the blue, wouldn’t you say,
Colonel von Lergen?”
“Spare me the sarcasm, Major. You’ll be delaying for us.”
 As my battalion is under direct command of the General Staff, there’s
been a constant parade of high-ranking staffers in and out of the garrison. It
seems my hunch that they were mainly interested in Dacia was spot-on.
That’s why when Colonel von Lergen shows up with an urgent update from
the border and sealed orders from the General Staff Office, I can only sigh
and hold my tongue.
“Huh? Delaying, sir? You mean you want my battalion to stop the
Dacian Army?”
“I realize it’s unreasonable, but whether we mobilize forces in the east or
send reinforcements from Central, war on multiple fronts means we’ll need
to buy time somewhere…”
Her unit might be newly formed, and she may be an untested
commander, but Tanya isn’t about to be underestimated. According to the
report, it’s only six hundred thousand Dacian troops crossing the border.
Yes, their infantry is marching through this mountainous region, greener
than a bunch of Boy Scouts.
“With all due respect, the Principality’s troops are a barely trained rabble
of soldiers and farmers, hardly up to modern warfare.”
After assuming her post, she’d done a little investigating as part of her
Dacian studies and learned that the Principality is a so-called minor nation
standing atop an unstable foundation at the moment. It may have a lot of
soldiers, but Boy Scouts would probably be better prepared. It’s ludicrous if
Lergen thinks her battalion can only manage to delay them.
“Mobilize the regional army group? I’m sure four divisions assembled
from the surrounding area would be plenty to trample them. My battalion
alone would be enough to repulse the vanguard, not just delay.”
“…Do you understand what you’re saying, Major?”
“I do, sir. I see it as a fully outfitted army driving off a Boy Scout troop.
It might even be easier than that.”
Far from the level of national guard reserves or part-time soldiers, the
Dacian forces are half farmers, more like the Korean People’s Army. A
band of armed robbers would have more discipline than such a riffraff. The
imperial troops will crush them in a single blow. If they can’t do at least that
much, it would be too shameful to call themselves an army. After all, the
military of a modern state is a dense conglomeration of precisely managed
violence. There’s no way such an instrument will find it difficult to scatter
an anachronistic mob drawn from whoever happened to be around at the
time.
The gap in fighting power between modern and premodern forces is
insurmountable.
“All the sealed orders1 said was to take the most appropriate action to
defend the border.”
Tanya has been authorized to act at her discretion. In other words, she’s
been given free rein to do whatever she thinks is best. That’s the minimum
requirement of a commander as well as the standard for all evaluations.
Would a fully outfitted army run from a rough gathering of picnickers? That
would be an eternal blot on her record. Tanya would forever be a
laughingstock in military history.
Now that the mission has been given to her, the methods are essentially
under the umbrella of her discretionary powers. That also means any failure
would indicate a lack of resourcefulness. Call me anything but incompetent.
“Colonel, before the Dacian forces crossed the border, was there any
artillery fire or struggle for control of the airspace?”
“Well, no.”
If these were six hundred thousand Federal or Republican troops with air
support, there’d be no shame whatsoever in calling for reinforcements, and
that’s probably what I would do. But such worries are pointless against an
enemy who didn’t bother with preparatory bombardment or securing air
supremacy. It’s quite a pile of soldiers, but they’re helpful enough to line up
in a row for easy targeting.
Experience is a great teacher, and these primitive buffoons are about to
learn what a difference modern civilization makes.
“That should tell you something about who we’re up against. I’m going
to bring the iron hammer of civilization down on these barbarians.”
We shall conquer the sky and teach them to fear mages.
“What?”
“My battalion is a fully outfitted and properly trained military force.
We’ll rout the lot of them.”
Modern warfare depends on national strength to a savage degree.
Education, training, logistics. There is a world of difference in these areas
between countries that are considered great powers and those that are not.
History provides eloquent testimony about how undeniable this disparity is.
I’m gonna drive these guys off conquistador-style.
“The enemy vanguard alone is three divisions, you realize.”
On the map, the Dacian advances are represented by multiple arrows.
The one penetrating the farthest into imperial territory is supposedly
composed of three divisions—the elite core—from the standing army.
What a joke reality is, seriously. It cracks me up. This vanguard is
supposed to be their military’s best, and they don’t have any armored
divisions or mechanized infantry, just plain old foot soldiers. It reflects on
their nation’s true strength, and it honestly makes me feel sorry for them.
The competition principle, at its core, benefits the strong and crushes the
weak. Still, this is the first time I’ve ever felt guilty that the fight isn’t fair.
“This won’t even be a battle, just a simple thrashing. I’ll teach them
what a real army and war look like.”
Nothing more than three divisions of amateurs. That’s all. The
conquistadors had horses and guns, but they still fought it out on level
ground. We’ll be shooting like mad from our third dimension in the sky, so
victory is assured. This is going to be a pseudo-atrocity that can only be
described as a live-fire exercise.
“So how far can we go?”
“What?”
“If the enemy’s resistance is so fragile that we accidentally overextend,
that could be a logistical problem.”
“Hold on, Major. What are you saying?”
“Sir, I’m going to give Dacia some educational guidance. I intend to
personally drive home for them the high price of the teacher we call
experience.”
Okay, time for war. No, time for bullying a bunch of weaklings, more
like.
How lucky; this pathetic bunch showed up at just the right time. I lick
my lips in spite of myself. Unlike the muddy Rhine or freezing Norden, the
skies over Dacia in the temperate southeast are sure to have perfect flying
weather. It’s still September. We’ll have any number of opportunities to
attack before the sun goes down.
I ponder these things, but all those thoughts disperse when my adjutant
comes trotting over.
It’s time to work.
 “Second Lieutenant Serebryakov reporting in, ma’am. You called?”
“Yes. Lieutenant, what’s the battalion’s status?”
“Everyone has assembled. Lieutenant Weiss is currently handing out
ammunition and explaining the situation.”
Their progress is the definition of smooth. All according to plan. Tanya
even feels her cheeks relaxing into a smile of satisfaction, but she wills
them to stay taut. Even elementary schoolers know that the field trip isn’t
over until they make it home in one piece. It’s careless to be so giddy before
departing.
But even if I don’t like it, it’s an undeniable fact that no one at command
shares my optimistic view of the situation.
And at the very top, openly anxious, is Colonel von Lergen, watching
our preparations in a speechless daze. Well, it seems he’s still
overestimating these six hundred thousand Dacians from his desk at the
General Staff Office. Regrettably, Tanya is forced to confront the reality
that though the colonel may be a genius, he’s been out of the game for too
long. That’s why when her adjutant finishes reporting in, she nods in
satisfaction and pounds her little fist against her chest as if to tell Colonel
von Lergen, Leave this to me.

Just as described, the unit has speedily assembled and is equipped with
their training gear plus the distributed live ammunition. The soldiers are
ready to sortie. Apparently, despite being a little winded from the
interrupted exercise, it’s not enough to affect their combat performance.
Very good.
“Attention, battalion! Instructions from our commander!” First
Lieutenant Weiss barks orders, his heels angled perfectly at a formal forty-
five degrees.
In response, the members of the battalion align their feet and straighten
up with movements that are nothing if not brisk. Before she knows it, Tanya
finds herself smiling in satisfaction. Surely everyone agrees there is
something uniquely charming—dreamy, even—about rigorous discipline.
“Thank you, Lieutenant. Okay, troops, this is war. Well, something
resembling war…and it’s about to begin.”
Perhaps it’s even charmed Tanya into taking the dais with unconscious
excitement and a smile of pure joy, nearly singing to them how happy this
makes her.
“Today is my birthday. Maybe the Principality of Dacia knew that? As
you’ve heard, they’ve been kind enough to offer the surprise present of
targets for a live-fire exercise.”
I have been hoping for some. It’s so nice of the Dacian men to volunteer
themselves.
“You’re free to shoot them with bullets or blow them up with spells.”
They won’t even have a chance as we slaughter them from the sky
unopposed. It’ll be an even bigger turkey shoot than the one in the
Marianas. The only question will be how great a victory we can achieve.
“Troops, we’re going to teach these invaders a lesson—with an iron
hammer.”
Which is why she makes a fist and brings it satisfyingly down on an
imaginary Dacian Army as she shouts to crush them. Beat them into a pulp!
Her enthusiasm makes her intention clear to all present.
It was a savage proclamation that the Imperial Army’s advanced forces
would literally pulverize the Dacian Army vanguard. The result is a given,
so she commands them to go out and make it happen.
“One last thing. I haven’t received any confirmation of this, but our
target practice should retaliate…in theory. I don’t think any of you are
stupid enough to get shot down, but keep an eye out. Okay, we’re restarting
the live-fire exercise. Gentlemen, let the games begin.”
This is a manhunt, in a way—literally. A sport.
Or a story to give the legendary knight Don Quixote a run for his money.
After all, our enemy is a bunch of anachronistic heroes from a bygone era
challenging a terrifying modern monster.

Leaving the rear personnel and the handful of officers visiting from the
General Staff Office to man the garrison, Tanya leads the battalion, setting
off as the fastest responding unit in the Imperial Army. Their target is the
Dacian Army’s vanguard, three divisions or so that have crossed the border
and started the war. The fact that everyone is flying in perfect strike
formation and remembering their training means that Tanya’s work is
already paying off, to her great satisfaction.
 Before long, she manages to make contact with the evacuating Imperial
Army Border Patrol units. Receiving the latest about the enemy from them,
Tanya is convinced.
Without a doubt, whatever strategy the Dacian Army has in mind is
some kind of medieval relic. Moments later, making minute adjustments to
their course and preparing for their attack runs as they rush ahead, the
battalion sees a writhing mass of humans on the horizon.
How kind of them to wear brightly colored uniforms and pack together
in dense formations. Their outdated military doctrine doesn’t take magic
strikes or aerial bombardment into consideration. They are at once splendid
prey and a wasted mountain of human resources. What a pathetic nation. To
have so much human capital but be entirely incapable of putting it to good
use.
Anyhow, it’s the Imperial Army’s job to blow these youths away. So I’ll
leave the condolences for the sorrow of the widows and elderly to the
Principality of Dacia’s foolish government.
“Aconitum 01 to all hands. This operation is a go! Teach those fools the
definition of war!”
The battalion is using an incredibly obvious, textbook tactic for aerial
mages facing ground forces, where three of the four companies attack from
three different directions. That leaves one company leftover, which is a
great problem to have. Normally, the enemy would have direct support, and
I’d send that company to fight for control of the air, but…if you can believe
it, today they are simply extras.
“Company commanders, I’m expecting you to follow your orders and
show me good results!”
“““Understood!”””
I could save them as backup, but things are going so smoothly it hardly
seems like I need them. The companies on the attack aren’t even attracting
any anti–air fire with their tight maneuvers. All the enemy ground troops
can seem to do is panic as my mages lay waste to them from the sky. If all I
do is watch, people might start saying I get paid to stand around.
“I’m stumped, Lieutenant. There’s nothing for us to do.”
It’s not as if I’m pro-war or a workaholic, but I do worry what other
people will think if I’m the only one not being productive while everyone
else is working. It has been two months since the battalion was formed, and
it’s clear to Tanya that the General Staff is keeping a close eye on how they
are doing. There’s a strong need to take aggressive actions and achieve
appropriate results.
“…I was bracing myself for a difficult battle.”
“You’re nervous about three measly divisions on a reckless, half-baked
rampage? That doesn’t sound like a veteran of the Rhine front.”
“I mean, Major…it’s three divisions. I don’t mean to be presumptuous,
but your sense of these things is…a little, er…never mind.”
Ahh. I realize that Lieutenant Serebryakov is at least a little bit right. I
should use my words properly. This Dacian unit does consider itself to be
three divisions.
Is my adjutant’s hesitance a sign of her apprehensions regarding my lax
use of specialized vocabulary? …That has to be it, without a doubt. I guess
it’s my mistake for taking a post-structuralist lightly. It’s very dangerous
when phenomena are evaluated based on words. I’ve got to deconstruct this
and remedy my error.
“…Sorry, Lieutenant Serebryakov. It seems you’re right.”
“Er, ma’am?”
“Yes, technically, I should have said it’s a fifty-thousand-man mob on a
reckless rampage. If you don’t properly define your terms, of course you’ll
invite misunderstanding. Honestly, what was I thinking…?”
It appears Lieutenant Serebryakov and the others were expecting the
fight to be a bit tougher. Their ability to brace themselves for a harrowing
battle against a mighty enemy shows good mettle, but it was my mistake to
label the enemy forces “divisions.” Tanya can only show remorse for
making her subordinates think the Dacian Army is a serious military power.
This conflict will be this world’s first world war. For most soldiers, it
will be their first experience with many things, including the menace of
aerial fighting power. They’re so caught up in two-dimensional warfare that
they have yet to understand the value of the sky when battles become three-
dimensional.
“Okay. We should participate, too. Command Company, follow me.
Let’s poke at their leaders.”
That’s why she wonders how this battle against opponents with no
presence in the air could be any more one-sided. Lieutenant Serebryakov
and the others’ worries are starting to seem a little amusing. The point of
this battle is simple. All they have to do is reap the heads of the enemy
soldiers. Then they’ll transition to blowing any remnants of the enemy
forces to literal smithereens.
“On me! On me!”
We swoop down and drop formula-fixed anti-surface grenades. The goal
with these is to scatter shrapnel, so they explode above the enemy soldiers.
The fools aren’t even wearing iron helmets, so their heads turn into
pincushions. But we don’t have time to watch; the company preps formulas,
locates optimal locations, then opens fire with full power.
We blow away the tightly packed infantry, and the surface devolves into
total chaos as soldiers run in all directions trying to avoid the blasts. There
is some sporadic return fire, but for infantry rifles to pierce our defensive
shells, they would need to wear them down with a dense barrage.
This battlefield, devoid of the harsh sound of heavy machine-gun fire, is
a horrible place for the infantry, forced to use nothing but their basic
firearms in rudimentary anti-air tactics, but for those of us who can fly,
there’s nothing better.
“The Dacian Army is dragging their feet. They’re too slow. All
companies, give me an update.”
“Everything’s fine, Major.”
“No problems here.”
“This really is a live-fire exercise.”
“It’s weird. I was sure we were the ones being attacked, but…”
This is such a letdown. The scene below is so absurd that I nearly
wonder if we mixed up offensive and defensive roles somehow. Those
Entente Alliance numbskulls crossed the border without intending to fight,
but once battle was joined, they took it seriously and fought almost too
passionately.
The Principality, on the other hand, has plenty of motivation and
declared war from their end, but they just have no idea what war even is.
“This really is strange. Did they think they could hit us and we wouldn’t
hit them back?”
“Seriously, these poor half-wits.”
Even in a fistfight, you expect some retaliation after punching someone.
Of course, when two nations’ instruments of violence clash, you should be
able to maintain a minimum of dignity, despite the foolish quarrel, with
artillery. These guys need to take a tip from Frederick the Great.
I’m stuck waging a war against these idiots, so clearly I’m the one who
has it the hardest. Of course, ever since the evil Being X interfered with my
ultra-ordinary working adult life, I haven’t been optimistic about my fate
even once…
“By the way, what’s that? What are they doing?”
As Tanya finishes communicating with the companies, she adjusts her
altitude to prepare for another attack run when she notices some kind of
organized movement beginning on the ground. According to Imperial Army
textbook, the expected enemy response to this situation would be to have
their soldiers spread out and begin anti–air fire in areas designated by their
commanders.
But rather than putting space between one another, they are starting to
form densely packed squares.
“Are they panicking?”
True, becoming isolated on a battlefield is a terrifying prospect. My
adjutant’s understanding of the situation is perhaps the most realistic…but
from what I can see, officer-looking types are actually commanding them to
form up in those ranks.
“…It doesn’t seem to be confusion. I think they’re making an infantry
square…”
“But that’s so stupid…! The age of cavalry is over!”
Yes, just as Lieutenant Serebryakov’s astonished remark would suggest,
we are conducting not a cavalry charge but magic ground attacks. The
correct response is spreading out to minimize casualties, and it’s honestly
hard to imagine that there are soldiers in this day and age who would form
an infantry square under the belief it would achieve anything. Even a
civilian should be able to tell that bunching up would be dangerous.
“How far back in time are they living? Is this some kind of mistake?”
Or maybe another power has given them some sort of new doctrine or
technology? But as those unlikely scenarios flit across Tanya’s mind, the
simplest solution is to quit worrying and attack to observe their reaction.
A moment later, however, she instinctively explodes at the scene
unfolding in front of her. “Weiss!! Why are you running away?!”
She can’t believe her eyes. Confronted with an enemy infantry square,
Lieutenant Weiss’s company has hastily changed course.
 The Dacian troops are all packed together. They’re doing nothing but
holding their positions and bravely waiting for the moment they get blown
up, the poor bastards. The pain of being such a badly misused human
resource would have evaporated in an instant.
Conscious that she is practically quaking with anger, Tanya screams,
“Hey! Why are you reversing?! Why are you breaking attack formation?!”
“Major!!”
But the scene has made Tanya so furious that Lieutenant Serebryakov’s
startled shout has no effect.
Weiss’s company was in position to make their assault, but then they
hastily turned away from the enemy as if they were scared. As far as Tanya
could tell, there was no evidence of a counterattack that could warrant such
a move.
Her suspicion that they are fleeing before the enemy—the worst
explanation possible—rapidly eclipses any other thoughts. Her men are
spreading out and pulling back in the face of such flaccid defense? The
sheer spinelessness astounds her.
Unaware that her teeth are grinding, she doesn’t even hide the fact that
she’s lost her temper. “Lieutenant, go get the vice commander! If he resists,
you can shoot him!”
“Y-yes, ma’am.”
I order Serebryakov to grab Lieutenant Weiss by the scruff of his neck
and drag him over on the double, but at the same time, a sinking sense of
betrayal takes over. I thought he was going to be a good vice commander. I
thought he was a great subordinate. So how—HOW?!—could he be
deserting now? This is ludicrous. The fact that the vice commander of the
203rd Aerial Mage Battalion fled before this rabble will be a blot on my
career that will haunt me for the rest of my life.
I at least want to sublimate my rage rather than waste it on chewing him
out, so I seal a compound explosion formula inside a magic bullet.
Thanking the archaic mind-set that had the Dacian Army still struggling to
maintain ranks, I fire. The shot lands right where I aimed, in the center of
the enemy formation, and detonates.
Seriously, this is the easiest fight. It can’t even be counted as one of the
Lord’s trials; it’s ridiculous.
“Major, here’s Lieutenant Weiss.” Lieutenant Serebryakov makes her
report as efficiently as possible, as if to avoid conflict.
Tanya proceeds matter-of-factly, not because she interpreted the gesture
favorably but more because it simply didn’t register. “Thanks. Take my
company. Continue the attack.”
“Yes, ma’am!”
Even the continuing verbal exchange is irritating. Having rather
irresponsibly entrusted her company to Serebryakov, Tanya closes in on
Weiss as if she’s going to bite him, openly livid. He has no idea why the
commander has suddenly called him over.
“All right, Lieutenant, if you have an excuse, you’d better give it to me
before I shoot you.”
“M-Major von Degurechaff, what exactly do I need an excuse for?”
“You’re suspected of fleeing before the enemy, Lieutenant. If you need
an explanation, maybe we should grill you in a court-martial!”
Weiss still hasn’t figured out why he was called over. Of course he
doesn’t. After all, he can’t recall making any mistakes. But it isn’t normal
for the battalion commander’s adjutant to take a position to shoot him down
as if he were an actual enemy and summon him “immediately.”
“Major! My men and I would never abandon our duty…”
This is precisely the moment he realizes he’s stepped on a huge land
mine, despite not understanding why. What did I do? Still, he can sincerely
swear that he only intended to fulfill his duty. His conscience vis-à-vis God
and his fatherland is clean.
And that’s why he dares to argue against his superior officer, who looks
ghastly enough to be a furious vampire.
“Then tell me, Lieutenant, why you drew back and spread out just
moments ago? Why did you turn around?”
“What?”
“Explain why you turned tail and scattered in the face of the enemy!”
But the shouts raining down on him didn’t take his defense into account
at all; on the contrary, the anger and murderous hostility only increased.
“Ma’am. The enemy infantry assumed an anti–air formation, so I played
it by the book and pulled my unit back to the edge of their range and
ordered containment fire on the enemy unit.”
“Book? What book?”
“The Twenty-Second Aerial Magic Combat Field Manual.”
 His response is dead serious. From Weiss’s perspective, he skillfully
acted according to his training in the Eastern Army Group and made the
right call. But I want to teach him via actual combat that referring to the
manual for every operation is nonsensical. Really, there’s a limit to what the
manual even covers.
That’s why it takes me a minute to remember… Ah, right, it was
recommended in the section about anti-surface strikes to avoid anti–air
positions…but after recalling it, Tanya’s face twists up in disgust.
“Wait a minute. Look over there! That’s enemy infantry! Do you not
understand that I ordered you to attack immediately?!”
“Yes, they were in a close-ranks firing position, so I ordered my
company to avoid them.”
It’s just— It’s just a bunch of infantry standing close together! she wants
to scream, but Weiss’s explanation was straight out of the textbook.
“Lieutenant, let me make this clear. If we have any mages who would
get shot down by that, I will kill them before the enemy has a chance.”
“But, Major—”
“Listen up, Mr. Common Sense, I’ll explain this only once. Do you
really think bolt-action infantry rifles firing at the edge of their effective
range can pierce a mage’s defensive shell?!”
It’s not as if you’re heavy cavalry about to get dashed against a tercio
with their pikes and muskets. The utter stupidity! The lethality of our
sidearms alone is enough to render their infantry square defense useless.
The point proves itself when you look at the current Rhine front or the
amusing nastiness in the Far East between Akitsushima and the Federation.
Hence Tanya’s difficulty grasping the notion of her subordinate who had
been trained with completely outdated doctrine. If the infantry has gathered
together to commit suicide, why not assist them? But apparently, that’s
difficult to comprehend for someone who has never experienced actual
combat. Especially since live ammunition doesn’t get used on the exercise
range, the sight of all those barrels pointing at them from a dense infantry
formation tends to elicit a conditioned reaction to reverse course; the longer
someone has been serving and training, the stronger that tendency.
“I’ll give you a chance to clear your name. Try shooting a formula
straight into the middle of that formation.”
“Huh?”
 “…After me. I’ll give you an example.”
With that, Tanya loads a magic bullet into her rifle and maneuvers neatly
down to attack the middle of the long formation. If his superior officer is
going to rush the enemy, Weiss has no room to argue; all he can do is
follow. He’s grimly determined as he hastily swoops after her to perform
what he’s sure is a desperate, reckless charge.
“…You blew them away.”
“There are no words. Now do your duty!”
He casts the formula directly in the middle, according to his training.
They even have time to watch scraps of flesh scatter in all directions.
Whether the enemy could defend or not, surely, they have some way of
countering—is what most of the Imperial Army troops think. As Weiss is
definitely in that camp, seeing Dacian soldiers, who went to the trouble of
bunching up with no plan, get blown apart is an utterly novel sight, even on
a battlefield.
“Major…my sincere apologies.”
“Lieutenant Weiss, I’ll consider your error the result of inappropriate
training. I guess it’s a good thing we’re doing this live-fire exercise.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Sheesh, I never expected there to be problems during such a simple
exercise. The fringes of the Imperial Army are unexpectedly shaky. How
sad.”
Up above, she breathes a sigh. She even misses what’s coming over the
radio reports for a split second. Tanya takes a deep breath and suppresses
her emotions that threaten to blaze out of control. The reality is that
education and training for the new realities of war aren’t reaching even the
best soldiers. Which means, unfortunately, the army’s doctrine2 is failing to
meet real combat situations.
I’m forced to realize that apparently those in the rear don’t understand
the frontline experience. Or perhaps a better way to put it is that they’re
failing to acknowledge the paradigm shift?3 It’s almost certain that most of
the officers in charge of training recruits still fail to understand three-
dimensional warfare.
Veterans of the Norden and Rhine fronts have written enough reports on
what they learned through combat to make anyone sick, but the people
reading them are only interpreting the information through the old models
of war. The implications are truly sad. The situation is far worse than I
thought, to the point where I feel disgusted—this is just tragic.
The entire Imperial Army is failing to learn from even the instructor
whose exorbitant fee can only be paid in blood and iron: experience.
Now I understand why General von Zettour and the other Service Corps
authorities assumed the combat accounts couldn’t provide enough
instruction for the armies in the east and south and wanted to create a unit
immediately under the General Staff Office partially just to advise them
directly.
The extravagant folly of lowering your guard in combat airspace to sink
into thought… This kind of contemplation is only possible because of our
overwhelming air supremacy. In a way, it would make sense to be happy
we’re winning, but there are a few problems on Tanya’s mind that make
celebrating impossible.
“We’ve found their command post.”
“That’s awfully fast. It’s not a fake?”
Unbelievable things keep happening one after the other. Even Tanya
never imagined there would come a day she would distrust her
subordinate’s reports this much.
Yes, we have air supremacy, and we’re using leadership decapitation
tactics…but does that mean the top of the enemy command chain can be
exposed so easily?
“There’s no mistake, Major.”
“Is it the frontline command? Lower than that?”
If they could pick it out in this chaos, it had to be either a division or
brigade command post.
“No, it’s the headquarters of the invading army.”
“What? Are you sure?”
For a moment, the words seem to mean something inconceivable.
Headquarters?
Of the entire invading army?
“We intercepted an unencoded transmission.”
Conclusion: It has to be a basic form of disinformation. Even if they are
panicking, there’s no way even the lowliest radio operator, much less a
comms officer from their headquarters, would send information without
encoding it.
 “Then it has to be a fake message.”
“No, I understand why you would say that, but…everything we’re
picking up in this airspace is clear.”
“…Seriously? That’s hard to believe.”
“But they aren’t even limiting the signal strength. It may seem unlikely,
but it could be real.”
Though the look on his face is half-disbelief, he reports in a voice that
can only belong to people who thoroughly understand their job. To put the
incomprehensible situation into plain words: Is the Dacian Army attacking
with only ground troops and sending unsecured communications from their
headquarters…for the benefit of the Imperial Army?
Though Tanya just reprimanded a subordinate for relying too much on
rigid common sense, she’s plagued by it as well. Of course, her own sense
is optimized, raised to a whole other level.
I still doubt what he said, but when I use my orb to listen in to the
signals, there is a huge convoy emitting uncoded transmissions in one spot.
“Lieutenant Weiss, bring your unit and support mine. Lieutenant
Serebryakov! Round up the company and follow me!”
““Roger!””
Just in case it’s a trap, we make sure to secure a route for rapid
withdrawal as we approach. I have Lieutenant Weiss’s company get into
position to support our advance, and with their overwatch covering our
backs, I have my company begin aerial maneuvers for reconnaissance in
force. Presuming the enemy will fire a volley, I consciously thicken my
defensive shell. I enter the enemy’s range knowing that in addition to the
Type 97, I can boot up my Type 95 in a worst-case scenario.
I’ll get shot at.
The possibility was on my mind, so of course I had imagined a number
of shots from the ground.
“…Of all the ridiculous—!”
That’s why I shout in disbelief. Surely even the sloppiest army can
manage to defend their headquarters. In stories, even dictators and corrupt
commanding officers diligently make sure their immediate surroundings are
guarded.
But…
But no one is shooting at us.
 “How disappointing. Gentlemen, are we not at war? Is this lot an actual
army?”
It’s good that things are going smoothly. There’s no doubt about that.
But in war, nothing going according to the plan is a given. Even if I thought
it would be possible to repulse these invaders, I never dreamed things
would go even better than anticipated.
To think we can storm the Dacian Army headquarters without even
falling out of assault formation and face zero resistance.
“We didn’t accidentally attack a tour group visiting the Empire, did we?
If so, that would be a major accountability mess.” The situation is so
unexpected that I murmur something uncharacteristically silly—it wasn’t
funny enough to be a joke.
“My apologies, ma’am.”
“It was an error not to check with immigration first. Next time we’ll
make sure to consult with them.”
The members of the battalion skillfully playing along, hanging their
heads to express their regret, must feel something is off, too. If this is all
we’re dealing with, it’ll seem like I subjected them to hellish training for no
reason. Seriously, these enemies are so easy I’m going to get mistaken as a
sadist.
That’s why, when we descend to capture the field HQ, its flag flying
prominently despite the danger, Tanya is so confused that she fires off
another rare joke.
“…Yes, excuse me. Are you the tour leader? The Empire humbly
apologizes for the trouble we’ve caused. Embarrassingly enough, Imperial
Army Border Patrol thought you were an army…” She mimics her
subordinates’ humorous motions, lowering her head and then bowing
slightly in the direction of the pathetically wailing, panic-stricken enemies.
A silence falls as everyone in the tent is rendered speechless, but the next
moment, she abruptly delivers some stock greetings with a cheerful smile.
“Welcome to the Empire! What is the purpose of your visit? May I see your
passport?”
The silent Dacians have probably frozen in response to the bizarre
circumstances. But as their brains start to reboot, they finally begin to
process what is going on. In all the confusion, a fully armed little girl has
attacked them before they even realized and is now engaging them in a
game of pretend immigration inspection.
“Cu-cut the crap!” The officers were all wearing so many decorations a
sniper wouldn’t have known who to aim at first. This girl is toying with
us… Realizing that, one of them leaps at Tanya, but First Lieutenant Weiss
steps out of the formation and kicks him to the ground, where he passes out.
Problematically, judging from his decorations, he’s the most senior officer
present. In a way, this is actually the first thing that hasn’t gone according to
plan.
“How about the rest of you? Would you like to enter the Empire as
prisoners?”
If they surrender, Tanya will have no choice but to treat them as regular
prisoners of war according to the law. Driving off three divisions is easy,
but feeding that many prisoners would be really hard. Just the thought of
the additional burden it would put on Logistics is dizzying. Still, as
slaughter isn’t one of her hobbies, she advises them to surrender…at least,
that’s what she’s doing from her perspective.
“Preposterous! As if the Dacian Army would ever surrender!”
“This is a waste of time. Shoot everyone except that general.”
Sadly, they didn’t understand, but she’s happy to give the order to fire.
The rest is fairly straightforward. Her company of mages conducts a
close-quarters battle against a company’s worth of command post
personnel. Taking on mages at close range with little more than pistols is
suicide. Before long, the outcome that will no doubt be printed in Dacian
textbooks is reached.
They eliminate their targets without a hitch, and the tent is filled with
fresh corpses. Like a gang of burglars, Tanya’s company is snatching up
every document and apparatus they can find and cramming them into their
packs. The papers and high-ranking prisoners, albeit few in number, will be
good souvenirs for the General Staff.
“Set a booby trap. Yes, we’ll put it by that head.”
At the same time, before the disorganized Dacian soldiers realize
something is amiss with their headquarters, Tanya has her troops leave a
little parting gift for them, too.
“The head of that officer we propped up is going to explode. No doubt
it’ll be very effective against these guys.”
A bit of a crude move but also a classic, and the tactic has been in use
for so long because it works: rigging a corpse with a booby trap. It’s a huge
blow to morale, and we can also inflict casualties on any enemies who
come to rescue the HQ personnel. Pretty good return for a low-cost
investment of time and effort.
“If only there were a pamphlet about group sightseeing tours…”
“Lieutenant, do you have any paint? I’d like to make an immigration
stamp…”
“Hey, don’t play with the corpses! Take this war seriously!”
Tanya raises her voice slightly to warn her soldiers, who seemed to have
relaxed with the path to victory so clear. This isn’t a game for kids. Her
troops have to remain vigilant. It’s understandable why tension is low, but
they had best stay on their toes. If she loses any men in this joke of a fight,
it’ll be a failure worse than useless Italy getting driven off by Ethiopia; I’d
never live it down.
That said, when Tanya flies up to look down on the scene, she’s plenty
satisfied with what she sees. The Principality’s army is still marching in
ranks down the road, and the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion is assaulting
them from every direction. The fragility of an army without any aerial or
magic support combined with the virtually insurmountable gap between
modern and ancient military technology have resulted in excellent
achievements for the Imperial Army.
Gaping holes have been blasted into the Dacian Army formations, and
personnel who have fallen out of rank litter the ground.
It’ll take more than a few hours to reorganize this chaos. After all, we’ve
succeeded in mowing down the command personnel responsible for
stepping up and taking charge of this mess. And even if the next in
command makes every effort to get the army united again, this is the chaos
they’ll be up against. There’s no way to regain control.
The only way the overwhelmingly inferior Dacian military can hope to
hit us hard is by launching a sneak attack with blitzkrieg tactics. Sending
unsupported infantry to attack the Empire is incompetent enough to give
full-of-shit-guchi in Imphal a run for his money. If any Dacian officers can
get this army back on the march by tomorrow, they deserve medals.
“Lieutenant Weiss! Is your unit assembled?”
“Yes, Major. What about the remainder?”
It seems he’s about to ask, Shall we mop them up? and Tanya just barely
manages to control herself and not burst out laughing. All this guy wants is
to rack up achievements. Even though he only just wrapped up his first
battle, and he played it entirely by the book, he’s eager enough to mention
the necessity of increasing their success—he is excellent material.
“Our air fleet has been deployed, right?”
That’s why she softens up when she poses the question. You could say
the key to making things go smoothly is searching for positives. Before, she
was critical of his actions but not anymore. That’s the trick to managing
personnel in the army.
“Yes. The Seventh Air Fleet is under way and should arrive
momentarily.”
“Then let’s leave the cleanup to them. We’re advancing.”
“Ma’am! Where are we headed?”
Weiss’s brisk response is proof that he’s at least somewhat soldier
material. It seems like he’ll perform his duties with more sincerity than I
anticipated. If I can use him, I need to use him well.
“The capital.”
“The capital, ma’am?”
“Yep.” Tanya senses that she’s mellowed out quite a bit as she gives him
a magnanimous nod. “Have an escort take the injured and prisoners and
withdraw. You can choose who to send.”
“Yes, ma’am. No one sustained even minor injuries, though, so in that
case… What would you like me to do?”
“Oh, right.”
When he points it out, I realize that it’s hard to imagine sustaining any
casualties in that kind of battle. Well, it’s not like I assumed there were any.
It was more to be considerate. Or force of habit? Though I’ll eventually
have to admit that I’ve been just a little intellectually lazy.
Tanya has grown used to the weight of her rifle, so is this just making
mountains out of molehills because she’s nervous about commanding a
battalion for the first time?
If that’s the case, I need to compose myself better. A leader shouldn’t
dampen the mood for no reason.
“All right. Then have the ones who are the most exhausted go. This is
going to be a long advance. Yeah, send some of the newer officers who just
had their first battle back to base.”
 “May I send one platoon from Fourth Company?”
“That seems reasonable. I’m leaving it up to you.”
Weiss actually makes fairly good calls on things like unit management,
and Tanya has come to trust him during their time at the garrison. Peacetime
company commanders aren’t worth their salt unless they can properly lead
their subordinates. Whether he turns out to be a decent wartime company
commander or not depends on his experiences going forward. I just hope he
grows.
Anyhow, at least one of my hand-selected war maniacs has the right
skills and spirit for battle. With his measure of common sense, I have no
complaints about making Weiss my right-hand man, and I’m eager to have
him contribute to my security. Well, I guess I should just keep using him
and see how things go.
“Okay, now we can push farther, Lieutenant!”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Farther! Even farther! Let’s see how far we can go! You never know
until you try.”
But for now, we should enjoy our bonus level. With that thought, Tanya
smiles in amusement. It’s the smile that chilled Colonel von Lergen to the
bone. She grins from ear to ear in celebration of their continuing advance.
Now, onward! Onward, still!
That is the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion’s raison d’être, and none other.
Mysteriously enough, First Lieutenant Weiss is wearing the same smile
without realizing it as he salutes.
Every soldier accepts the orders without question, believing that if
anyone can forge a path forward, they can.

With the arrival of the Eastern Army Group’s strategic reserves, the
Seventeenth Army and Air Fleet (which had split up on their way over), the
Dacian Army lines were demolished. Two thousand dead and innumerable
prisoners. The battle had pitted six hundred thousand against seventy
thousand, and the seventy thousand trampled them. The outnumbered side,
the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion, had been the first to strike and held
absolute control of the skies over the combat zone. After scoring a victory,
they decided to attack the capital ahead of the air fleet. At the time,
Battalion Commander von Degurechaff was so confident it veered close to
arrogance, boasting, “Who couldn’t run them over?”

SEPTEMBER 25, UNIFIED YEAR 1924, 3:17 AM

AIRSPACE ABOVE THE OUTSKIRTS OF THE CAPITAL
OF THE PRINCIPALITY OF DACIA

Night fell on the capital of the Principality of Dacia as calmly as any

evening since the beginning of time.
The people, roused by a certain excitement that accompanied the start of
the war, had chattered boisterously, alcohol in hand, with great and
senseless fervor, but by this time at night, every place had quieted down and
most had gone to bed.
This could be called a nice, quiet night. Cloud cover is limited; visibility
is good. A slight southeasterly breeze is blowing, but it isn’t so weak that
gunsmoke wouldn’t disperse.
The only tiny smudge hidden in the night is the 203rd Aerial Mage
Battalion.
“This is the first night attack on a city in this world. That said, the
mission actually isn’t very difficult.”
The one who whispered is the battalion’s commander, Major Tanya von
Degurechaff, who is leading them from the head of the formation.
If there were a photograph of her to capture the moment where she
gazed at the city with a gentle, elegant expression, it would prove the
aptness of her alias “White Silver.” Soaring peacefully, she enjoys being
able to proceed through the starry expanse without trouble. But inside her
are thoughts incongruous with the beauty of the night—the upcoming
turbulent attack. It will be fun to burn their target down.
A night incursion on the enemy capital that hasn’t instituted a blackout
—this will be as easy as flying in parade. As expected, though still
astounding, there is no aerial or magical interception—not even any anti–air
fire. The fact that Tanya can’t spot a single artillery battery improves her
mood even more.
Of course, although it’s only in the realm of possibility, there is a
nonzero chance that the whole place is full of hidden gun emplacements.
But…if they made such careful preparations, why would they let enemy
soldiers into the capital? Ultimately, if the Dacian military takes air combat
so lightly, I can’t imagine they’d have the wherewithal to construct any
elaborate firing positions.
Ultimately, what convinces me is how bright the city is. The electricity
and gas are illuminating the place so well that I wonder more than once
about the possibility that the lights are decoys. On a battlefield, that
nonchalance is a regular occurrence in its own way, but it’s abnormal at the
same time. When she thinks that she might be able to teach them the
concept of a blackout, she even fancies herself a bit enlightened.
I’ll teach these fools a lesson through experience. Sometimes I wonder
why people would bother teaching the unwise, but now I understand.
Behind Tanya’s broad grin are pity and contempt. The satisfaction of
channeling those emotions into a lesson by means of kicking their ass is
ever so unique.
“Education, huh? I see. Becoming the instructor known as experience
and collecting a hefty fee isn’t such a bad gig.”
I guess it’s sort of like being one of those Meiji period foreign
government advisors.
The job is simple: Give the poor Principality firsthand exposure to the
difference between us in modern war, civilization, and national power.
Payment will be made in whole by the Imperial Army. This is a
sophisticated enterprise where everything, down to each individual round of
ammunition, is made possible by the cordial consideration of the Imperial
Army General Staff.
Oh, so this is what it’s like to understand something once you try it
yourself. Bringing the light of civilization to barbarians is clearly my sacred
mission. Aha, I see why there are people who confuse differences in culture
and civilization with racial superiority. It’s far too alluring, and most of all,
it provides this horrible sense of omnipotence.
Well, that’s not good. Tanya regrets the thought a bit and wisely
admonishes herself. If there’s one thing I won’t resort to, it’s interpreting
everything through the lens of God. That would interfere with my personal
raison d’être, so I definitely can’t do that. Well, I guess it’s fine to believe in
a sacred mission when I shoot Being X…
Anyhow, I pause that train of thought for the moment, like in a video
game, and then Tanya flicks her flashlight on and off while whirling it
around to call her commanders. It’s almost time to move.
The munitions factory is shining so brilliantly it seems to be trying to
turn the darkness into day. Even from our distant position, the bustling
energy of the workers is apparent in one area where they’re putting all their
efforts into shell production. We have nearly reached our target.

“You called, Major?”

“We’ve found our target as planned. You can see it, right, Lieutenant?
Over there.”
“…I can’t believe a weapons factory is unguarded.”
“Honestly, neither can I. This might sound arrogant, but…” That’s what
Tanya says, although she scoffs as she continues. It would probably be more
accurate to say that she bursts out laughing at the enemy’s foolishness.
“Their way of thinking is stuck somewhere about a century in the past.
They seem to still be living in two dimensions.”
Ignoring the third dimension in the sky, the Dacians only know of an
absolutely flat war. What a splendid concept. How stupid can someone be?
Thanks to that, I have it easy—their ineptitude really is wonderful. Any
enemy of mine is free to let their intelligence atrophy.
Tanya feels she should be genuinely happy about their enemy’s stupidity
while celebrating the favorable circumstances.
“Actually, we should probably be impressed that their factory is
operating twenty-four hours a day.”
“Thinkers of the Enlightenment would be delighted to find them so
industrious.” Though he was wincing a bit as he agreed, First Lieutenant
Weiss knew what he had to do as vice commander to clear his name.
Noticing that he’s trying his best to restore his honor, Tanya adjusts her
evaluation of him and decides he can be trusted with assignments.
“Anyhow, I think it’s good that our job will be easy, Major.”
Then, not one to betray expectations, Weiss offers his opinion. A vice
commander who can make their own calls but also affirm their superior
officer’s judgment despite their lack of experience is surprisingly hard to
come by. Having selected Weiss as her deputy, it’s a relief that Tanya seems
to have an eye for talent.
“This is a great opportunity to attack. Shall we?”
At the same time, her adjutant, Second Lieutenant Serebryakov, is
giving some cause for concern as she’s starting to sound a bit impatient,
perhaps due to her “opportunities” on the Rhine front. I’ve been teaching
her how to wage war but not how to navigate its rules… Tanya has only
received short, intensive officer training, so even if there are no issues with
the way she led her subordinates, it may be necessary to pay more attention
to the legal side of things.
“Lieutenant Serebryakov, we’re not such brutes that we would ignore
the law of war.”
Yes, established by humanitarians and people with legislative
experience, these statutes stipulate the sanctioned way of waging war on
cities.
It’s a parade of arguments no one could reasonably disagree with: You
mustn’t attack facilities that would interfere with people’s daily lives,
attacking civilians is prohibited, indiscriminate bombing is inhumane, and
so on. Oh, how great are laws that try to bring some sense into the mad
realm of war! They are worthy of respect. If we can do this sanely instead
of like maniacs, humans are honestly wonderful. Long live humans. If
there’s a problem, it’s that many of the laws are just slightly impractical.
But poorly conceived laws are still laws.
In reality, though, we don’t have any issues operating within them. What
with murky scopes of application and interpretation difficulties, most laws
can be handled simply. At least, we don’t have any problems this time.
“Please excuse the error, ma’am.”
“Let all units know that we’re only destroying the arms factory. Hey, put
out an evacuation notice—broadcast on the international distress channel
according to regulations.”
The enemy manufactory is obviously a military facility. It isn’t baking
bread or generating electricity to assist people in their daily lives—nothing
like that. Even if someone wanted to insist to the contrary, there’s no such
thing as a peaceful purpose for ammunition. Well, maybe the warm-hearted
humanitarian Mr. Molotov4 would be making bread baskets. Still, that’s no
problem. It would be their fault for making bread baskets in a facility so
easily mistaken as an arms factory.
“But, Major, if we do that, we’ll lose the element of surprise!”
“Lieutenant Weiss, common sense says that fear is justified, but you’re
thinking a bit too straightforward.”
It seems Tanya’s suggestion that they conduct their attack in line with
the rules dictated by international law is completely lost on her subordinate
officers.
“We came this far in secret only to reveal ourselves…?”
The same questioning look is on all their faces.
Their expressions share a common type of soldierly doubt. They don’t
have any question when it comes to carrying out their military objectives.
Of course, the one who was selected for that character was the battalion
commander, Major Tanya von Degurechaff—in other words, me. Even if I
try to put the blame on someone else, I’m the one responsible in the end.
For a split second, I wonder if I made an error in gathering these
particular subordinates, but I console myself with the thought that they are
magnificent imperial soldiers who obey orders even when reluctant. Tanya
opens her mouth to instruct them in a stately manner.
“Lieutenant Serebryakov! Issue the warning. Order an evacuation
according to regulations.”
“You want me to do that?”
But in the next moment, Serebryakov asks a question, without any deep
meaning, that unintentionally highlights Major von Degurechaff’s acumen
as a specialist. It’s enough to make her sick.
Yes, the warning is only a formality, so less believable is more desirable.
In that case, the cruel reality is that Tanya figured Lieutenant Serebryakov’s
slightly unsophisticated voice would sound less reliable than the hard,
soldierly tone of Lieutenant Weiss’s.
Of course, Tanya is quietly exempting from consideration the youngest
member of the unit—herself.
But now that it has been mentioned, I have to admit Serebryakov has a
point. If someone were to ask Tanya afterward why Lieutenant Serebryakov
made the announcement, I was planning to say, “My assumption was that if
a girl made the warning, they would drop their guard,” but the worst thing
that could happen is someone asks, “Don’t you think the commander should
have issued it?”
I have to do it. I don’t want to, but…
“…Mm, okay. You’re right, I should do it. I’ll make it really sound like
a little kid.”
Agh! Nothing for it. At this point, all I can do is think about increasing
our chances of success. Argh, these shitty international laws—what a pain.
Can’t they hurry up and meet their de facto death? What genius got on a
high horse and suggested upholding rules of war?
Having partially given up, she shouts into the receiver a subordinate
handed her, leaning heavily on the infantile sound of her voice. “Thish is a
warning.”
And so the warning that day echoed grandly throughout the Dacian
capital… Except it didn’t.
It’s true that she is following the law to the letter and broadcasting it
over the international distress channel.
“We, the Imperial Army, are now commenshing an attack on a military
supply facility!”
However, I suppose would be the appropriate word…only a very tiny
number of people will hear the announcement. For starters, radio
penetration in Dacia isn’t high enough that every house has a set.
Furthermore, households who leave their radio on in the middle of the night
are no doubt an extreme minority.
“We will begin maneuvers thirty minutes from now.”
Most of all, would anyone take a threat from someone who is obviously
a child at face value? Not really. If someone with a more rigid tone, voice,
and manner of speech that practically shouted their identity as a soldier—
someone like Rudersdorf or Zettour, with that undeniable military air about
them—gave the warning, it would be a different story. But with Tanya as
the announcer, objectively speaking…aside from the content, the
announcement is awfully heartwarming.
Many people will consider it at most an elaborate prank and think little
more of it, going back to sleep with a critical frown.
“We solemnly pwedge—errybody swears to fight fair and square,
according to international law.”
On the other hand, there remains the goal of playing the part properly
despite the ridiculous voice, so Tanya lets all the emotion drain out of her
words. In a way, this performance is a mortification of Tanya’s mind
comparable to using Type 95 at full power. Praising God and affirming
Being X is bad enough, but I still see my duty through to the end.
Naturally, she is openly indignant as she scowls at their target and shouts
that she will crush it. Visha’s emotions as she looks on next to her are
probably shared with the rest of the battalion—unshakable solidarity.
…No, her thought is, That’s so low, Major.
Tanya finishes reading the warning in a voice appropriate for a child her
age. No matter how you think about it, the only appropriate explanation
would be some kid’s prank; anyone would think so. Even we feel like
we’ve caught a glance of some gruesome sight.
“Major, do you have experience in acting?”
“Acting? I’m not sure I understand what you mean. I’m just hoping they
lower their guard.”
Though the tone matches her age, Tanya murmurs her dissatisfaction in
her usual cold voice. It must be a sign of complex internal feelings. Weiss
has only known her for a short time, but even he can pick up the displeasure
his superior doesn’t bother hiding. Her mood is as dangerous as
nitroglycerin.
When Weiss quietly takes a step back, everyone discreetly follows suit.
Nobody wants to be so close to Major von Degurechaff when she’s irritated.
“…Okay, troops. It appears shaming myself was worth it.”
Still, something has been beaten into them during their training as
soldiers.
And that’s why they understand that their superior will vent her feelings
on the enemy as they ready themselves for the attack, grabbing their orbs
and rifles with as much as a measure of sympathy.
“This munitions factory has been receiving Republican assistance. It’s
probably full of flammable materials.” Tanya’s tone contains a clear
determination to blow the target sky-high. Normally her inner thoughts are
inscrutable, but today, at this very moment, every mage in the 203rd Aerial
Mage Battalion can understand exactly what’s on her mind. There’s no
mistaking it.
She’s motivated.
“I issued the warning. Our obligation has been fulfilled. Now let’s watch
the fireworks.”
 I’m openly indignant—blowing off steam or maybe taking it out on
them.
The expression on Major von Degurechaff’s face while she casts an
extra-large yet precise formula and conjures a long-range projection
formula is a mixture of intoxication and anger, all indicating very real
danger. Let sleeping dogs lie. Since no one has interfered, she’s able to turn
her undiluted fury on the enemy.
“Let’s educate them in the name of God.”
That murmured remark informs her unit how serious she is.
“I will manifest the power of God on this earth!”
Their commander continues constructing an extra-large disaster.
“Deploy formulas! Look sharp, observers!”
“Deploy formulas! Target: Carberius Arms Foundry!”
“All companies, match your timing to Major von Degurechaff!”
Not wanting to fall behind, the commander of each unit shouts, and
several long-range attack formulas are cast.
Normally, any attacker leisurely launching this slow formula in the
middle of a battlefield would end up pummeled by anti-magic artillery or
picked off by enemy mages on patrol.
But if the enemy’s even slower, then it’s a different story.
“Deploy formulas!”
“Fire!”
We loose a volley of long-range explosion formulas cast by a forty-
eight-man augmented mage battalion. That power and range requires more
magic than usual, but this time at least, it’s the optimal solution.
No one interrupts—no one even notices.
The formulas rain down on the target so easily the mages are almost
disappointed, and the spells explode on impact with the factory literally
filled with ammunition.
“Sixteen direct hits! The rest are close!”
“If we can do that with long-range formulas, then I can’t complain.”
Tanya nods in satisfaction.
Then, just as Weiss is about to say something to her, it blows up.
The flare is so dazzling, even the mages are blinded, despite having
anticipated the blast. The light fills the quiet night with naked hostility.
The roof of the factory, blown skyward, seems to fall in slow motion,
and the Dacian capital has been jolted awake by a glare that lights up
everything for miles around.
“There go the secondary explosions.”
Then a quiet, satisfied remark sums it all up.
“Tamayaaa!”
 “Huh?”
“It’s just an exclamation. Don’t worry about it.”
She turns around and appraises the scene with a deflecting remark about
the fantastic sight.
“I gotta hand it to Dacia. Not only did they help us out with our live-fire
exercise, they even arranged for a post-training fireworks show.”
She cackles in amusement, her expression exuberant. If she had to sum
it up, the gigantic sunlike explosion below feels just like a fireworks show
in honor of her service.
“Anyhow, we achieved our objective. We’re returning to base, troops.”

OCTOBER 23, UNIFIED YEAR 1924, IMPERIAL ARMY

GENERAL STAFF OFFICE, DINING ROOM 1 (ARMY)

“That captain did say it lets you experience war rations.”

An officer who worked in Personnel was reported to have said it. The
General Staff Office dining hall was a “perpetual battlefield café” that
didn’t let soldiers forget their combat experiences, even in the rear.
Major General von Rudersdorf had no words to deny that. In fact, he
secretly agreed with his junior colleagues’ opinion that the dining room and
its “unique” cuisine seemed to be engaging with the Commonwealth in a
fierce competition no normal person could comprehend.
And likewise, as far as Major General von Zettour knew, there were no
General Staffers who actually liked the food. So perhaps it was ironic that
although discussing confidential matters in a cafeteria was generally
considered a poor idea, this particular place was actually the optimal venue
for strategy meetings if secrecy was desirable.
It was Zettour’s and Rudersdorf’s natures to use whatever they could,
together, to the fullest, and when it occurred to them that the dining hall was
the best place for keeping things confidential, they reluctantly began taking
at least one of their three daily meals there.
“…Time is not necessarily on the Empire’s side, though it isn’t exactly
on our enemy’s, either,” Rudersdorf grumbled, sounding absolutely fed up.
Irritated, he washed down some bread-like foodstuff with pseudo-coffee.
Among all the ersatz items on the table, he could tell from the feel and
luster that only the Meissen cup in his hand, and only that, could be called
genuine.
“Taking our current situation into consideration, it’s not a good idea for
the Empire to deal with two fronts for too long, but you still think time
might be with us, Rudersdorf?”
Zettour looked dissatisfied with the food but smiled, somewhat amused,
as he replied. He was in charge of logistics. Of course, as a General Staff
officer, he could stick his fingers into strategy or operations just as much as
Rudersdorf, who had long been involved in operational theory research and
development.
The General Staff had simply seen what these two were capable of, so
they put energetic, dynamic Rudersdorf in charge of war operations—
mainly mobile—while expecting Zettour’s wise, scholarly precision to keep
the military organization running smoothly.
And in Dacia, all expectations had been met. Rudersdorf set a perfect
example of how to conduct maneuver warfare with his astuteness, whereas
Zettour made arrangements for the efficient deployment of troops, even
organizing the dispatch of an advance unit. Both of their talents achieved
everything the General Staff had hoped for.
“Of course, more time spent will mean more waste. But that’s exactly
why our basic strategy of knocking out the weakest enemies first, like we
did in Dacia, shouldn’t change.”
“In other words, what you mean to say is, ‘I’ll give you time, so handle
the logistics?’ Rudersdorf, I have to warn you, the Anluk E. Kahteijanen as
well as the port facilities are already at their limits with the construction
jobs and expansion work in Norden. Transporting enough matériel for a
winter offensive will be much too large a burden.”
“If you say it can’t be done, then I guess it can’t. But I’ve known you
long enough. You say it’s impossible, but you won’t convince me you don’t
have an alternative plan.”
An ideal mutual understanding between the front lines and the rear. In a
way, this was made possible by the rare cooperative relationship the two
men had been able to build where they completely trusted in each other’s
exceptional abilities.
“I’m sorry, General von Rudersdorf, but as far as I’ve heard from the
managers of rolling stock in the Service Corps, the logistics situation in
Norden isn’t going to improve anytime soon.”
“General von Zettour, do I need to explain to you about the possibility of
a maritime supply route?”
Relaxing both his expression and the mood just a little bit, Zettour
dropped all pretenses. “All right, all right. As you say, since the war began
we’ve had our sea routes cut off, so there are all kinds of trade vessels
anchored in the port that we could requisition.” It was a plan he had
considered many times. “If necessary, I can send a nearly three-hundred-
thousand-ton ship to a port facility somewhere in the north for a landing
operation.”
“So it’s decided, then? I wish you would just say that from the
beginning.”
“I have to warn you, this discussion is only valid assuming we have
control of the sea. I’ll put up with a skirmish or two, but I’m not keen on the
idea of losing a unit and a ship for the chance to gamble on an amphibious
operation far behind enemy lines.”
Zettour frowned slightly. He was more worried about the possible losses
than he was about the potential success of the operation.
It was true that the Empire currently had a glut of ships because the sea-
lanes had been tenuous since the war started. There was a chance they could
solve their supply and operational issues with them. But put another way,
the Imperial Navy had nothing but vulnerable sea-lanes, so would they
really be able to protect supply lines? That was the risk they faced.
As long as that was the case, maybe they could use the narrow straits
near the Empire, but they had no choice but to be pessimistic about the idea
of establishing a major supply route.
“You worry too much about supposed losses. Even if it’s a bit of a risk,
getting behind Entente Alliance lines and cutting off their communications
would crush them.”
Rudersdorf’s reply was almost carelessly optimistic compared to
Zettour’s strategic concerns.
Despite the deadlocked front lines, the substantial gap in national power
left the Entente Alliance on the brink of collapse just like Dacia. In other
words, Rudersdorf’s take on the situation could be criticized as an
oversimplification, but if the Imperial Army could seize a region in the rear
the same way their soldiers had trampled Dacia, even the Entente Alliance
would collapse on its own.
“I can’t deny it, but frankly, I don’t think they are much of a threat
anymore even if we leave them as they are. Shouldn’t we forget about them
and finish off the Republic?”
“There’s nothing better than having fewer fronts, but…”
On the point of whether it was actually necessary to force the Entente
Alliance to completely collapse, a slight disagreement between Operations
and the Service Corps began creeping into their remarks. Zettour didn’t
think advancing north would do anything to ameliorate the logistical strain.
On the other hand, from Operations’ point of view, cleaning up that front
would make things much easier strategically.
“From the logistics standpoint, the burden of maintaining the amount of
troops necessary to hold against the Entente Alliance is not a light one.
Even without firing a single round of ammunition, soldiers starve to death if
they don’t eat, you know.”
“I’m aware of that. But it’s true that compared to the Republic, it would
be easier to take out.”
“Fine.”
In the end, both men had clear criteria for how to optimize the
instrument of violence known as state warfare while not losing sight of their
greater objective. An operation could be undertaken if it didn’t strain
logistics too greatly and if it gave them a chance to shrink their active
fronts.
Given the fact that in those operational terms there were no issues with
gaining control of the rear in the north, Zettour agreed to draw up an attack
plan.
“If we’re going to attack, I’d like us to consider the Osfjord.”
“The Osfjord? It’s too heavily defended. It’s situated inside that narrow
bay, but I’m pretty sure they have a few coastal guns.”
“The city of Os is the main railroad hub. If we take that, all the Entente
Alliance’s trains should be out of commission. Then we can stroll in and
keep our troops’ supplies using their rails.”
The city Zettour pointed out was significant because of its role as a
transportation center—presenting an opportunity to knock out enemy
logistics in one fell swoop. It would be difficult, but if they could cut the
enemy’s supply lines… When the thought crossed Rudersdorf’s mind, he
could no longer hold back a savage smile.
“Got it. You come up with some really nasty plans, don’t you…? But it
does make sense. So you want us to capture Os…”
If the Entente Alliance was crippled like that, their army would die like
dogs even if their frontline forces put up a heroic resistance. A military with
no head or limbs was just a mob that used to be called an army. Assuming
things went as Northern Command hoped, victory could then be achieved
with a short frontal assault… It could be so easy that they might want to
consider how to achieve an even better outcome.
“Say you can do it and I’ll give you a unit. If it doesn’t work, I’ll just
deal with Norden in a less sneaky way.”
“No, let’s give it a shot.” With that same grin on his face, Rudersdorf
decisively met the challenge. He would try to take them down. It was the
dream of every General Staff officer to dramatically shift the tides of war on
the operational level with one large-scale battle. He nodded at Zettour as if
to say he would even drink down this dirty-water coffee with a smile.
“Very good. If you need anything, let me know.”
“Oh, then lend me a mage unit.”
Rudersdorf was merciless in asking for what he wanted.
“A mage unit? Sure, but which one?”
“The pet in your pocket, the 203rd. I want you to let me use the troops
that performed so well in Dacia.”
“That battalion’s a handful. Are you okay with that?”
The pet in Zettour’s pocket… They were a dauntless combat unit that
had waged impeccable maneuver warfare in Dacia and had even bombed a
weapons factory. Not only that, but they were an augmented unit equipped
with cutting-edge gear from the Technical Arsenal. When Lieutenant
Colonel von Lergen had reported on their training progress, he insisted,
with undisguised shock, that there was no unit in the Empire that could
match them.
“That’s fine. Besides, I believe the commander has combat experience in
Norden. It’s reassuring to have someone who is even a little familiar with
the lay of the land.”
 The 203rd’s commander was said to have a distinctive personality, but if
she had to be sorted into the groups “useful” or “not,” she was certainly a
part of the former. That made her just the type that he could afford to push
hard as a game piece.
“All right. I’ll make the arrangements right away.”
“Thanks. Here’s to the hope that we win.”
A glass was raised.
“Then here’s to the hope the food here improves.”
The return toast made them both wince.
“I think the war’ll end first.”
“You’re probably right.”
Though grimacing, they stayed faithful to the basic soldiering principle
of eating whenever a chance presented itself. That said, neither hid the fact
that they would rather dine elsewhere.
 [chapter] II Norden I

NOVEMBER 4, UNIFIED YEAR 1924, ENTENTE

ALLIANCE DEFENSE MINISTRY, PERSONNEL OFFICE
2

A man in the Entente Alliance Army’s type II dress uniform was receiving a
new rank insignia from his superior officer in the Army Personnel Division,
who wore a smile plastered over his face like a mask.
“You’ve been promoted. Congratulations, Colonel Anson Sue.”
“If I’m getting promoted after suffering such a loss, our country must be
at its end.” He didn’t fly into a rage at the state of things, but neither did he
bother to hide his murmurings. He simply expressed his sentiment before he
realized what he was saying.
Normally, an officer of his rank shouldn’t have talked like that. But the
miserable situation of the Entente Alliance created a peculiar atmosphere in
which Sue’s bitter comments could be excused.
Their defeat was all too clear. The kind of fall that was guaranteed to
come. Of course, there was still some hope.
But in a room full of people who understood their circumstances and
could see where they were headed, optimism was in laughably short supply.
“Now then, here’s your new insignia. We expect a lot out of you,
Colonel.”
And that was why the people who fully comprehended the gravity of the
situation were already exhausted. Their hearts were long spent from the
intense rage they felt.
 “The fatherland is in crisis. I have to hope you’ll do your duty as best
you can. That’s all.”
“There is no greater happiness than to be entrusted with the fatherland.”
“Excellent.”
They did nothing but exchange set phrases. Probably the only thing on
Sue’s mind as he delivered his stirring lines in monotone, like a sutra, was
simple contempt for formalities. Since the leadership’s choices have been so
grievously bad, aren’t the duties we soldiers can actually fulfill rather
limited?
It was for that reason that Sue was miserable. His only reaction to the
impassioned commotion caused by mobs of citizens frantic to save the
nation was the extreme fatigue on his face.
He saluted according to protocol and left the room with a gait that grew
even heavier when he saw the excited young volunteers, brimming with
love for their country, forming up before marching out. They’re so
innocent… Eager to go to battle, but what can they even do when they
finally arrive?
“How disappointing. What awful luck to have been born in a country
that can only ask its youths to die for it.”
A patriot would cry. They were supposed to protect their fatherland;
they should have been proud of it. Instead, their nation had committed a
grave mistake, and now it was ushering young people down a path that
promised death. Though he could have sworn he was emotionally spent, he
found tears blurring his vision.
“Colonel Sue?”
While trying his best to keep up appearances in response to concerned
voices, in his heart, with a hint of resignation, he made a vow. If I’m going
to send them to their deaths, then the least I can do is fulfill my duty as best
I can, too. The commitment to self-sacrifice stemmed from his sense of
responsibility and fate as a leader.
If the youth are going to sacrifice themselves for the fatherland, then
there at least has to be someone to accompany them down that path, an
adult who will fall beside them. He was grimly determined. How could I let
them die alone?
Even so, as the young men paraded proudly down the road, he couldn’t
stand the sight of the anxious-looking women carrying children in the
crowd of people bidding them farewell. Thinking of those who were left
behind, he prayed for salvation and nearly cried out. Anyone, anyone at all,
please end this nightmare…
If there was a hope he could cling to, it was that the Republic or some
other great power would maybe, just maybe, show up in the nick of time to
save them. Then the Entente Alliance might have a chance to escape total
collapse. But can it really? Having thought that far, Sue sneered at the
futility of clinging to a wish that couldn’t even convince him.
He knew they were well and truly cornered, with no way out.
They were supposed to protect their fatherland, but it was already
ticking down its final days little by little, like an hourglass. In the future lay
inevitable ruin.
Facing downfall, he could only stand still, tormented by a sense of
helplessness. His resolve to share the fate of the fatherland was unwavering.
Nonetheless, when he thought of what hardships would befall the people
when they lost their home country, he could only shed tears of grief.
Wait. It must have been the workings of fate that made him realize
something at that moment: Just because a country was destroyed didn’t
mean its people had to be. If they couldn’t protect their homeland, they at
least had to let its citizens escape. Even after the state was broken,
mountains and rivers would remain. Yes, countries fell, but they were made
up of people. Perhaps they would have a chance to rebuild their broken
home. If they saved the people who would become the seeds, they could
dream of a day when the field of the fatherland would bloom once more. It
would be a difficult journey. Times would be hard. But this wouldn’t be the
end. There was the hope of rebirth.
A homeland is more than territory; as long as home existed in the hearts
of its people, this wasn’t the end.
He had to help as many fellow citizens escape as possible. Surely that
was the great cause worthy of dedication for a soldier of a failing nation.
No, it was the one and only way of sacrificing oneself that a soldier who
had sworn to protect the fatherland could be proud of.
“Here it is. Yes, I found it!”
With a shout so full of hope and purpose you would never have thought
the speaker had been on the brink of despair just moments earlier, Colonel
Sue made a vow. I’ll never let anyone destroy thee, O Fatherland.
 This country was his family’s home. He was a father, even if he hadn’t
been around his child much. Though he regretted that, and it was a bit late
to start caring, he swore to leave his wife and daughter a future. Though it
was immodest, he wanted to be glad he could use the military connections
he hadn’t paid much attention to until that moment.

Meanwhile, the new Entente Alliance councilors, with traces of

difficult-to-conceal resignation and contrition in their gloomy expressions,
groped for a way to flip the hourglass back over as time slipped away.
Nobody had foreseen the start of open hostilities with the Empire.
Everyone present had been appalled upon hearing the news. “Why has the
fatherland done something so reckless?” When they came to grips with
reality and left by the wayside ideologies and the illusion that this was the
way things should be, it was clear that the Empire was going to pulverize
the cheeky little contender snapping at it.
Though the gears of destruction had ground to a halt briefly due to the
Republic’s surprise attack, the situation had definitely not improved for the
Entente Alliance. On the contrary, the Principality of Dacia, after their
warrior’s fanfare that sounded like music to the councilors’ ears, had been
wiped off the map in the span of a few months.
The overwhelming military might of the Empire and the pathetic final
days of the upstart challenger… To anyone with a heart, this was a
nightmare come to life for the Entente Alliance.
In the midst of all that, the new councilors, despite their fear, were doing
everything they could think of to maintain the front and continue the
resistance.
“Now then, I’ve got some good news for you, gentlemen. It’s only a
stopgap solution, but we’ve begun coordinating with our allies.”
As he read the announcement to the other nine councilors in the meeting
room, Foreign Affairs Councilor Abensoll was a little excited by the first
good news in a long while.
Diplomacy had fallen into chaos ever since the war started, but he
finally received a favorable reply. Ever since the Republic had entered the
war, he had been going around apologizing to all their allies and begging
for assistance, and finally someone replied. The Republic had stepped in,
fearing the collapse of the Empire’s encirclement following the Entente
Alliance’s reckless move, but between the stalemated front and a huge
number of casualties, its attitude rapidly soured to the point that the
Republic barely even gave the Entente Alliance the time of day after Dacia
got involved, addressing them with openly cold contempt.
What the nation wanted to say was clear: “Your heedlessness is the
cause of this catastrophe.” A Republican diplomat had made that remark to
Abensoll under the influence of alcohol, but those words said it all.
“That’s fine, but all the Republic really hopes for is someone to lessen
their burden on the Rhine front, no?”
Because they knew exactly what the Republic was truly after, what
should have been good news instead left the ten councilors in a hollow
mood with low expectations. At most, the Republic hopes to take some of
the heat off themselves by having us continue fighting on a second front,
they thought.
“Councilor Cazor, your apprehension is reasonable, but the Republic is
worried about a repeat of Dacia.”
“You mean they’re worried that if we fall, the Empire will turn its full
energy on them? I see. Well, isn’t that a wretched thing to hear.” Army
Councilor Cazor shrugged, seeming offended at being treated like a second
Dacia, but his arguments weren’t very persuasive given how much he had
hoped the Grand Duchy’s entry in the war would lessen the Entente
Alliance’s own burden.
“Councilor Abensoll, surely that isn’t all?”
“No, excuse me. In addition to the Republic, it appears the
Commonwealth will send over some manner of assistance. At least, there is
consensus among the great powers that they would like to stop us from
being completely annihilated.”
Foreign Affairs Councilor Abensoll had trailed off, but at the urging of
an older councilor, he presented some good news about a sympathetic
neutral power’s foreign policy.
The Entente Alliance would receive a helping hand from another nation,
in addition to the Republic, that wasn’t happy with the prospect of the
Empire expanding its influence. The Commonwealth, known for its
excellent naval forces, was concerned by the Empire’s sudden expansion on
the continent, so it had decided to take the first step toward joining the
battle. Its plan was to maintain the balance of power—not much more than
an excuse, but that was why they could be trusted from a realpolitik
standpoint.
“Ohh, the friendly Treaty of Londinium again? Though we’re the ones
who broke it…”
Despite thinking it was probably a good thing, there was no way anyone
present could be genuinely happy to accept the help. Any member of the
Entente Alliance leadership who was familiar with how the other powers
felt about them, given that they had broken the treaty, could understand that
the Commonwealth had offered half as an insult.
“So what are our options?”
“After analyzing the Dacian War, the Republic told us they worry our
rear regions are under-protected.”
Unlike the Republic, forced into a head-on clash with the Empire, the
Entente Alliance was using its topography and climate to maintain its front.
But in reality, what allowed the Entente Alliance to just barely hold was
that the Empire didn’t consider it a serious threat and was treating it as a
side project.
“…I’m envious of countries that have power to spare. We’ve got nothing
left.” The interior councilor commented on the disparity in national
strength, which was truly massive.
In fact, simply going at it with just one of the Empire’s army groups
required the majority of the Entente Alliance’s resources to maintain the
troops on the front lines.
“For now, we have mage units stationed to fend off any attempts at
incursions in the rear. They should at least be able to handle most things
before it becomes a serious problem.”
The Entente Alliance was on guard against surprise raids deep in their
territory, but so far nothing major had come up—one of the leadership’s few
comforts. The most they expected was a gamble by an imperial cavalry
brigade to destroy Entente Alliance railways or an airborne operation by a
handful of aerial mages. The Entente Alliance’s quick response division had
been successful in repulsing everything that had come before with their
mages, so they were fairly confident they could fend off most invasion
attempts.
“The Commonwealth says they’re anxious about an imperial naval
assault.”
“A seaborne invasion? I don’t mean to be master of the obvious, but
couldn’t we just attack them once they make landfall?”
Foreign Affairs Councilor Abensoll himself was dubious, but the
Commonwealth was seriously concerned the Empire would try an
amphibious assault, and its officers were unanimous in voicing the warning.
“I understand your country’s situation, but your coasts are wide open.”
“If our main forces are all tied up, even a small amphibious landing
force could prove catastrophic.”
Abensoll had no choice but to warn his colleagues with a measure of
anxiety that if invaders met no resistance when they made landfall, then it
would open up the Entente Alliance to a thrust from behind and bring their
whole country down.
“Councilor Abensoll, the Republican Navy doesn’t have the power to
put a stop to that. And might I remind you we only have two capital ships
ourselves?”
But he still managed to feel hopeful.
“That’s no problem. This is confidential, but the Commonwealth is
already monitoring the Empire’s navy. The Republican fleet is apparently
ready to deploy if need be.”
Which means…
“Gentlemen, time is key. We need to buy time.”
“We must ask the other powers to intervene. It’s utterly shameful, but we
have no choice. In the meantime, let’s do our best.”

NOVEMBER 5, UNIFIED YEAR 1924, IMPERIAL

CAPITAL GARRISON 14, AUDITORIUM

“Battalion Commander!”
In the auditorium where all the unit members have already gathered, the
commander of Second Company, First Lieutenant Weiss, stands and salutes
the battalion commander as she enters. The troops follow suit, saluting and
voicing their greetings as Tanya gestures for everyone to be at ease. She
takes the dais in the center and nods in satisfaction after glancing around at
her men.
“I think you’ve already heard, but the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion has
been given transfer orders. We’re going to Norden.”
Man, that’s exactly what I don’t want to do, but I don’t let my opinion
on this injustice show on Tanya’s face. Right now, it’s all hidden with that
particular tone officers use to keep their emotions unreadable, but I sent a
dozen complaints in writing to Lieutenant Colonel von Lergen about how
much the military has been overworking Tanya. Rest and joint training for
four months, plus two months of basic training to improve the recruits’
skills. The unit should have had six months of deferment. It was no small
shock to have the unit declared trained and ready for deployment after their
combat exercise in Dacia.
Running my gaze over the troops from the platform, I can understand
how it was possible to see them as a disciplined unit brimming with
confidence. With their field gear perfectly polished and their feet all lined
up as if they were toeing a ruled edge, they do seem elite.
But the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion isn’t as ready as the General Staff
might want to believe. They have so many weak points remaining that it’s
enough to give Tanya a headache as their commander. First, as exemplified
by Lieutenant Weiss’s misstep in Dacia, most of them are still operating on
an obsolete version of common sense, even if only partially. Of course, it’s
true that after their baptism by fire, their understanding had changed so
dramatically it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to call it a Copernican-level
revolution. It was almost like Paul’s conversion—Tanya could practically
bless them and inform all that they were on the right path. But that’s still
nowhere near good enough.
“Naturally, the General Staff expects us to bring to Norden the same
skills and quick thinking that we showed off in Dacia, so we need to be
ready.” On Tanya’s face is a smile of anticipation, but it feels so forced.
Well, that makes sense. This unit has never been through a tough fight.
There are too many examples from history of game dogs who only just
learned the sweet taste of victory and turned into a pack of cowed mongrels
with a single loss. No one is weaker in the face of adversity than purebred
elites, which applies to Tanya as well.
 “Gentlemen, be proud that you’ve finally been given a chance to
overcome a trial of fire and iron.”
No army can win forever. Even the USA, despite boasting that it would
bomb its enemy back to the Stone Age, was long traumatized by the
nightmare of guerrilla warfare. It dispelled the trauma momentarily in the
Gulf, but when it got overconfident, the result was Iraq.
I recall that even the great Empire, one of the leading world powers,
hasn’t achieved military strength on par with the USA’s dominance. I really
need to cultivate subordinates who can withstand hardship.
Not only will I be branded as incompetent if I handle it poorly, it could
literally mean death for me. After all, once a bunch of numbskulls who’ve
never lost a battle collapse, they’re extremely fragile. An army with a
broken spirit is simply a mob. Even with magic technology, it’s not as if
soldiers can be miraculously imbued with an iron will to fight—although
somewhere in my heart, I’m sure that’s what a certain mad scientist and his
cohorts are trying to accomplish.
That said, at present, all I can do is manage as best I can with the cards
I’ve been dealt. My salary is looking better, and considering my raises on
top of that, I need to work at least as hard as I’m getting paid.
“Gentlemen, Dacia was nothing but a live-fire exercise. Now it’s time
for the real war you’ve all been thirsting for.”
The best part is probably that a whiff of war fever is coming off most of
her handpicked subordinates. Under normal circumstances, of course, there
would be nothing good about that at all, but the moment a unit has to go
into battle, that trait becomes more than welcome.
“Give your all for His Imperial Majesty the Emperor and your
fatherland. Never forget your duty.”
““““Yes, ma’am!””””
Their magnificent reply satisfies her for now.
In terms of personnel management, it can be necessary to remind them
that their duty is commensurate with what they receive, but this time, given
their reactions, there doesn’t seem to be any need. Of course, I can’t let my
guard down.
It’s for the Empire that everyone seems so attached to and for myself.
Yes, I’ll have them properly serve the apparently beautiful and respectable
emperor as well as the fatherland… Luckily, my subordinates are strong, so
in a worst-case scenario, they can be my shield, too.
It’s too bad they’re so obsessed with fighting, but for the most part,
they’re still talented enough mages that I want to work with them.
“Good. Now we’ll hear the notice from the General Staff. Lieutenant
Weiss.”
Of course, I’ll have my deputy explain the details. After all, that’s why
the Empire and every other country established a system with adjutants and
vice commanders.
“Ma’am. As you’ve already heard from our commander, this unit will
serve as a mobile battalion.”
According to the notice from the General Staff, the 203rd Aerial Mage
Battalion will be deployed in an entirely different way than being assigned
to one of the army groups, as would be standard. We are the first unit
created specifically as a mobile battalion.
Naturally, it’s safe to assume that there will be plenty of experimenting
and that we’ll be expected to bring back a lot of informative reports. Due to
our status as a unit the General Staff can deploy without coordinating
heavily with an army group first, we won’t be picked on much as long as
we can live up to their expectations. In other words, be an easy-to-use
independent unit that promptly tackles any mission entrusted to us and we’ll
have no problems. Yes, though it hasn’t been explicitly stated, we’ve been
given de facto autonomy.
“To put it another way, we’ll be constantly shuttling around via interior
lines.”
In other words, it’s an even exchange of authority and responsibility. If
there is ever a problem on the front, we’ll be sent over and expected to
resolve it immediately. To explain it simply, Tanya employs a simile.
“The General Staff’s working us like a team of harnessed draft horses.
Rejoice. Apparently, they’ve prepared some carrots for us.”
I don’t know what the exact perks will be, but I predict the General Staff
will do all they can in terms of salary increases and chances for promotions.
Whether it will be enough for her men is another question.
“““Wa-ha-ha-ha-ha!”””
Well, laughing was probably all the troops could do. Who would happily
go to war for a perk or two? The officers and generals might see a modest
raise, but the rank-and-file soldiers don’t get much in terms of special
rewards. It honestly isn’t a very good proposition considering they’re
putting their lives in danger. Of course, if a free market system were in
place, it would be up to each individual to decide whether it was worth it.
In that sense, the conscription system is outrageous. The Empire drafts
people like Serebryakov who might be even slightly useful because the
nation doesn’t have the resources to fully attend to its citizens’ rights…
Tanya herself had no other option than to volunteer for the military for
much the same reason.
I would prefer it if they switched to a system of voluntary military
service as soon as possible. Or let me resign this very instant. Of course,
only if I can still collect on my civil servant and commissioned officer
pensions.
Tanya shakes her head slightly to clear out the extraneous thoughts, then
gestures to Weiss, who was looking at her questioningly. She indicates that
there’s nothing to worry about and has him continue.
“Battalion! Attention!”
The way the room quiets down the moment he shouts is extremely
satisfying. At least they’re disciplined enough to follow instructions
properly. Then again, of course soldiers should be able to do that much…
“Carrots or not, even horses aren’t lucky enough to eat for free.”
Lieutenant Weiss almost seems like he’s lecturing the soldiers as he
insinuates that the unit is expected to produce results. Watching him talk to
the troops is gratifying. I adjust my evaluation of him upward in a mental
grade book. My vice commander isn’t half-bad.
No one likes meaningless expenditure. A racehorse is expected to win; a
farm horse, to plow; a stud, to pass on his genes; and the workhorse earns
its keep through pure labor. If the vice commander can understand that and
explain it to others, he’s a keeper.
“Of course, we need to prove that we’re capable of handling a bit of
work.”
I’ve never particularly wanted to be a horse. And I wouldn’t want to risk
my human dignity by thinking I’d want to be “cultivated.” But if they’re
going to wedge the carrot into my mouth, I’m not opposed to biting it—
although it would be unfair if afterward they said, See? We’re supporting
you, so get to it!
“We’ll be assigned to a mixed group drawn from the Eastern Army
Group and the Southern Army Group, but we’re going to be under Northern
Command as a unit dispatched from Central.”
Political dignity as a concept is honestly ridiculous. Perhaps political
decisions that are considered without looking at the issues logically show its
limitations. Then again, the dictatorship of an emperor or nobles can be just
as terrible. Even democratic forms of government falling into the hands of
mob rule may be due to latent defects within the system. Humans truly are
political animals.
It’s possible that animals that have no honor are far more rational than
any human. Of course, this might just be a misunderstanding, since we
haven’t yet confirmed whether animals understand the concept or not.
“The General Staff wants us to test new combat tactics in the north.”
While listening to Lieutenant Weiss’s explanation, the essence of the
message echoes in Tanya’s mind.
This is a test. In any case, we belong to the General Staff, and no army
group on the front can order us around directly. Basically, we’re a unit the
General Staff can send on missions without interference from the regional
armies. I suppose all we can do is reconcile ourselves to our duty and
follow our orders to put on a show.
I feel like a circus monkey being forced to perform for other monkeys.
You could call it a species of abuse.
The only difference between me and the monkey is that there are
countless protection groups dedicated to preventing animal cruelty. There is
no organization that would shout That’s abuse! when it comes to imperial
soldiers. I’d like the people who cry Animals are not your food!5 to spare a
thought for us, too; people may be political animals, but we’re still animals.
I guess this is better than the pity of paternalists, though…
“…And so we’ve got to show them that we can work well enough in a
group to go picnicking.”
We’re stuck with orders to go up north to try some new stratagem for the
General Staff’s Operations Division. This isn’t really a mission that I want.
It’s the same as being sent on a pointless business trip due to company
hierarchy.
And talk about wasting time and resources. New tactics or whatever are
generally just novelties; they can’t be trusted. And on the off chance there is
an element that turns out to be something we could implement, how much
trial and error will we be forced to do before it’s usable? Tanya hasn’t said
much about it to anyone, but I can only think that someone thought this up
after noticing her service with Technology and the instructor unit.
Anyway, putting that irritation on display won’t get her anywhere. She
nods benevolently at Lieutenant Weiss, who was looking at her for
permission.
“Today at 1800 hours6 we’ll begin a long-range maneuver toward the
supply depot. Company commanders, after everyone is dismissed, we’re
having a meeting to decide the flight plan.”
While watching them trying to get down to business in the meeting, I
decide to throw out a few words—instructions, I guess. Soldiers love these
kinds of formalized interactions.
Let’s just say that not only do I disapprove of this waste of time, I can’t
sincerely appreciate this prioritizing mental intoxication. Of course, as a
member of the organization there’s no good reason for me not to participate.
That’s where Tanya endeavors to string together some sort of advice.
“Sorry to interrupt while you’re enjoying your chat, but I have some
quick news.”
It was a truth that people at company commander–level should have
already picked up on. Though it was only an unspoken doubt at this point, if
they knew it, their units would have a different outlook. It wasn’t a
particularly confidential matter.
“The Great Army may have pulled out, but it’s strange that the fighting
in the north hasn’t settled down yet.”
According to military standards, the Entente Alliance isn’t considered a
major world power. The fact that it’s able to qualitatively compete with the
Empire, on any level, implies that they’re receiving aid from somewhere.
Needless to say, its ally the Republic has already given it a formidable
helping hand, so there is no doubt that the majority of the support is from
there as well.
The real crux of the problem is whether those that claim neutrality are
intervening. Of course, these bystander countries deny any participation on
a national scale, but they are silent whenever the possible existence of
voluntary armies comes up. The participation of at least a few countries like
the Federation and the Commonwealth is certain.
To begin with, the Entente Alliance is dramatically less capable than the
Empire when it comes to the national strength that can be devoted toward
total war; Entente Alliance mages alone shouldn’t be able to put up such
stiff resistance. Its troops’ ability to fend off the Great Army while holding
steady against the pressure of the regional Imperial Army group speaks
volumes to the amount of aid they must be receiving. That’s the reason why
even Tanya’s battalion is stuck going on a picnic despite the Dacia situation
not being quite settled yet.
“So there has to be something going on—in other words, someone is
poking their nose where it doesn’t belong.”
“Commander?!”
Lieutenant Weiss was on his way out of the room when he changed
color. He must have had some idea what she was saying. It annoys me, but
he’s right that there are things that can be said aloud and some that can’t.
But considering the situation, it’s better to have Tanya’s subordinates in on
this from the beginning.
“Lieutenant Weiss, this is just my guess. A personal take on things.”
Well, for now, I’ll stay quiet about the supposedly neutral Federation. I
don’t mean to stir up unnecessary trouble. It could affect my career, and I
wouldn’t want to invite the fatal misunderstanding that I can’t be discreet.
Still, the troops are relaxed from their easy win in Dacia, so it feels like
Tanya has to brace them for what’s coming.
“Well, gentlemen, I just mean to say that I don’t know if it’s the
Republic, the Commonwealth, or some other nation, but someone is
definitely interfering.”
It really pisses me off that some other party is joining in. It’s faithful
enough to the principle of raison d’état that it makes me sick—simply put,
it’s actually a very rational decision. From the point of view of the other
powers, it’s a standard move to protect their national interests. Surely the
people of the Commonwealth and the Republic can rest easy knowing they
have heads of state who take security seriously. So compared to the
Commonwealth and the Republic, which conduct themselves as proper
political animals, the Entente Alliance, which starts a war on an impulse, is
even more irritating. What in the world is so fun about picking a fight with
the Empire?
Are its leaders just addicted to war and love it soooo much that they
can’t help it? Well, if that’s the case, maybe that’s why the Republic has to
help out its game dog after pitting it against the Empire.
Still, it’s a surprise world-class players even pay attention to such a
remote nation. Usually territories short on resources and potential
concessions don’t even show up as blips on the radar of powerful leaders.
“In other words, we’re going on a nice hiking trip with the whole world
watching.”
It’s significant that we’re heading to a battlefield that has every nation’s
attention. The General Staff are wagering the nation’s dignity on a swift
victory, so they must want a win badly. We also have to bear in mind
Supreme Command’s desire for an outcome that demonstrates the Empire’s
superiority as much as possible.
In any case, failure will not be tolerated in the slightest. We can
probably expect some sort of disciplinary reprisal if that happens. In order
to avoid falling into ruin, we have to be model imperial mages.
So despite my deep reluctance, to the battlefield I must merrily go.
Otherwise it’ll be interpreted as lacking the will to fight. In reality, I have
no love whatsoever for war, so I have to do everything in my power not to
be suspect.
“So? Great news, right?”
You guys get it, too, don’t you? They seem to pick up on my look.
“This is the best. To think the General Staff would provide us with an
opportunity to shine so soon.”
“I was just feeling like a skiing trip. What thoughtful orders!”
“I thought the General Staff only asked for the impossible. Are the
orders really from them?”
Luckily, everyone goes along. These guys have more tact than I
expected.
They understand both respect for a superior officer and what is being
asked of them. Maybe I don’t have to worry too much.
“Good. Well, that’s where we’re at, troops. We’ve been given the
opportunity, so we’re off on a trip up north.”
Am I pulling off the I can’t wait for combat look? I manage to avoid
spewing expletives by smiling.
“You’re excused.”
 NOVEMBER 6, UNIFIED YEAR 1924, NORTHERN
DISTRICT, KRAGGANA DEPOT, ADVANCE GUARD

For the Imperial Viper Battalion, the words the worst described everything
about their day. Certainly, there was no other way to explain the
circumstances after they sortied.
The bulk of the Empire’s proudest force, the Great Army, had been
abruptly redeployed, which caused massive confusion. By the time the
Imperial Army’s Northern Command managed to get everything under
control again, the Entente Alliance had taken the chance to recuperate and
rebuilt their lines. As a result, the imperial units that had been sent out to
pursue and mop up the enemy had to be reorganized, and the Northern
Army Group’s logistical network was overextended.
That meant opportunities for continuous Entente Alliance Army strikes
on imperial supply depots. Once the Northern Army Group had been forced
to spread their manpower thin to fend off the Entente Alliance commando
attacks, the enemy aerial mages would strike.
The Northern Army Group had already been hit with this tactic twice.
They were just barely managing to keep the front supplied, but they
couldn’t afford another major disruption. The depot raids had to be stopped.
That was the gist of the Viper Battalion’s mission to guard the supply lines.
The brass had made it sound simple, but for those actually tasked with
the assignment, it might as well have been impossible. Although the
Entente Alliance’s total mage strength was less in absolute terms, it had
total freedom in deciding when and where to attack. Meanwhile, the Viper
Battalion had to allot troops to multiple points and communication lines
because they were committed to defense.
It was a huge bother that the enemy had made remarkable qualitative
improvements. Most of the remaining Entente Alliance mages in this
commando unit had been in service since the war started. Furthermore,
these tenacious soldiers had been equipped with the latest model of orbs
that, though officially unmarked, were actually supplied by interested world
powers such as the Republic, the Commonwealth, the Unified States, and
the Federation. With this, the quality of their gear and combat capabilities
rose dramatically. The Entente Alliance mage commando unit had
transformed into a threat even imperial mages couldn’t take lightly.
On top of all that, the fact that imperial forces couldn’t let their guard
down against even new units on the front made it difficult for imperial
commanders to station troops. Sometimes the Entente Alliance sent in fresh
soldiers. If they were new mages rushed through training, they could be
immediately slaughtered, but sometimes there were “voluntary mages” of
unknown nationality mixed in; it was hard to know how to deal with those.
“Fucking hell. Entente Alliance mages again?!”
As a result, despite outnumbering their opponents on paper, the imperial
mage units on the defensive were suffering from local numerical inferiority.
The Viper Battalion’s skill was fairly standard for an Imperial Army
unit. Compared to others in the district, they were veterans with a good
amount of combat experience, and as usual in the Imperial Army, they were
well trained. There was no reason not to label them as a first-rate combat
unit.
So the fact that they were outnumbered by a fearsomely powerful enemy
unit could only mean the situation was terrible.
“This is sooner than we thought! Why did Intel say we had nothing to
worry about?!”
Information regarding the skill level and equipment possessed by the
average Entente Alliance mage had been passed on to Viper Battalion so
they were ready for the qualitative improvements, the disciplined fire, and
other tactical measures their opponents had taken that made them a greater
threat than before. But despite the force’s upgrades, according to their data,
the imperial mages should still have been superior on an individual level.
That’s why they were confident they could defend to some extent, even
if they were outnumbered. They figured with Airspace Control holding the
sky they could overwhelm the enemy with their individual abilities; a little
numerical disadvantage wouldn’t beat them.
So they wanted to curse Intelligence as the ones responsible for the
phoned-in report. They could explain it away as the fog of war, but the ones
who suffer are always the troops on the front lines. When everything was
predicated on different information, it made them want to be mean.
“—Commander!”
 He blossomed red upon shielding a subordinate who had carelessly
maneuvered into the enemy line of fire.
Luckily, his flight was only momentarily disrupted, and he soared across
the sky in an evasive maneuver; he must have managed not to black out.
There was no immediate threat to his life, but as far as the soldier could tell,
it was a serious wound.
As his buddies covered for him, maintaining coordination, what crossed
their minds was the notion that output strong enough to penetrate an
imperial mage’s defensive shell didn’t come from standard Entente Alliance
equipment. In spite of their grim suspicions, they cast formulas one after the
other. Even when the Entente Alliance unexpectedly made it a three-way
fight, the mages of the Viper Battalion were fulfilling their duty thoroughly.
“…I messed up. Sorry, 02, the rest is up to you.”
“Understood, Commander! 07 and 13, you two have reached your limits.
Fall back with him!”
02 had taken command, so he quickly shifted mental gears. Their
commander wouldn’t be able to continue fighting, but he needed an escort
to retreat, so the only option was to assign soldiers who were exhausted or
heavily injured to go with him. They hadn’t expected this to be such a tough
fight, but the enemy was also wearing down. All we have to do is defend, he
encouraged himself, but it pained him that their battalion was down to half
its original strength. A company’s worth of mages had already retreated.
Another half a company’s worth had been shot down and were still lying on
the ground below. Down to half strength, and their enemy was still raiding
their supply depots, though the fight should have been wearing them down,
too. Their determination was extraordinary.
“CP,7 do you read me? This is 01. Command of the Viper Battalion has
changed hands.”
“CP, roger. Viper 02, do you read me?”
Of course, there was tension in the CP radio operator’s voice. The
company they’d sent ahead was already combat ineffective. Almost all their
anti–air gunners who were supposed to be a powerful deterrent against
mages had already been evaded. Behind those, the only defense the supply
depot had was the temporary anti–air gun emplacements established to
provide direct support fire. Maybe they could do a little intercepting, but
there was no way they could handle a large-scale assault.
 “No problem. This is Viper 02. The commander has been seriously
wounded, so I’m taking over.”
Agh, what should I do? I want to take my time to think of a way to
handle this. If God exists, he’s a real asshole.
“CP, roger… Got some bad news for you. The surface observer squad
spotted two company-sized groups approaching from the northeast. Seems
like they’re definitely headed your way.”
“Reinforcements? How the hell do they have any left?” Viper 02 took
off his receiver and screamed. They’re chipping away at my friends in this
bloody battle, but we’ve downed way more than a company’s worth of these
bastards. And yet, two more companies were closing in on them. A little
math was all it took to see that the Entente Alliance was pitting a regiment’s
worth of mages against a single supply depot. Why?
This is a bigger problem than our intelligence agency being
incompetent. The Entente Alliance obviously has way more troops than we
thought.
“Viper 02 to CP. If I may share my thoughts on the matter…”
We won’t be able to continue interception missions like this. Our only
choice is to use the supply depot we’re supposed to protect as a shield, even
if it sustains some damage, and commit to a defensive battle. If we take any
more casualties, our unit will be wiped out, and the supply depot will be
overrun. Having made his decision, 02 had to tell CP.
“This is an emergency. Please make handling this top priority. The
battalion has sustained serious casualties. I don’t think we can take much
more. Requesting immediate permission to retreat. I want to take us back to
the depot.”
Even the exhausted Viper Battalion could fight their hardest in a tough
battle if they joined up with the depot’s defenses and the mages who had
retreated. It would increase the likelihood of the depot getting damaged, but
there was no other way to intercept at this point.
If the battalion fought with only the remaining mages, they would just
be picked off one by one. It would be better to at least join up with the
remnants of the units that could still fight and get support. They might get
cut, but they would be able to put up a better resistance that way than with
broken bones.
“CP, roger. I hear what you’re saying. I’ll consider it with high
command. Wait five minutes.”
Under normal circumstances, five minutes would be wonderfully
efficient. It was proof that the bureaucratic CP understood the gravity of the
situation. But even if he should have been happy for the prompt assistance,
as someone on the front lines, he had to think, Five whole minutes?
Three hundred seconds. How many times would they have to evade and
counter while waiting them out?
“Please respond as fast as you can. The vanguard is already beat up!”
In a brawl like this, the vanguard always had to face the enemy the
longest. They were already so worn down they could barely fend for
themselves as individuals, much less perform as a unit. Even if they set up
for a protracted defense, they wouldn’t last long. Just staying in the air was
a huge burden for them now. Only someone who had experience knew how
hard it was to dodge formulas. Anyhow, they had no choice but to hold out
until they got permission to retreat.
…That was the right mind-set, but it wouldn’t be that easy.
“Lieutenant, multiple aircraft at two o’clock—bombers,” came the half-
screamed report from his subordinate on guard. Agh, the worst guys show
up at the worst times. Mechanical birds that were comfortable flying at high
altitudes and could carry a huge amount of explosives a human could never
manage. They had almost never been spotted on the northern front:
bombers.
“H-how high?!”
“They’re at 9,500.”
His question contained a sliver of hope, but the response was cruel. It
sent a chill up his spine.
Nine thousand five hundred feet. That was too high for a mage but low
for a bomber. At that altitude, they could also bomb targets to some extent.
Naturally, they had sturdy armor. And a bomber unit under pursuit from
mages could shake them off with no trouble by leisurely climbing to a
higher altitude. Between the huge altitude gap and their armor, intercepting
bombers was too hard a mission for mages. That was why the aerial units
that specialized in interception always fought the air supremacy battles.
But with a mere mage battalion, they didn’t know what to do. Intercept
the bombers while fighting two battalions? That was the definition of an
impossible order.
 “Viper 02 to CP! It’s urgent!”
“This is CP. Viper Battalion, what is—?”
“We’ve spotted multiple bombers! Altitude is just an eyeball estimate,
but they’re at 9,500 feet! Intercepting is impossible. Deploy all the
marshaled troops immediately.”
What the heck? CP was taking too long asking the question, and he
furiously interrupted.
Bombers don’t have great mobility, but they are fast. If fighters go
around 250, then bombers go 200 to 210. Mages usually go around 230. If
they really worked, they could tolerate 250, but at that point they could only
really fly in a straight line.
The enemy was going for a one-two punch of bombs and mages. The
methods to deal with that were certainly limited. This enemy was awfully
crafty and capable.
“Bombers? Tell me how many and what direction.”
“Two o’clock from our perspective. About twenty.”
It was only twenty planes, but getting bombed in this state would entail
more than a little damage. It would be a disaster if they lost the winter fuel
stockpile. The troops on the front would have a cold time.
Surely their opponent knew that. That’s why they’d brought out not only
mages but bombers as well. This was what it meant for worse to come to
worst.
“CP, roger. Can you intercept them?”
He suppressed the urge to shout, How?! “They’re too high, and we still
haven’t eliminated the enemy mages. We can’t really use long-range
sniping formulas right now.”
Basically, It’s obviously impossible. It would be difficult even under
normal circumstances to eliminate bombers with a 3,500-foot gap in
altitudes. If they were operating fully manned and employed disciplined
fire, maybe, but that was about as much of a chance as they had.
Intercepting them while dogfighting enemy mages was unfeasible.
“…We definitely want to avoid Kraggana Depot getting bombed.”
“We can’t put up a fight if we’re all dead.”
CP seems to want to rely on us, but the impossible is impossible. There
are things that can and can’t be done, and we are doing our absolute
utmost. The voice of the Viper Battalion leader couldn’t help but become
sarcastic and even a bit resigned as he replied with pride. It seemed like no
matter what they did, they would be wiped out.
So are they going to tell us to brace for annihilation and resist? My
interest is purely sarcastic, but boy, even I’m getting pretty philosophical.
Maybe I should get ready to die.
It happened just as he thought that.
“Roger… What? Really?”
A whisper, then a shout. Then a flurry of voices. Something was
happening at the command post.
“CP? What’s going on, CP?”
“CP to Viper Battalion. Fall back immediately.”
The awaited retreat orders came down in a tone that brooked no
argument, but he never imagined they’d get them like this. What the hell
happened?
“We have permission to retreat? I appreciate it, but is everything all
right?”
“Rejoice—you have reinforcements. A battalion is rushing over from
Sector B-3. Once you join up with them, you’ll be under their command.”
Reinforcements? What woodwork did they suddenly come out of this late
in the game? If we had reserves, why did we end up in this struggle?
“Reinforcements? That’s news to me. If we had extra troops, what were
we waiting for?”
“They were dispatched from Central. Call sign Pixie.”
The operator ignored his attitude and simply conveyed the information.
If it was a unit from the central forces, they must be getting caught up in the
fighting as soon as they arrived. It was likely they had shown up ahead of
schedule and Command thought, Great! before throwing them right in.
“And you should be happy. Their commander is Named.”
He forgot his grudge in spite of himself and nearly whistled in
amazement.
Wonderful. That’s absolutely fantastic. A battalion of reinforcements and
a Named. It’s like the harvest festival and Christmas both arrived at once,
and we got this terrific present. If I could, I’d open a bottle of champagne
and welcome them with a toast.
“Viper 02, roger. Those are some fancy reinforcements.”
If we’re getting that kind of quality backup, then…yes, I see why we
were granted permission to retreat. I want to shout hooray, but I do wish
they could have come a little sooner.
At that last thought, he realized humans rescued from hopeless situations
tend to expect an awful lot, and he winced. Well, he knew it was completely
unreasonable, but he still had the nerve to think that if the reinforcements
had come earlier, his battalion wouldn’t have had to suffer so much.
Add some fighters, and it’ll be perfect. There probably wouldn’t be
many, but he was sure they would scramble some to intercept before too
long. His mouth naturally relaxed into a grin at the prospect. It was such a
load off to know that the enemy would be crushed one way or another.
“When will the fighters be taking off?”
“…They were judged to be unnecessary.”
The unexpected response stunned him.
Fighters? Unnecessary?
“Huh?” He wanted to ask what the radio operator was talking about.
“Don’t worry about it. Just hurry and meet up with your
reinforcements.”
“…Roger.”

AT THE SAME TIME, NORTHERN ARMY GROUP HQ

The staff at Northern Army Group Headquarters were staring at the map of
the war at a loss, and that was when they got news they didn’t really want to
hear. The deputy director of Operations in the central General Staff had
gone out of his way to come and deliver the notice in person. It might have
been central interference, but the wording was simple: “We’ve dispatched
reinforcements. Don’t touch them.”
“The damned General Staff. Why do they think they can go around
meddling in frontline business?”
The complaints of the high-ranking officers of the northern forces that it
was insulting were unsurprising. After all, they finally thought they were
getting support from Central, but the moment they had managed to
accommodate the hastily deployed Great Army, most of it was transferred
abruptly to the western front, and they were left in disarray. It was only
human nature that anyone stuck enduring unnecessary hardships in that
chaos would want to give Central a piece or two of their mind.
According to the report from the observation post, a battalion-sized
group of aerial mages was indeed rapidly approaching.
Aha, well that certainly is a nice batch of reinforcements. Seeing as they
were sent immediately after we requested them, they’re apparently serious
about being a response team. But Central giving us reinforcements and then
telling us not to touch them is overstepping their bounds.
“Well, maybe they gave us really elite troops?”
Even so, from another perspective, this is an opportunity for the Central
Army to pay us back. It pulled out the Great Army before the battle was
completely decided. Those guys are proud—they won’t come bowing in
apology. Although he wouldn’t go as far as to accuse them of taking
advantage of Northern Command’s current issues, they were probably
thinking to cancel out the debt.
“Are they trying to make us feel indebted to them…?”
“But ‘Don’t touch them’? That takes some nerve.”
Yeah, I can’t believe they said that. And if they were trying to make us
feel indebted…the northern supply depots are in trouble! Do they realize
that the already poor logistics framework for the Northern Army Group
could completely collapse?
“They’re talking pretty big considering the northern supply lines are in
crisis. I wish I were that confident.” You could even call that warning
arrogant. He made his spiteful remarks without thinking, but from someone
in the thick of it, it was the natural response. Then came even more
dumbfounding news.
“We just got a telegram from the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion. ‘This is
the Pixie Battalion.’ Uhh…”
A telegram from an incoming battalion of reinforcements? Normally,
they would report their call sign, and that would be all, but for some reason
the radio operator was hesitating.
“It’s fine—read it.”
A suspicious staff officer urged him on, and he finally continued.
“It says, ‘We don’t require assistance. Have the Viper Battalion retreat
immediately.’”
“We don’t require assistance”? The Viper Battalion has been
intercepting up until now, but they want it to fall back? This went past
impressively confident to overly confident.
There were two mage battalions and bombers out there reinforcing the
enemy side. It definitely didn’t seem like an attacking battalion fresh off a
forced march could handle it on their own.
They were supposed to put their units under a commander who didn’t
understand that? That was simply out of the question.
“…We can scramble fighters to intercept at any time, right?”
“Every hangar is on standby. One word and we can send them out.”
A few staff officers began quickly developing their own interception
plans. Even if the time they had to climb was limited, fighters scrambled
from the surface should be able to contain the bombers.
Originally, they were outnumbered and needed a way to deal with the
mages, so they were grateful for reinforcements, but…perhaps it would be
smart to stop the bombers on their own?
“Shouldn’t we use them? This situation is plain bad.”
“Well, it’s an order, though. Doing anything more would be…” He
swallowed the words acting without permission, but they embodied the
worried staff officer’s fears.
Staff members’ authority did not extend to acting without orders. Their
job was to plan operations, not make decisions. That was one of the hard
things about being a staffer. What freed them from that agony was
ironically the source of their current headache, the Pixies.
“The control unit got a read on the Pixies. Forty-eight signals. Speed
250, altitude…” The control unit on watch detected the incoming Pixie
Battalion.
The reported speed of 250 kilometers per hour was virtually the
maximum. If they could fly that fast and still maintain formation, it
indicated they were highly trained.
“That’s awfully fast. Hmm? What about the altitude?”
The staff officers were starting to feel like maybe they could count on
this backup and asked for the altitude data.
“They’re at…7,500? No…they’re still climbing.”
“What?”
 “Are you sure? They aren’t fighter planes, you know.”
Lessons learned in combat made six thousand feet the commonsense
limit. Maybe the data said the record was eight thousand, but it was hard to
trust that until they saw it in an actual battle.
The theoretical values the engineers talked about and the values a
frontline unit could achieve were of completely different importance. The
members of the class known as soldiers were always suspicious of new
frameworks, weapons, and technology. It was healthy skepticism given
their lives depended on whether the things were usable or not.
And that was why, in one sense, they had no choice but to be humbled
by what they were witnessing now. That was the weight of proof in combat.
“No mistakes. The Pixie Battalion is currently at eight thousand feet!”
“They’re accelerating! Three hundred?!”
Just as unbelievable was the jump in speed.
A unit flying in formation toward combat on the front lines was at
virtually the same speed and altitude that the tech tests had achieved. If the
data was real, it would indicate skills on a whole new level.
Is it true? If it was, this battalion’s performance was in such a realm of
its own that it would render all the existing units obsolete.
“Are those control unit readings accurate?”
“I don’t see any other abnormalities… Everything’s operating
normally.”
The same unbelieving expression rose to all the staff officers’ faces.
“It seems the central General Staff has a deviation as their trump card.”
“Seriously. Deviation is right.”
The only thing they could say was that they were glad this battalion was
on their side.

COMMONWEALTH VOLUNTARY ARMY FRONTLINE

COMMAND

“It’s Named! It’s a Named who was spotted in the west! We’ve got an
individual match—it’s the Devil of the Rhine!” the observer cried out in
surprise, and the entire HQ focused on him for a moment. The Named they
weren’t even sure existed had appeared.
The one who flew casually through the death zone.
The one who single-handedly slaughtered a company.
The one could use interference formulas so powerful they distort space.
When their contact in the Republican Army had given them the
intelligence, they’d laughed it off thinking it was too early for April Fool’s,
plus he’d been drinking.
It was true the Empire had superior technology and tactics, but they’d
thought this was beyond impossible. Their analysts had said she was a sort
of battlefield legend. Though they respected the Republicans and wanted to
avoid outright denying the claim, they figured she was at most a phantom
generated by the chaos of the battlefield. The gossipy officers had
whispered that sort of thing, questioning whether this Named even existed.
But now if their own observer was detecting her in real time, they
needed to reevaluate the data they had tried to forget like a bad joke over a
nice cup of tea.
“She’s real? I thought the Republicans were just daydreaming.”
Misunderstandings weren’t uncommon. If you took every confused
soldier’s report at face value, you’d join the ranks of the insane from the
paranoia. Thus, the Commonwealth officers who had realistically deemed
her either a false report or, at worst, some kind of mass hallucination had to
leap for their machines.
Some jumped for receivers to wake up the analyst squad. Others
promptly notified high command.
“We’ve identified the signature. There’s no mistake. She’s heading this
way.”
Then multiple observers succeeded in identifying her. They had input
the pattern half wondering if it was even real, but now they had a match. An
individual might misreport, but the conclusion reached by multiple precise
observations made by several observers wasn’t likely to be wrong. At this
point, they had to acknowledge that she was real.
“The enemy reinforcements are a battalion-sized group. We have no
record of this unit.”
Add to that the signal of a group containing numerous unknown signals.
Judging from the scale, it had to be a battalion—maybe even an augmented
battalion. If the mana inclination didn’t resemble any existing records, that
meant the Empire had deployed new mages.
The fact that there was almost no overlap with the Republic’s library
from the Rhine front had to indicate that the Empire had as many reserves
as ever. Apparently, despite the muddle, they could still produce a new unit
led by a Named.
“…I’m surprised they’re sending out a new unit when they already have
so much pressure on the Entente Alliance.”
“You think it’s the unit from Dacia? Most of the fighting is over there, so
they could probably afford to transfer them.”
Aha. He didn’t know who, but someone had said the Dacians couldn’t
even stand up to Boy Scouts, so certainly an Imperial Army Named would
have no trouble blowing them away. And it made sense to think that if they
were free, they would be sent to take care of the impudent Entente Alliance
command team and its rampage.
“We’ll take data. You got the recorders running?”
“If it’s true, he’s a monster who can take out a whole company on his
own. Don’t miss a thing.”
The intelligence officer may have been chatting, but he was staring at
the data the whole time. This unit had a mana inclination he’d never seen
before. And more than anything, he couldn’t ignore the actual existence of
the rumored Named from the unconfirmed reports in the west. If they had
so little info on a battalion led by a monster of that caliber, it had to be a
failure of their espionage in the Empire. So he realized, even if he didn’t
want to, how important objective observation of this new enemy was.
“Picking up any transmissions?”
“It’s no good. They’re using an unknown code and protocol. At least, it’s
not in the library.”
That was the answer he had expected. Even if they couldn’t decipher
them, by intercepting and recording wavelengths, they would be able to
grasp enemy unit hierarchy and movement.
But if all the records they had didn’t contain this code or protocol, who
was this new enemy? He was keenly disappointed that Dacia had fallen so
quickly. They had gone so fast it was no wonder they weren’t able to get
any data out of the conflict, but he still wished for the impossible.
 “Commander, it’s nearly certain they’re a new unit with the Empire.
There are almost no similarities with existing records of the Northern and
Western Army Groups.”
“All right. Well, gosh, I’d really like to send up a control unit.”
Everyone grinned. Even deployed in the frozen north, they hadn’t lost
their sacred sense of black humor. All of them understood. They didn’t need
to be told that they were under too much pressure in this war. It was evident
that the Commonwealth was wrestling with political restraints at home,
which limited its military in ways individual soldiers could do nothing
about. God and the devil seemed to be involved somehow, so after a round
of curses for each, the officers on-site reluctantly accepted their
circumstances, resigning themselves to their fate.
“Yeah, we can’t send a plane in.”
“Right… We should probably be more worried about whether we’ll be
able to withdraw with our gear in one piece.”
Pressure on the Entente Alliance Army was gradually increasing. They
weren’t completely falling apart yet, but that was just it—the only way to
describe the current situation was not fallen apart yet.
The calmer third-party observer could see that the Empire, without even
making this front its main focus, was driving the Entente Alliance to
collapse. The Entente Alliance was like a bedridden patient with a serious
illness, just barely hanging on. If the situation changed even slightly, it
would have a seizure and breathe its last.
“Ngh. Well, for now, alert the front lines.”
“Roger.”
But the CP officers consciously cleared those thoughts from their minds
and focused on the tasks before them, shouting instructions into receivers.
Determining the enemy’s status was a task that involved many difficult
elements, but at least the team on the scene was a group of intelligence-
gathering veterans. They had been sent out with an eye on future fighting
with the Empire.
Since the Commonwealth hoped they would gain all sorts of experience
and learn a lot in combat, from a national defense standpoint, it was very
considerate toward its personnel and had outfitted them well.
“But I’m surprised. Who’d have thought a battalion could come flying
over at three hundred kilometers per hour?”
 “That’s far from what you’d expect. Maybe the apparatus needs tuning
after all?”
So these men chosen from across the Commonwealth’s armies were
expected to learn from the Imperial Army and master their tactics. But even
these most promising soldiers hadn’t had much combat experience, and on
top of that, the assumptions that had been pounded into them were all
prewar doctrine. The reality of the battlefield was far removed from the
experiences and techniques they had accumulated during peacetime.
Thus, if they didn’t learn a thing or two before their country was
enveloped in war, they would pay for it with their own flesh and blood.
Most of the staff officers had thought this Named couldn’t exist, but she
did. In other words, she wasn’t an illusion of the battlefield but a real
nightmare. It was no laughing matter, but the predictions made far from the
actual fighting had already missed their mark.
Ironically, the fruit of the Commonwealth’s diplomatic victories was a
vexing dearth of combat experience. Only specialists can do the analysis
necessary to distinguish subtle changes in the war situation. Their failure to
read the situation was irritating.
In intelligence work, there wasn’t anyone who could teach that essential
sense—you had to develop it through your own experience. Of course, there
were no specialist textbooks, and even if there were, they wouldn’t be of
much use.
“…We should probably be ready for about half of what we heard.”
For that reason, most of the officers dispatched were chosen so that they
would gain experience. Of course, most of them weren’t told they had been
selected for purely educational purposes, but the ones who couldn’t figure it
out were forcibly sent home as wastes of time and resources. That being the
case, the remainder went about performing well-focused, objective analysis.
It was precisely for that reason, due to their quick sagacity, that they
sensed they were facing a crisis. Even if all the stories had been
exaggerated, this was an imperial Named. And the reinforcements consisted
of a battalion—very likely an augmented battalion. Even taking the simplest
view, it was a battalion-scale attack. There was no cause for optimism.
“So what if that Named can blow up a whole company instantaneously?
There’s no way the bastard can take two battalions, right?”
Still, a wishful hope existed somewhere in their minds. Let’s just say,
hypothetically, that there was a Named who could fight against a company.
Even so, numbers can overwhelm strength—so they still had a chance. If
she had been alone, she probably wouldn’t have been such a problem.
“But we can’t ignore the battalion. They must be highly trained if
they’re coming in that fast.”
“Meanwhile, we have numbers, but we’re a composite unit… Could be
tough.”
Purely from a numbers standpoint, the new enemy battalion was a grave
threat. There was no doubting the fact that a fresh battalion would be a hard
fight for two tired battalions. Conversely, you could say a hard fight was as
difficult as it would get. That was what they were thinking.
“So the Republic, the Commonwealth, and the Entente Alliance all have
different combat doctrines, huh?”
What the Commonwealth men were most worried about was the
possibility that even if they all joined forces, they wouldn’t be able to
cooperate well. The Republic and the Commonwealth were secretly
fighting together, but as long as there was intelligence they couldn’t share,
there would be major losses.
The Republic (to whom the Entente Alliance had cried and who was
now asking for help itself) and the Commonwealth (which was gathering
intelligence for war with the Empire on its mind) had gotten very out of
step. Today they were extra conscious of that fact.
“If our coordination gets disrupted, we might have to split up.”
No matter what the Republic and Entente Alliance did, the
Commonwealth was loath to give up its neutral status; even when it did join
a war, it did so with caution.
The Republic and Entente Alliance would bad-mouth the
Commonwealth, saying it had a tendency to conserve power or that it only
fought to test a new weapon in actual combat. But were those really insults?
The officers had to wonder. The state wanted to keep casualties to a
minimum.
“It will take some time, but a reorganized battalion might be able to
come help.”
Naturally, the Commonwealth’s voluntary army—full of soldiers who
signed themselves up—didn’t want to break through if it meant a high
number of casualties. After all, they had to buy the indispensable time for
their home country to switch over to the wartime system. Though they had
numerical superiority, never for a moment did they want to fight head-to-
head on a battlefield where a Named was coming to meet them.
And when she had an Imperial Army unit as backup, it was time to start
considering withdrawal, but they couldn’t ignore the fact that they had
sacrificed so much to disrupt enemy logistics.
“I guess in the worst case, we’ll smash the position using just the
bombers?”
So accomplishing the minimum goal would depend on the bombers.
They were bombing a fuel depot. Even a small number of successful
attacks could get them great results. And if they failed, the planes they were
leasing to the Entente Alliance were old models that the Commonwealth
wouldn’t use anyway—something they thought but couldn’t say.
“I’m against that. If fighter planes intercepted, we’re liable to sustain
more damage than we can brush off.”
“Can’t high-speed bombers shake them off?”
“The Republic already tried it and got burned, so I’m against it.”
“In that case, we need to eliminate the enemy mages somehow.”
“We stand a lot to gain from that. I guess we have no choice.”
They pretended to worry about the bombers for appearances. Really,
they just had to make remarks for the record. After all, everyone knew the
“high-speed” bombers they had provided moved dirt slow.
“The issue is the ability of the Named and the unknown battalion. It
would be great if the bombers could take care of them…”
Those were their true feelings on the matter, a boorish hope that the
enemy would overexert themselves attending to the bombers.
At that moment, fate played a trick on them.
They had taken over a simple, hidden Entente Alliance Army control
center used for observing the front line over twenty kilometers ahead and
giving direction. But they had forgotten something. They had forgotten that
twenty kilometers was not much distance at all to a mage.
“What? For real?! There’s no mistake?!”
Suddenly the CP officer on control duty jumped up, turned pale, and
shouted into the radio. A moment later, a number of other officers stood
with equally bloodless faces.
“This is α Battalion! This is urgent! What the—?! Recommend taking
shelter!”
“Kill the power! We’re getting traced!”
Everyone was shouting at practically the same time.
“I’m getting a strong mana signal from the Named! She’s rapidly
deploying a magic bombardment formula!” Then the controller started
shrieking, and the panic escalated.
We’re getting traced? A warning to take shelter from α Battalion…? A
strong mana signal?
“What? She can’t hit us from there!”
“Take shelter! Take shelter!”
A few of the officers kicked aside the idiots who instinctively denied the
necessity of the warning, ran for the dugout, and were blown away a
moment later.

ALTITUDE 9,500, IN THE WAR ZONE AHEAD OF THE

SUPPLY DEPOT

“With his glory like the morning sun, he illuminates the darkness. He is
born! Praise the Lord!”
A converging magic bombardment formula.
Magic bombardment has the penetration and destructive power of a 28
cm gun. The seven-layer control equation that created it scatters and
disappears. For an instant, the battlefield shines with a great light, and then
the sound of impact roars through the air.
“Collapse of surveillance waves confirmed. Elimination of enemy
observation unit complete.” At the same time, a noise-heavy report of the
effects comes in from her observer, Lieutenant Serebryakov. “Splendid,
Major,” she adds, and Tanya has to agree.
She rarely registers the satisfaction of an attack, but this time she feels it.
It goes without saying that she hit her target. And it had to be quite a blow
to them. In any case, this fundamental part of any mage battle, eliminating
the enemy observation personnel, had gone quite smoothly.
 The victims were either amateurs, or they were awfully confident in
their dugouts, but they had been putting out powerful surveillance waves
like crazy, so they had been discovered right away. Compared to the
Republican Army, which was mainly a passive receiver of waves, they were
quite easy to find.
Apparently, the Entente Alliance’s army continues to be qualitatively
inferior. You wouldn’t normally actively emit surveillance waves unless
you were at a distance in a control unit where you could easily escape, or at
least a surface surveillance train.
How dumb are they to blithely observe from a fixed position?
That’s Tanya’s judgment coming from experience. It seems luck is with
her. She balls her little hands up and enjoys it.
“Enemy transmissions dramatically increased. Multiple calls from
mages confirmed. You must have hit their Combat Direction Center.”
The report from her subordinate observer only deepens her belief. She
has definitely, without a doubt, blown away the enemy controllers.
Knowing the implications of that, she triumphantly raises her rifle and
crows.
Even just looking from a distance, she is satisfied to see the enemy
formations begin to waver—an indication of the shock they just received.
“Okay, we definitely got them, right? Then let’s move in.”
Normally, engaging the enemy in an airspace of their choosing with a
numerically inferior force is out of the question. I would stubbornly refuse.
But once the enemy’s head is blown off, that’s a different story. A
conservative description of the units fighting in the air would be chaos. The
job of maintaining discipline and turning this into organized combat is too
big for their frontline commander to handle.
No matter how outstanding the commander, once combat devolves into a
brawl, it’s impossible to keep an eye on the entire situation. There are limits
to how much a commander can monitor their unit while engaged in
dogfighting. On that point, Tanya is thankful for the Imperial Army’s
combat doctrine. Its mission-oriented beliefs mean that if an officer has
good subordinates, they don’t need to hold their hands and show them how
to shoot.
Of course, the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion is receiving a minimum of
direction, including navigation support, from Norden Control. A war
without Control is just a crude dogfight between isolated mages.
After all, without Control to keep the necessary order, you’re left with
individual mages flying around. Power that can’t be harnessed isn’t much of
a threat.
“Pixie 01 to all hands. Enemy Control has been eliminated.”
We are lucky the linchpin of the enemy command scheme gave away its
position. You never know till you try, so she had thrown out the
bombardment and blown them away with ease…apparently.
Now the enemy is no longer units but a mob of individuals. Mages
without their CP are like a pack of Don Quixotes each fighting their own
battles.
“Pixie 01 to CP. Send the status of the enemies you spotted.”
“CP, roger. The remaining enemies are flying at 6,500 feet. Looks like
the vanguard is about a reserve regiment’s worth. Two companies guarding
them. They also have bombers. No sign of reinforcements.”
The situation is exactly what it looks like. The only enemies who can
engage with us right now are the disheveled troops directly before us.
Normally, enemy control would have any number of options how to
proceed, like sending the escorts ahead to shore up the disordered vanguard.
But now none of them know what to do—they’re panicking. Entente
Alliance and Republican mages, I’ve noticed, have a tendency to be overly
specialized in group combat.
The mages of our Imperial Army’s pride, the 203rd Aerial Mage
Battalion, who somehow cheerfully survived their hellish training, should
be able to overpower them. At the very least, they probably won’t hold me
back, so I can use them as a shield with no problems.
And this time we also have the wonderful addition of enemy bombers. If
I take them down, I can expect a raise and other perks, according to air
force regulations.
Ah, this really is great. Tanya unconsciously gives her lips a vulgar lick.
For once, she’s in a situation that is virtually blue ocean. It has to be her
efforts day after day that have created such a blessed environment. As in
Dacia, fate, or the law of cause and effect or whatever, is finally on my side.
I’m willing to stick with the hypothesis that Being X is evil, but I’m in a
good enough mood to argue that a benevolent entity might exist.
“First, Second, and Third Companies, hunt the two enemy vanguard
battalions. Fourth Company, with me.”
We aren’t lacking a necessary cause to act. I’m the commander of the
battalion, the one who leads.
To put it bluntly, my attitude is more or less Maybe I’ll end up fighting
myself at some point. I can push the annoying job of dealing with enemy
units onto my underlings.
Or rather, that’s what they’re there for. I want my subordinates to give it
their all so I can think about more important things.
The Imperial Army General Staff has invested a lot in these guys. It’s
not my money, but it is taxpayers’ money, so I’ve done my best to put it to
wise use. I don’t want to do anything that would make me look inept, and
though taxes are a sort of evil, I’d like to atone for it by using the funds in a
meaningful way.
For that reason, I need to show that the investment was worth their
while. Most of all, I don’t want to be branded all talk and sent to the front
lines as punishment. So I’ll leverage my position and make my subordinates
do the tough stuff.
There’s a right man for every job, you know. Since they like war so
much, I’m sure they’ll be happy to do it. I intend to make my way to the
rear with a record of discovering and recommending talent. This is the ideal
win-win scenario. It’s fair to call it truly wonderful.
“Fourth Company, we’re going to strike the escorts and the bombers.
After that, we’ll go around the back of the other fight and pincer those two
battalions.”
For the time being, I take Fourth Company as my escort and initiate
maneuvers to take the rear. I want to avoid any danger spots, so under the
pretense of a detour, I put off some fighting. First, I want to see how they do
against my subordinates. If the enemy seems stronger than expected, I’ll
abort the roundabout sneak attack and head back to assist the rest of the
troops. My insurance is all in place.
“That’s it for the battle plan. That said, gentlemen…”
The Northern Army Group is watching, so I need to show them this
frontline commander’s fighting spirit.
This’ll make us look like an army.
A resolute commander with a loud voice and an offensive mind-set will
silence any meaningless criticism.
 Just look at the loudmouth Tsuji. He indiscriminately ground down
talent, caused a catastrophe, and still got promoted.
“Though your job is to stop them, you don’t have to wait for me by any
means. I don’t mind at all if you defeat them.”
If things get bad, I’ll use the Tsuji doctrine to protect myself. For better
or worse, after World War II, that guy brilliantly managed to avoid war
crime prosecution. Even if I can’t imitate his shameless nerve, there are still
things I can learn from him.
He could have been a corporate warrior who would have forever been
waging internal company battles with his demonic drive for promotion.
Well, I don’t actually want to be that kind of person. This world is rather
impossible for good citizens like me—I have shame and a conscience.
“Also, when we get back, whichever company gets the worst results will
have their commander treat the rest of us to a party. I ordered some twenty-
five-year-old wine, so fight hard if you don’t want to go bankrupt!”
Thus, I came up with an elegant way to get around socialization
expenditures. Associating with one’s subordinates is part of a boss’s job, but
I hate getting my expenses audited for no reason. Take that guy, for
example. Tsuji was really picky about inspecting for improper spending. He
would find people’s weaknesses that way.
What you can learn from that is that armies and companies aren’t so
different from one another. Improper spending on entertainment will affect
your future career. So I’ll use my subordinates’ money—just below the
threshold of power harassment.
Furthermore, though in society it’s generally accepted that children
aren’t allowed to drink wine, if one of my brothers-in-arms offered me
some, and I can’t refuse, perhaps the army would look the other way. The
thought that I might finally get to have wine brings tears to my eyes.
““““Understood!””””
“Good. Now then, gentlemen. Do your duty for the emperor and the
fatherland.”
I don’t have a lick of love or respect for the emperor, and as for the
fatherland, I just hope I get benefits commensurate with the taxes I pay. But
the state does give me my soldier’s pension and other various allowances.
Then again, this place sadly seems to be in the strategic position Germany
was in during the First World War…
 Ahh, what a tragedy. I feel like I’m at a company guaranteed to go
bankrupt. Or like an employee who is going to be worn down to nothing at
an office with abhorrent working conditions. There’s no way to win here.
I’d like to submit my voluntary resignation and transfer to a better
company. In the worst case, I would even be ready to bring a labor suit.
But betraying the army during a war would come with all sorts of
troublesome issues. Who would trust a whistle-blower like that? Even if
they promise freedom of belief, nobody would want to take on a hard-core
leftist activist in a million years.
Thinking logically, only an idiot would risk betrayal if the returns aren’t
guaranteed to be worth it. What’s more, it would be difficult to protect
myself when I’ve already done so much killing in this war.
My position is somewhat like a sniper’s. If the war ends and I can be
safely demobilized, that’s great, but on the off chance I find myself having
to surrender, there’s a good chance I’d be shot on the spot. In a word, I’m
buying my enemy’s enmity at limit up.
“Let’s teach those Entente Alliance mopes and the rest of them a lesson.
They don’t get it when you only put it in words.”
Actually, I tried to get them to surrender once, and I couldn’t get through
to them at all. Hideously enough, they’re people without a shred of
economic sense. If they like war so much, they should just split their
country in half and fight among themselves.
But apparently, the Republic and the Entente Alliance are really into
involving others. Talk about a pain in the neck. They’re beyond saving if
they ignore the balance between public matters and personal freedom by
causing other folks trouble. I’d like them to think a bit about what a
nuisance they are to the average person.
“We’re gonna bring an iron hammer down on them from the heavens.
They’re about to learn how powerless they really are.” If we can’t leisurely
attack them from high in the sky, I won’t be able to take this.
For now, we have the bandwidth to spare, but this really isn’t good for
my heart.
The only time I’m thankful for this little body is when the enemy is
aiming at it and having trouble hitting. A wise man once said, “They call
bullets slugs because they pack a punch.” Well, I don’t want to get shot.
“First, Second, and Third Companies, go on ahead. We’ll go around and
strike from behind.”
That’s why into the most risky situations—with the greatest potential for
achievement—I send the volunteers.
“““Roger! Glory to the fatherland and our commander!”””
“I wish you all luck.”
Well! It seems my subordinates are really starved for war since we
walloped the Dacians. They’re more fired up than I imagined they would be
—it’s a bit moving. They have a consummate service spirit.
They’re so wonderful that if they weren’t so dedicated to the pursuit of
the unproductive enterprise of war, I would definitely want to recruit them.
It’s really too bad. It’s this kind of thing that proves the devil’s existence.
If God existed, resources wouldn’t be allotted so improperly. The market
principle is the one truth path. Only the market has an invisible hand.
Honestly, it’s so unfortunate. The world really is made to be difficult. It
seems like it’ll be a long time before economics works everything out.
“Fourth Company, we’re climbing. We’re going to go around and attack
those two companies that seem like reinforcements.”
Anyhow, this job is fine—I’ll just do what needs to be done. We’re an
augmented battalion—four companies. What that means is we’re a battalion
plus an extra company. Our battalion will intercept the two battalions, and
the extra company will take on the two companies. What simple
proportions. As for where to employ my personal strength, the latter
situation is easier. And I want to make it easy on myself, so I’m going with
the latter group.
There is no greater aim on the battlefield than to defeat the enemy with
as little effort as possible. It’s all about how comfortable you can make your
life.
The idea that struggling while you’re young builds character must have
as much truth to it as a hedge fund advertisement. I think I’ll go ahead and
build other people’s character.
“Understood. What will you do about the bombers?”
“They’re mine. Don’t hate me! I’d just like to be an air force ace as well
as an army one.”
“Ha-ha-ha. Good one.”
He asked something important, so I made myself clear. I replied casually
enough, but I meant it. Though it was a sort of snobby motivation, I read
somewhere that it’s not bad to show a human side once in a while. Of
course, I also read that if you’re too snobby, people won’t like you. Why is
a good person like me so unreasonably tormented by Being X and made to
fight in this war in the first place? I can’t help but lament my fate.
But now my subordinates have started to laugh like they’ve heard a
great joke. Finding that suspect, I glare at them and ask what in the world is
so funny.
“You know you have to do it with fighter planes, right?”
But the answer is simple. Vexingly enough, it seems I’ve misunderstood
the rules. How regrettable that I should expose my ignorance in front of my
men like this. What indescribable shame.
“Really? That’s too bad. We should have borrowed fighter planes. I’d
almost like to go back and get them.”
“Why don’t you? Although, if I go with you, I think I’ll end up having
to treat the battalion.”
They must be having a great laugh at my expense. Going back to borrow
fighter planes from the air force? I can’t do that.
If I did, it’d be treated as fleeing before the enemy. Death by firing
squad! Death by firing squad would be waiting for me. And on top of that,
it’s not like I can pilot a fighter plane anyhow, so I wouldn’t even have an
excuse. I have no doubt this bureaucratic system would execute even a
young child like me. Isn’t there some kind of interest or rights group, or
even a group with vested interests, that would protect me?
“I couldn’t possibly turn my back on the enemy.”
“Well, that’s that, I suppose. Let’s just finish this up as fast as we can.”
And then messages from the other units come in. There’s nothing better
than good timing.
I love that my men can read a situation. I’m sure they’ll be a great help
in getting promoted. This is very good.
“Sorry, you’re definitely going to be treating us. Engage!”
“Twenty-five years… I’ll be drinking my fill. Company, forward!”
“Nothing better than having good brothers-in-arms. Well then, ’scuse us,
Commander.”
“A-argh! Those guys! My apologies, Commander.”
The atmosphere had completely changed. They were great backup.
Even though I had been in human resources, where I didn’t have to deal
with too many nights out drinking or entertaining clients, when someone is
this good, I know in a glance. These guys are definitely cut out to be in
sales. I’m sure they have what it takes to handle strategy.
What a waste. It really is a shame. The fact that they love war instead of
business is just too bad. I have to respect their free will, yet I still find it
unfortunate.
“Okay. Don’t worry about me. Go on ahead.”
“Thank you. Fourth Company, we’re going out in front!”
Apparently, all my company commanders are full of fight. They’re
raring to go like Dobermans before their prey, so when I let go of their
leashes, they’re off.
They immediately get into a spindle-shaped assault formation and zoom
out of the sky to put pressure on the enemy from above. It’s a truly beautiful
maneuver. The instantaneous charge is performed in perfect unity, but their
desire for battle is so intense they get a bit too daring.
Really, I had intended to have Fourth Company be my direct support,
but if they like fighting so much, maybe it’s safer to keep my distance. They
might be too aggressive to use as my shield; enemies might actually be
attracted to them.
“Sheesh, so I’m up against the slowpoke bombers? Doesn’t seem like
we’ll be able to dance.”
My own lonely interception battle. Against bombers, I probably won’t
get to perform any elegant maneuvers. It’ll be the simple labor of turning
into a fixed battery and blasting them out of the sky. If I miss, I’ll just be a
laughingstock, so although it’s a safe job, I can’t take it too easy.
“I’m not really in the mood, but this is work. Let’s just get it done one
step at a time.”
Maybe it’s good not to stick out, but you can’t show people what you
can do that way. Besides, I’m up against bombers. I have to aim very
precisely to take them out.
Since I can’t sense magic and use that for guidance, I have to employ
either heat detection or radar. I may be a mage, but I don’t come with radar,
and building in a heat detection formula is a pain. Considering it’s going to
basically be a sniper attack in the end, it doesn’t seem worth the time and
effort.
Frankly, it’s no wonder that puts me in a foul mood. At least if I down
the things my score will go up.
“Major von Degurechaff, how copy?”
“This is Pixie 01, solid copy. Since when have you forgotten we use call
signs?”
And that’s why I gave a cranky response to the message that suddenly
came in.
Perhaps not being able to control my emotions disqualifies me as an
adult member of society, but nobody would be happy to have a difficult job
interrupted with a flagrant violation of regulations. Honestly what does
everyone think rules and regulations are for? There are too many careless
people in the world.
“M-my apologies.”
“What do you think the military discipline and regulations are for?”
You can’t just fix this kind of thing by saying sorry. Regulation
violations lead to accidents. Don’t you know Heinrich’s Law, the rule of
thumb an insurance worker discovered taking statistics? Accumulating
small mistakes is the first step to a serious accident. Mistakes must be
eradicated.
“Please leave it at that. This is Hotel 03, Hotel 03. Do you copy?”
Someone who sounds important got on the line, so I decide to adjust my
attitude. Sometimes swallowing your pride is the right choice. As a member
of an organization, what you need to do is simple: Don’t bite the hand that
feeds you.
“This is Pixie 01. Loud and clear. What can I do for you?”
“The reorganization of the Viper Battalion and the units that retreated is
complete. Shall we have them act as a rear guard?”
This time instead of scolding, Tanya breaks into a smile at what a well-
made address it was. The Viper Battalion is worn down, and she figured
they would be more like deadweight than reinforcements, but it seems their
reorganization has gone well. Perhaps the Northern Army Group is more
efficient than she gave them credit for.
“Wow, what a speedy reorganization! Very well, please do.”
Anything useful is welcome. Deadweight that can’t even serve as a
shield is annoying, but she is always happy to accept pawns.
She has more luck than she thought this time. People shouldn’t rely on
fortune, but neither should they be too narrow-minded to seize a good
chance.
“What? Oh, understood. I’ll get them on their way.”
“You have my thanks. Now watch us work. Over.”
While I’m at it, I want to share the news with my unit. Even for a bunch
of war aficionados, there shouldn’t be anything better than getting more
friends. Frankly, Tanya is ready to welcome reinforcements right away.
The truth of the matter is that they were outnumbered, so she couldn’t
wait for the reorganized battalion to arrive.
“Battalion, this is your commander.”
Yeah, they’ll probably be happy. They’ll be able to fight without
worrying about their rear. I live by the creed “safety first,” and even I’m not
against realizing a few achievements in this battle.
“Rejoice. We’re getting backup. Some reinforcements are coming all the
way out here to help us.”
I’m surprised a unit that withdrew could be reorganized so efficiently.
Wonderful. That’s the word to express how moved I am. Granted, it’s
dangerous to judge a whole situation by looking at only a couple events.
Still, even if the radio operator is inept, this shows his superior officer is on
point.
The reinforcements will probably be here any minute.
“Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Why don’t we just take our time and wait for our backup? I can’t say that
because my will to fight would be suspect, but if I can get them to
understand as much indirectly, there would be no problem. Tanya’s real
intention as she informs them of the reinforcements is to change the plan in
a big way, from an offensive tactical formation to a defensive one, just like
in Dragon Quest.
“““Yes, ma’am!”””
The clipped reply surely means they grasp her intentions. Tanya nods in
satisfaction.
“Now, let’s do as much work as we get paid for!”

NOVEMBER 7, UNIFIED YEAR 1924, SOMEWHERE IN

 THE ENTENTE ALLIANCE… A HOSPITAL OPERATED
BY THE COMMONWEALTH HUMANITARIAN
ORGANIZATION PEACE WORLD

“The bombers are done for! No support yet?!”

“The light—the light!! Uwaaaagh!”
“We lost the formation leader’s signal?!”
“Break! They’re fast! Put up a wall of bullets! Don’t get anywhere near
them!”
“Pixie 02 to all companies. Charge!”
“Ngh! They’re past the vanguard?! Stop shooting and be ready for a
close-quarters fight!”
“Mayday! Mayday! No rescue yet?!”
“Norland Control to all units. Abort the operation! Abort the operation!
As of this moment, abort the operation!”
“The bomber unit—!”
“Fucking hell! The vanguard got savaged! Who are those guys?!”
“The recon company has been wiped out! At this rate, we’ll be
surrounded!”
“They got past our close support?!”
“Viper 02 to Pixie 01. We’re on our way now.”
“Roger. No sign of enemy reinforcements. Expect a hot pursuit.”
“Viper 02, roger.”
“Detecting enemy reinforcements! They’re the size of a battalion.”
“Reinforcements? What about ours?!”
“Norland Control to all units. Retreat immediately to marshaling point
two. I say again, retreat immediately to marshaling point two.”
“It’s no good! I can’t lose them!”
“Damn it, damn it, damn it!”
“Pixie 01 to all hands. Transition to cleanup.”
“Viper 02 to Pixie Battalion. We have visual.”
“We see you, too. Can we leave the pursuit to you? I want my team to
mop up the stragglers.”
“Enemy reinforcements have arrived!”
“Fucking hell! Don’t stop! Run! Hurry!”
 “Roger. Thanks.”
“For fuck’s sake, this is hell!”
“My intestines… Someone pick up my intestines!”
“They’re your sworn enemy. No need to hold back. Over.”

What the hell did I drink last night?

The first question that entered his mind was absurd.
He could tell someone was shaking him, but it took a long time for his
brain to start working.
First Lieutenant Gunning wondered why his whole body felt so heavy.
Someone is…calling me?
“Nn…!”
His consciousness returned, though it was hazy, and outlines began to
appear.
“Lieutenant! Lieutenant!”
…Well, this is no good. If they’re not using my name, it’s either my boss
or the military police.
But I’m still out of it. I’m so dizzy I can’t take it.
Seriously, what did I drink? I’m fit as a fiddle after a bottle of Scotch, so
why…? Did someone slip me vodka?
He only cracked his eyes open, as was his habit.
A blinding white space. Something was blinking. No, maybe some kind
of machine?
The brightness still bothered him, but a strange sense that his body
wasn’t his own confused him. He was so weary that try as he might he
couldn’t move.
As he stared up at the ceiling, his brain finally woke up, and as it got up
to speed, he started to grasp his surroundings. At a glance, it didn’t seem to
be his room. So what’s going on?
He had no recollection of this. A pure white field. Hmm? A room? I
think I know this place. I have some memory of it. So where am I?
“…Uhhhgh. Where…?”
He wasn’t particularly looking for a reply with the groan, but it seemed
the person who had been calling out to him had heard. It caught the
attention of everyone in the vicinity, apparently, and suddenly he was
engulfed in a huge commotion. For whatever reason, he tried to sit up, but
he nearly tipped over instead. His body wouldn’t move the way he wanted.
It seemed like someone propped him up, and he vaguely understood he was
being held.
“Lieutenant! Okay, you’re conscious, right? Medic! Bring a surgeon,
quick!”
“What…?”
Just voicing the question exhausted him completely. Something weird is
going on. He couldn’t find the words for it, but something was different.
What the heck happened to me?
He wasn’t half-asleep, but though his awareness kept increasing, the
foggy light before his eyes failed to dissipate. Not only would his eyes not
focus, he couldn’t hold them steady.
If I were hungover, I’d feel sick and have a headache…and I don’t. As
reality slowly returned to him, it started to dawn on him what a strange
situation he was in.
“Relax. How much do you remember?”
“…What? What are you saying?”
No. I don’t want to remember any more than that.
I must not remember.
I can’t… What?
“Captain, it’s no good. He’s totally minced.”
“Here, too. The log’s been destroyed. We recovered it, but I don’t think
any of this will be useful.”
Minced?
Destroyed?
My…
What about my mates…?

“Welcome to the Empire. Do you have a passport?”

“Ha-ha-ha, Commander. We didn’t bring a welcome bouquet. Now
what?”
“Oof, what will I do with you guys? But you brought the fireworks,
right?”
“Oh, that’s right. Those look kinda like flowers, right?”
“Great. Then maybe I’ll sing a welcome song.”
“Hmm? You know a song?”
“Yeah, a good one.”

“Do you need me to sew your mouths closed?” the captain snapped.
Somewhere, someone hastily shut their mouth, but it was too late.

Red, red flowers. My brothers. My superiors. My men.

“…Ahhaahhhhhhhhhhhggghh!”
“Medic! A sedative! Quick!”
“You idiots! You can expect disciplinary action for this!”
They’re meat now.
Bright red, bloody blossoms.
Burst.
Blooming.
All over.
 [chapter] III Norden II

THE SAME DAY, SOMEWHERE AT IMPERIAL ARMY

HEADQUARTERS IN NORDEN

The chill of Norden naturally urges people to prepare for it obsessively.

That said, it’s a pleasant fixation. A fire blazing in the hearth, its warmth
filling the room, is an indispensable feature of a quiet Norden winter.
“Welcome to Norden. Or I suppose I should say, ‘Welcome back’?
We’re happy to have you, Major von Degurechaff.”
“Yes, returning to this battlefield does bring back memories. I’m eager
to serve under you, General von Rudersdorf.”
There is something off about the General Staff officers and their
extremely serious expressions while they are having that utterly out-of-
place exchange. Of course, Major General von Rudersdorf and Major von
Degurechaff have simply both judged that it is easier to speak pragmatically
with each other, so they hit it off relatively quickly.
“…Now then, let me tell you what a wonderful job I think you’re doing
right out of the gate. I heard from Colonel von Lergen—it’s quite the
achievement.”
“I’m honored, sir.”
“Ah, but I expected nothing less. I knew having Zettour send you here
was the right move.”
The cooperative relationship between these two geniuses within the
General Staff really is something. For better or worse, the only one who can
get their way with the deputy director of the Service Corps is his cohort or
his boss. Since Zettour had to be persuaded for her to be dispatched, she
inwardly braces herself to be worked to the bone by the deputy director of
Operations.
“We’d like you to cut loose up here, too.”
“I’ll do all I can, though it may not be much.”
“That’s fine. Then let’s get down to brass tacks.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Does your unit have experience conducting attack missions on enemy
positions?”
“A handful of our core members have some experience from the Rhine
front, but that’s it. In Dacia, we mainly did air raids, and even then it wasn’t
many.”
“So it’s more or less as I feared… But you at least understand how it’s
done in theory, right?”
“Yes, sir. I learned with 205th Company on the Rhine front.”
“All right, then I’ll be frank. I want you to think of this as an airborne
operation. Major, we’re probably going to have your unit seize the enemy
defense line.”
“You mean push them back? Whatever your orders, I’d like to get
started right away.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you, but I imagine you’ll need to make
careful preparations. I’d like you to focus on training for a while.”
“Thank you! But are you sure that’s all right?”
“It’s fine—I’ll work you hard when the time comes.”
“Yes, sir. I promise you we’ll be ready in every possible way.”

THE PRESENT: ON PAPER

Londinium Times special correspondent Jeffrey told us about a theory he

had regarding the Eleventh Goddess.
In general, he thought the notion of its existence had some truth to it.
Although it wasn’t a very pleasant prospect, he considered the possibility to
be reasonably high.
Today I wanted to see whether it was nothing more than a battlefield
rumor or if it had any basis in reality.
All the people we asked related to the Eleventh Goddess refused to
comment on its existence.
Normally, most people would deny or confirm, but no one wanted to
talk about it at all.
The refusals were so firm.
“Is it something the army is ashamed of?”
When we asked that question, a retired general who had been silent up
until then pounded the table almost hard enough to break it.
He leaped to his feet, and the grimace on his face made him look just
like an ogre.
We shrank back in spite of ourselves; the retired general’s rage was that
terrible.
“There’s a world that people like you can’t understand! You weren’t on
that battlefield!” he barked, kicking his chair away as if even talking to us
was offensive.
Strangely enough, the other retired officers present also all stood up at
the same time.
It was as if they were all communicating their unanimous agreement by
way of their silence. I confess things got pretty awkward then.
So this much is true.
But if we rely solely on what we’ve seen in person to talk about the
truth, we won’t learn anything new. That’s why I’d like to discuss the data
and theory Jeffrey brought us.
Jeffrey says the first time the Eleventh Goddess was spotted by the
Commonwealth wasn’t in the west but in the north.
How?
Up until the big counterattack operation in the north at the end of the
war, the Commonwealth had concentrated their efforts on the western lines.
So how did the Commonwealth see the Eleventh Goddess up north when
she should have been in the west?
The answer, according to Jeffrey, is simple.
Before the Commonwealth officially joined the war, they sent an
expeditionary unit to the Regadonia Entente Alliance in utmost secret.
 Yes, the Commonwealth assisted in combat before formally declaring
war.
People have always whispered rumors, but apparently it’s true. We have
the documentation to prove it. The national archives were a formidable
opponent, but they’ve already agreed to release the materials.
What was going on back then? We discovered this truth while in pursuit
of an answer to that question. Apparently, the Commonwealth had decided
to intervene while the Republic and Empire were busy clashing. The
national defense committee recommended gathering intelligence in actual
combat in order to better understand a future enemy.
In response, a “volunteer army” consisting mainly of a small number of
mage units was dispatched to Regadonia. In order to dodge accusations of
violating international law, the force consisted mostly of retired officers and
soldiers who “independently” volunteered and had gathered “on their own
authority.” The archives still refuse to release the details. Right now, what
we know from speaking with those involved is that a regiment-sized group
of mages was deployed. So maybe this had something to do with it.
At the time, the Commonwealth was a neutral country. Even if the
growing mage shortage had yet to become a major consideration the way it
did during the middle of the war, the fact that so many went was surprising.
This “volunteer army” was big by any measure.
Naturally, we can see there were political quarrels. And apparently, the
volunteers were brutally annihilated. That was the worst part. After
suffering the loss of precious combat mages, they had to bury the
clandestine intervention.
This is where we start to see references to the Eleventh Goddess. In his
report, the commander of the volunteer army says that’s what got them. So
we started to wonder: Is the Eleventh Goddess a person? Or is it some
specialized term?
Jeffrey’s take on this point is simple.
“Supply hell” is exactly eleven characters when you include the space.
In other words, it was a euphemistic way to complain about the leadership’s
management in a situation where a more open comment wouldn’t have been
tolerated. That would definitely be something for the army to be ashamed
of, right? Then again, “mass mutiny” would also work. In any case, they
must want to hide some sort of organizational failure.
 In short, Jeffrey posits that the Eleventh Goddess was not a person but a
phenomenon.
Honestly, I simply can’t agree. I was embedded on the western front,
and from what I remember, supplies were coming in as well as could be
expected. And discipline seemed fine from what I could see. Of course, I’m
only one reporter, but I’ve been at it a long time, so I should be able to tell.
More than anything, there was an abnormal number of casualties on the
western front. No, you could say that abnormal became the norm; it was
like another dimension out there. It wouldn’t be surprising to find out a
devil had been on the rampage. And so our debate has gotten nowhere.
Well, the Londinium Times sort of serves as a watchdog keeping an eye
on the government. WTN specializes in offering news from abroad, so
maybe we just have different viewpoints.
Anyhow, I’d like us to keep investigating this. Lastly, I’d also like to say
how blessed I am to have such an understanding wife.
Well then, until next week.

*Andrew, WTN special correspondent

NOVEMBER 16, UNIFIED YEAR 1924, NORTHERN

ARMY GROUP COMMAND, STAFF MEETING ROOM

I don’t know what era he was from, but some great man once warned us:
“Victory is like a drug.”
Military triumph brings radiant glory and a most splendid intoxication to
a nation. For that reason, when people are drunk on victory, they think only
of getting more. Soon, no one is allowed to ask what the victory is for.
Military romanticism has a violent effect on countries.
That’s why no one likes pragmatic soldiers. They’re lucky to get off
with being called cowards.
“Thus, I think avoiding losses and keeping casualties to a minimum is
desirable.”
 Drawn on the map is the Imperial Army pulling back. Mounting a
predictable pursuit is, naturally, the enemy army. It’s a proposal to retreat so
as not to put too great a strain on the supply lines. If a normal officer were
to suggest this plan, they would have to be prepared for an immediate string
of names worse than coward.
And the meeting room did freeze for a moment. With no idea when
Colonel General von Wragell might explode in his seat at the head of the
table, Lieutenant General and Chief of Staff von Schreise was inwardly
annoyed, but at the same time, the atmosphere was so tense he wanted to
bury his head in his hands.
“By moving the lines back, I believe we can lessen the inevitable burden
of distance on logistics as well as simplify plans for a spring offensive.”
But Tanya, who had purposely ignored the atmosphere and stated her
thoughts on the matter, quietly takes her seat. Acting like she has finished
her report, her impassive Noh-mask face is unreadable while she
completely ignores the staffers’ stares.
Actually, no matter how stormy it gets in the Northern Army Group
meeting room, I simply can’t seriously see it as something that has anything
to do with Tanya. Her battalion has carried out its mission and has already
returned to its garrison for the moment. She’s only present because Major
General von Rudersdorf ordered her to attend since she had time.
When it comes down to it, Tanya is a part of the Central Army, serving
directly under the General Staff, so she doesn’t have a place in the Northern
Army Group chain of command. And that’s precisely why she proposed, as
a bit of advice, that they use this time to shorten and consolidate their lines.
Really, I didn’t mean to interfere so much at first. Rudersdorf was there
from the Operations Division of the General Staff—I figured being pushy
was his job.
A major general in the General Staff serving as section chief has far
more influence than the rank indicates, so I thought I would politely listen
to him speak. But then, ahead of the meeting, he declared he would like to
hear the opinions of officers from the field, and several brigade
commanders were selected to comment. Perhaps their reports didn’t satisfy
him? Even though it would be easier to count up to her rank from the
bottom, the ball had been passed to her.
In that case, I felt I should probably show these hemming and hawing
numbskulls, who can’t offer a straight remark, how it’s done. The only ones
who don’t give their opinions at meetings are the inept or idiots too worried
about what everyone else thinks. That said, there are also times where
someone has to stand up and bear the brunt of the silent majority’s pent-up
frustration. The fact that someone has to be forced into this role,
reminiscent of the ship that draws fire away from the rest of the fleet, is a
problem that will no doubt plague all organizations forever.
And if the boss of the group dispatched from Central is going to keep his
mouth shut, then the role of the scapegoat falls to me, another person who
hails from Central, with field achievements to boot. It’s aggravating but
true.
First of all, I repulsed a regiment-sized assault. That’s a solid feat no one
can deny. In addition, my considerable accomplishments in Dacia as a
mobile strike specialist ought to lend some weight to my comment.
My battalion did its best. They’re a real bunch of war nuts, but they gave
their all. We turned back a regiment and shot down their bombers. We can
be proud of the serious blow we dealt to the enemy.
“Hmm, Major von Degurechaff’s proposal is quite novel… What is the
Northern Army Group’s take on the logistics involved?”
“Quite novel?” He has thicker skin than I thought.
But I suppose Central can’t come out and say that the supply lines are
dangerously overextended. Our now-dismissed predecessors, dreaming of
smashing the encirclement, mobilized the Great Army with gear appropriate
for fighting in the north, only for them to hastily deploy to the Rhine front.
It’s not just General von Rudersdorf—no one could ask whose fault the
messy supply lines were, because the blame lay with their predecessors’
blunders.
On the other hand, if it was simply an organizational failure, the problem
shouldn’t require Central to handle it so delicately. The issue at hand is that
the Empire is panicking, and the enemy is taking advantage of that. Winter
is already on its way, and partially because the Imperial Army’s Northern
Army Group is lacking supplies it needs to weather Norden’s cold, the
Empire’s movements are becoming severely limited. The Entente Alliance,
of course, is on its home turf, so its commandos are dominating and
constantly conducting guerrilla attacks on the Empire’s supply bases.
Security at small depots is already in shambles and growing difficult to
maintain. But the soldiers still need bread if they are going to march on the
enemy logistics base.
If it were a tactical disadvantage we needed to fix, commanders would
still have room to work. Or if simply fighting hard could solve things. But
the supplies in a burned-down depot can’t be recovered. The conclusion I
reached is simple. It isn’t clear if the Imperial Army has enough supplies to
survive the winter. The supplies exist, but they need to be carefully
managed.
And that time could be used to reorganize the lines. Aha, so that’s why
he suggested I make careful preparations before the airborne assault on the
enemy. If you want to buy time with harassing attacks,8 airborne operations
are an effective option.
But Tanya is (I am) not very well-informed when it comes to the average
human psyche. Of course, she would come at this from the perspective of
her own unit’s airborne assault in the spring offensive.
But that’s why if I’m here, I have to sound the alarm about the danger
regarding our winter supply preparations—and declare that aiming for a
swift end to the war is too great a risk.
General Jekof von Schreise just barely keeps himself from losing his
temper as he thoroughly reviews the plan as chief of staff for the Northern
Army Group. At the same time, the part of him that remains cool and
rational screams in his mind about how bad this is.
Really, this proposal is only that and nothing more. In other words, it’s
simply one possible option. General von Schreise is a veteran who has
worked his way up in the Imperial Army’s meritocracy. He can see that
despite having its main force, the Great Army, pulled out and the local
numerical inferiority of its mages, the Empire still has a clear advantage
over the Entente Alliance.
Certainly, he understands that the burning of bases supplying the front
lines, including small depots, was a thorn in his side. He’s relieved that after
they shed some enemy mage blood, the raids should stop. But at the same
time, he’s equally worried about the supply issues on the front lines. No, it’s
not as if he isn’t already aware of the problems.
But to have it smugly pointed out by Major von Degurechaff, dispatched
from Central, is another issue.
“Major von Degurechaff, I’d like to confirm something.” After a
moment, a Logistics officer speaks. “Are you envisioning us digging in,
then waiting out winter?”
“Yes,” she replies calmly. Her tone is rather matter-of-fact. “At present,
we can’t maintain the supply lines. We’re under no obligation to please the
enemy by wasting matériel and men in a futile offensive.”
Schreise looked at the Logistics and Operations staffers. As he expected,
Logistics was resisting the urge to shout her down with obvious displeasure
and expressions that seemed to say they weren’t buying her plan.
After all, even the lowliest private knew there weren’t enough supplies
—you didn’t even need security clearance to realize that.
It wasn’t as if this Logistics staff was extraordinarily skilled, but they
were capable of approaching supplies with common sense. They understood
quite well that they didn’t have enough matériel. They also knew that even
if the chaos was due to an error on Central’s part, the ones who made the
error in the first place had already been dismissed. Their continued
dissatisfaction had to mean that Degurechaff’s appearance was affecting
their judgment. Nobody wanted to be the kind of adult who whaled on a
little kid. If Rudersdorf knew that and was having Tanya speak up for that
reason, he was quite the crafty fellow.
But though the Operations staff were restraining themselves, their masks
were beginning to crack, showing the limits of their tolerance. This would
surprise no one, but their purpose was different from that of Logistics.
Every day the other army groups would pressure them, asking how much
longer they were going to drag out the conflict. After all, Dacia, with about
the same number of troops committed to the theater, had fallen in six weeks.
The criticism of the Northern Army Group “still fighting up there” was
growing sharper with every passing day.
“Major von Degurechaff, if we did that, we’d be losing time.”
“Huh?”
There were all manner of expressions around the table, but on the whole,
everyone was waiting to see what would happen.
The Operations staff especially were looking to Schreise so as to
understand their boss’s intention.
Schreise nodded and pressed his point. “It’ll be a new year soon. We
don’t want a long war. And we don’t want to exhaust supplies, nor can we
continue tying up troops here.”
 Operations continued, imparting internal details of the northern forces’
struggles. Commander Ragheno of the Northern Army Group expressed his
agreement with a nod, and Schreise felt some of the tension go out of his
shoulders. Apparently, the desire to put a swift end to the war wasn’t only
the wish of Operations but a view shared by high command as well. That
must have meant that the northern forces agreed on time being the primary
concern, at least. And that’s why he glared at Rudersdorf, shameless and
cheerfully listening to their debate with a smile plastered on his face; he
wanted to figure out what the man was really after.
“The enemy faces the same conditions.” Operations had raised their
objections in a near panic, but her reply was cool and calm. Degurechaff,
completely unfazed by all the eyes on her, gave a deadpan counterargument.
“Rather than wasting our resources in enemy territory, we should wait
for a chance to settle it in one decisive strike.”
“Logistics can’t take it.” Her suggestion was made with their
circumstances in mind. Of course, that’s why she proposed shrinking their
lines. But she hadn’t arrived at this solution by groping around in the dark;
her attitude said that she fully believed it was their only option. She
couldn’t so much as lend an ear to the suggestions of the Operations
officers who wanted to escape this phase of the war by bringing it to a swift
end. No, the expression on her delicate face said she thought their plan was
stupid.
“The minute you sally forth, you’ll already have gone as far as you can
go.”
Pressing lightly on his right temple, Schreise glared at the Logistics
staff.
They had guaranteed the supplies would cover a short offensive. The
problem was that the guarantee was for availability, and that was it.
Nobody had presented him with a foolproof plan for actually delivering
those supplies to the units that would be advancing at the edge of the front
lines.
“We can cover a short offensive without issue. We’ve secured almost all
the provisions we need for the front.”
Catching his glance, the Logistics officers mentioned they had enough
standard ammunition for two battles and rations for three weeks. They had
baseline levels of aviation and general-purpose fuel. Their numbers showed
the army group could fight for three weeks. Three weeks. Now that the
northern front had been reorganized and the units were preparing for an
offensive, if they launched a big push, they could wrap it up within that
time. The enemy’s reserve forces had already run dry, so if they could just
take care of the rest on the front with a large offensive…
But Degurechaff replied without even furrowing her brow at their
reports. “I’m against it. The enemy is putting up stiff resistance. I really
don’t think we’ll be able to break through in such a short time.” She flatly
rejected the idea, as if she thought it was simply unreasonable. “Once the
troops get more than twenty kilometers from the light-rail, we’ll be forced
to maintain the supply lines with sheer manpower. A steady winter advance
is practically out of the question.” She heaved a pointed sigh.
A few of the officers winced, but Schreise stood his ground even under
her scathing critique.
He was sure that mopping up enemy remnants would take a week at
most. Even in the worst case, he didn’t think the enemy could hold out
against a major offensive for three weeks. The one worrisome element, the
enemy mage commandos, had been mostly neutralized. Ironically, the one
who had played a major part in taking them out was the one stubbornly
disagreeing with him, Major von Degurechaff.
Even the logistics situation could be ameliorated if field engineers
performed road maintenance and laid down more light-rail. Frankly, the
staunch objection from the Central officers was just a pain in the neck at
this point. If he could find a way to get rid of them, he would keep holding
out.
“You have a point, but the enemy is too worn down to put up a fight.
You’re the one who achieved a victory despite being outnumbered two to
one. Do you really think you need to be so scared of the Entente Alliance?”
After all, in terms of mage casualties, too, the enemy army had long
exceeded their limits. Even if the other powers were intervening to some
extent, when a newly formed imperial mage battalion could drive off a
whole Entente Alliance regiment, it said something about the state of their
opponent’s affairs.
The enemy’s major line of defense only mounted sporadic attacks.
Capturing the entirety of the Entente Alliance was only a matter of time. A
few intelligence staffers tried to coax Tanya.
 “We’re winning on the strength and quality of our troops. We should
make our move now instead of burning through our limited supplies doing
nothing.”
The intelligence they’d gathered from enemy prisoners indicated that
their opponents were hard up for not only weapons and ammunition but
even food. Intelligence had already decided that the enemy army had lost
the ability to fight as a cohesive whole.
Rather than camp out across the way, the Northern Army Group wanted
to decisively end the conflict before the winter set in, but because of one
stubborn major, the debate had been dragged out. What an enormous waste
of time.
Schreise couldn’t be the only one thinking that he would have thrown
her out immediately if she weren’t a representative of the Central Army’s
view.
“Really? Personally, I can only recall two battalions worn out by our
fellow soldiers’ efforts and an unsupported group about the size of an
augmented company.”
Intelligence’s coaxing only earned them a reply that ruined their
schemes.
If she hadn’t achieved anything, then they could kick her out for clearly
being a brat who knew nothing of the battlefield. Beneath Schreise’s
dignified exterior, he was gnashing his teeth. Her achievements were
extraordinary.
This was always how it went. The Central Army Group was constantly
pushing the regional army groups around with orders that weren’t
appropriate to their actual circumstances. But Rudersdorf, Schreise’s junior
at war college, had been whispering in his ear how futile it was to refuse to
cooperate with Central. The delicate issue was that Schreise’s superior
officer—commander of the Northern Army Group, Colonel General von
Wragell—was very angry.
Though he was getting on in years, the veteran who had long been
defending the north was furious that the Entente Alliance was trying to
trample his home, his fatherland, but he flung curses at the General Staff in
equal measure for their repeated errors. So whenever Schreise thought of
his boss, who wanted so much to crush this threat with his own hands, he
felt depressed.
 “That doesn’t change the fact that you overcame an enemy that
outnumbered you. You slaughtered a group double your size.”
“The only confirmed kills were less than the company’s worth. It was
less defeating them and more just barely driving them off.”
The magic staffers frowned as Degurechaff indirectly emphasized that
her battalion had driven the enemy off. After that, the Northern Army
Group had pursued and achieved as good as nothing. They were to the point
of counting anyone they injured even slightly as a confirmed kill, whereas
the Central Army was underreporting.
They’d been granted a concession. He knew they were on the receiving
end of some kind consideration for their reputation. They were listed as
having downed a battalion, but the score mostly belonged to the Central
Army troops. Only a few people were aware of the behind-the-scenes
dealings.
That’s why, as most of those present looked perplexed, Schreise shot the
mage staffers a look. You owe them, so shut her up!
A staff officer’s job is to come up with a concrete plan to actualize the
higher-ranking officers’ intentions. So he tried to persuade Degurechaff
again. Please just understand your superiors’ wishes and relax your stance!
“You can say that, but in our battle together, the truth is that you achieved
the most with your fierce fighting.” Hadn’t her dedicated struggle changed
the tides of the war? “You say it was only a company, but that company was
the core of the enemy’s only mage commando unit. That’s the same as
taking out the supporting pillar of the whole regiment!” Hadn’t she
admirably defeated them? “Major von Degurechaff, I welcome your
prudence, but I think you and your battalion would be able to guard the
supply lines.” If anyone could do it, surely the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion
could!
He obliquely implied that the contributions of her and her battalion were
very highly regarded. Even if I’m ignoring your cautionary arguments, I’m
not failing to appreciate the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion. A high-ranking
field officer wearing the staff braid was, strangely enough, flattering
someone who was still only a major, though wearing the staff badge.
Work with me here, please.
He stared at Major von Degurechaff with the same silent wish as
everyone else, careful not to let her suspect how much pressure he was
trying to put on her. She asked permission to speak, as if nothing was out of
the ordinary, and stood casually.
“I don’t even know what to say in response to such undeserved praise.”
Does she get it?
Yes, it was just as everyone was sighing in relief and the tense
atmosphere began to relax that…
“But as far as I can tell, Entente Alliance Army command units are a
mixture of infantry and mages, so I don’t think downing a single company
will hinder their activities very much.”
“…What do you mean, Major von Degurechaff?”
“Sir, it’s true that in local skirmishes my battalion has emerged
victorious. But that group was the same one our troops fought hard to
exhaust and isolate. We drove off an enemy weakened by consecutive
battles, so I hardly think you can say my battalion took the brunt of their
attack.”
Can’t you even drive off a weakened enemy? she seemed to say with a
hint of nastiness. Probably not on purpose.
“…You’re very humble, aren’t you?” one of the staff officers murmured,
curling the corners of his mouth into a smile that was more of a sneer.
Normally, they would scold her. That’s what everyone was thinking, but
they all hesitated. Scold her for what? Disturbing the harmony of the officer
group? But all she had done was share her opinion on a military situation.
Silencing her would go against the staff officer traditions that the Empire,
the Reich, was so proud of.
The one who broke the silence in that awkward atmosphere was the very
person who had created the tense mood. “No, Colonel. I’m just answering
based on the facts.” Major von Degurechaff glared at the high-ranking
staffers. Well, it was proper etiquette to look a superior in the eye when
addressing them.
But when a mage who had been steeping in gunsmoke and blood on the
battlefield until just recently began staring you down, that was a different
story.
A few rash magic officers—no doubt unconsciously—reached for their
computation orbs.
“That’s about enough of that.” Any more is too much, Schreise decided
and interrupted. Piercing his subordinate with his gaze, he continued as a
mediator between the two. “We understand Major von Degurechaff’s
opinion now. And her fears are worth listening to, in part, but our pressing
topic right now is bringing the war to a swift end.”
They’d already let her yap this much. They understood the Central
Army’s position so well it made them sick. Honestly, it bothered him more
than anything in the world, but he could understand where she was coming
from. For a mere major to protest so stubbornly in a room full of superior
officers, she must have been under some strict orders. Schreise had never
seen a major with such a big head without making light of him.
So the little messenger needs to pipe down. He gave her a resolute stare.
“It is my duty to firmly object. The goal of lessening the load for each
regional army group could backfire and result in a larger burden.”
But surprisingly, it had no effect on her. Without hesitating even a little,
she—a mere battalion commander—matter-of-factly gave her opinion to the
staff and even had the audacity to disagree with them.
Even with the sacred, inviolable General Staff’s power behind her, she
was nearing an inexcusable challenge to authority.
A head could be allowed to swell only so far. There’s a limit to what can
be tolerated, even for recipients of the Silver Wings Assault Badge! Though
he wanted to scream at her and chew her out, he suppressed his fury and
said, “Our intention is to lessen the load on the troops. Major, please refrain
from rash remarks.”
The major, though still rather new, was readily crossing a line of which
all graduates from the war college should have been aware. She was
protesting too much. If they weren’t in a war zone, it would most certainly
not be allowed to stand.
This sort of behavior could only escape rebuke on a battlefield. It was
practically an outrage, wasn’t it? Indignant, the officers turned their anger
on her with violent glares.
But even under such silent censure, Degurechaff made a bold move. She
lifted the coffee cup she had been served for the staff meeting, eyed the
milk and sugar on the table, and murmured, “…In the west, our troops are
drinking dirty water, starving and suffering in the mud. The north is so
blessed…”
To the officers watching her, hanging on her every word, the smile on
her lips was both offensive and profoundly meaningful. At the same time,
she scanned the room with an expression that seemed to ask what exactly
they were all trying to say from their seats in this comfortable office. Her
face did the talking.
“Naturally, I don’t think that affects how much you care about the
troops…”
That comment was the last straw for Schreise.
The Central Army was always making unreasonable demands on the
regional army groups. He couldn’t take any more of this interference.
Without realizing it, he had kicked his chair away and stood up. He
wouldn’t listen to any more of her mouthing off.
“…Major! If you’re going to talk like that, then go back to the west! We
don’t need any cowards in the north.”
“Is that the will of the Northern Army Group?”
“That’s enough!”
He realized he was shouting at an officer. He was seized by the urge to
kick her out. Most of the others in the momentarily silent room held their
tongues, but they felt the same way.
Then, with a despicable calm, Degurechaff snapped off a splendid
salute.
“Then if you’ll excuse me.”
With that, she straightened up smoothly and bowed. They could hardly
believe it, but she approached the door with fluid motions and exited the
room. No one tried to stop her.

NORDEN HQ, MAJOR GENERAL VON RUDERSDORF’S

OFFICE

It was after Major von Degurechaff had politely thrown down her gauntlet
and left the meeting with no way to vent her rage. Hearing that she had
asked to see him with utmost urgency, Major General von Rudersdorf
nodded. Just as I thought. She never disappointed, so he was fond of her.
That’s what she had to do.
 “I know what you’re going to say.”
That’s why he implicitly stated they would get right to the point. Do
away with the empty formalities and spit it out.
“Sir, frankly, considering the situation we’re in, an offensive is reckless!
Why don’t you stop it?”
“Major, I want you to tell me what you really think.”
She raises these indirect objections.
Yes, it was amusing to watch her maintain composure and deliver her
opinion with all the correct etiquette despite the anger seething in her eyes.
But he didn’t want to hear tactful, formulaic thoughts.
“Respectfully, sir, I’m a staff officer. I don’t believe I’m in a position to
say any more.”
“I see. You’re very easy to understand. Speak freely.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He’d urged her to speak her mind, but he accepted her polite yet also
sharp response.
 Aha, so her criticism is so intense that it would be inexcusable for a staff
officer to give it voice? That’s an interesting way to get your point across.
Though she didn’t say exactly what was on her mind, she’d conveyed
her thoughts with a single indirect remark.
“So this is why Zettour thinks so highly of you, Major. Splendid. Now
let’s get down to business.”
Zettour would be thrilled. I see. Work goes smoothly with a mage who
has strategy on her radar and is also an outstanding battalion commander.
“What would you think about this offensive if you considered it as a
distraction, Major?”
“It’d be an almost perfectly timed supporting attack… Ah, but do you
mean as a decoy, assuming another main attack?”
She’s got a decent head on her shoulders. She’s quick, and more
importantly, she has the smarts to put what I’m trying to say together with
what she already knows. She’s one of the rare talents who has the steady
composure of a staff officer plus the courage of a commander.
“Evaluate the effects it will have on the various fronts.”
“At the very least, the Republic and its supporting countries will keep an
eye on the exchange in Norden, but being able to distract them from
offensive preparations doesn’t give us a very large benefit… So then, is
there a real operation in Norden? No, the supply lines couldn’t possibly…”
The way she lost herself in thought, as if she had forgotten her rage of a
moment ago, displayed the calm sensibility that was a quality greatly
desired in staff officers. Not many people could think on command under
the cool eyes of a third party. And that’s why those few exceptional
individuals were always welcome in the Imperial Army.
“And if it goes well, we might even be able to tie up the enemy
reinforcements.”
“With all due respect, sir…I don’t see how launching an offensive with
the objective of tying up enemy reinforcements would help other fronts. I
don’t think the forces involved on this front would send out enough
reinforcements to affect the Rhine front…which means the offensive should
be a feint with some strategic goal in Norden.”
When he told her to work out the meaning of the Northern Group
Army’s offensive, to which they were opposed, she arrived calmly at the
idea of a feint in Norden. Impressive, Rudersdorf thought and inwardly
raised his opinion of her.
“Hmm, continue.”
“To be blunt, are you thinking of occupying territory behind enemy
lines? I was ordered to prepare for an airborne assault…so we’d need some
sort of diversion and then we’d… In the rear? Is it the rear?”
But a conversation is a two-way street. At the same time Rudersdorf is
reading between the lines, so is Tanya. She’s thinking that she’s seen and
heard something like this before, and she finally manages to salvage the
memory from the deepest corners of her mind.
“What is it, Major?”
Letting Rudersdorf’s question slip by at the outer edges of her
consciousness, Tanya assembles the fragments of the memory she’s seized.
Tying up enemy forces on the front lines. A feint. An assault on the rear.
Remember. I know I’ve heard something like this somewhere before. And it
was the kind of news I really like to hear…
Where? Where did I hear it? No, I could have heard it or read it. But I
know I’ve encountered it before.
“Behind, back… Supply lines? Yes, their supply. Cutting it off?” As the
pieces come together, she mumbles without realizing it. She shuts out even
the way Rudersdorf’s face stiffens in shock as she speaks and focuses her
thoughts.
The back, yes, something from behind? It was— Right, a thoroughly
delightful kick from the rear.
Suddenly, a word appears in her mind.
Inchon? Yes, Inchon.
…That’s it. That immensely pleasurable commie ass kicking.
MacArthur pulled off a miracle with his meager talent: the Battle of Inchon.
They made a large-scale encirclement and cut off the enemy from behind. It
was a decisive strike that caused the North Korean army to collapse.
A great reversal from the annals of world history, where capitalism
smote evil communism!
“Sir, if the main enemy forces are concentrated along the front lines,
then wouldn’t a land operation in the rear be one way to end this?”
It seems as though she has just now remembered Rudersdorf’s existence,
but her sudden query and calm tone appear contrary to her overflowing
confidence.
 Thinking of the Battle of Inchon, she realizes the invigorating,
admirable strategy of kicking numbskull commie asses from behind could
be employed against enemies other than communists. After all, it’s a way to
completely encircle the enemy and get their own logistics organized. If
there’s anything wrong with the plan, it’s that it requires absolute control of
the sea and the absence of the enemy’s main force…
“A large-scale amphibious operation in the rear followed by
encirclement to sever their supply chain. So the offensive would be a
diversion for the landing operation?”
To Tanya, all she has done is rediscover historical fact, which is why she
forgot that in this world, it’s merely a concept; it hasn’t turned into history
yet.
So Rudersdorf felt unfathomable shock as Degurechaff mentioned it
with such calm nonchalance, as if it were already a foregone conclusion.
But Tanya completely missed that.
After all, from Rudersdorf’s point of view, the amphibious landing was a
secret plan he’d only mentioned to a select few, and now a staff officer on
the lower end of the middle ranks was suggesting it to him as if it were a
simple answer. He stopped the muscles in his face from twitching through
sheer power of will. Still wondering where she’d gotten that idea, he
cautiously asked, “Did you hear that from General von Zettour?”
“Hmm? I’m not sure I understand what you mean, sir.”
But Degurechaff gave a puzzled response. It wasn’t as if Rudersdorf
could read all the emotions and thoughts of his subordinates, but going by
his experience, he judged this was a genuine reaction and was immediately
aware of his misunderstanding. The officer in front of him hadn’t heard it
from Zettour.
So then, could it be?
No, he thought…but the question welled up inside him: Did she come up
with the idea to do a large-scale landing operation in the rear on her own?
“Did you come up with that yourself?”
“Yes, sir. Considering our situation, I thought it seemed like an effective
option.”
“…I suppose I should say that’s a very interesting idea.”
She confirmed it so readily. It was all Rudersdorf could do to conceal his
emotions. As he worked to maintain his facade, he was astonished that she
had come up with it, but at the same time, he could now understand how
she had been able to make a convincing strategic argument regarding
transportation even back at the academy.
So that’s why, he understood. You can see that much? He was
flabbergasted. Either way, she was a terribly promising officer.
“All right. Yes, we’re going to use your unit. Major, transfer orders.
Your battalion is to stand by at the naval base.”
“Yes, sir. Understood.”
He watched Degurechaff as she calmly nodded in acceptance of her
orders; she seemed just like a child happy to be sent on a little errand. And I
gave this child the orders as easily as if I were sending her to do just that…
…Ahh, you never know what will happen in a war.
“You’ll drop in ahead of the landing party and be the vanguard for the
army. I’m expecting great things from you, Major.”
Having someone this smart head up the vanguard… Not too shabby. We
should be able to expect a lot from the tip of this spear.
“But may I ask something, sir?”
“What is it, Major?”
“If this was your plan all along, then you didn’t really need to suggest I
put a check on the Northern Army Group’s offensive, did you?”
Hmm, she’s right. Not that he hadn’t thought of that. He didn’t really
want to call for a halt on the Northern Army Group’s offensive and create ill
will, especially when he had heard from Lieutenant General von Schreise
that Colonel General von Wragell was about to explode.
But as Zettour had told him, there were pros and cons to both bending
over backward to attack and bending over backward to avoid attacking. For
Operations, fewer fronts would give them an easier time, but the Service
Corps had to worry about supplying the troops regardless.
“Well, it was General von Zettour’s condition.”
“What?”
He didn’t particularly think he needed to hide the fact. Or rather, he
figured she would find out anyway, and telling her now would be an act of
goodwill toward a fellow member of the General Staff.
“He said we should forget about the Entente Alliance and focus on
domestic defense. Either way has its logic, and if the Northern Army Group
had agreed, I would have sent you to the Rhine and been preparing to
survive the winter.”
“Understood. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on my way.”

NORTHERN ARMY GROUP BARRACK 7 (WHERE THE

BATTALION HAD BEEN GARRISONED)

“Major?”
The one who meets Major von Degurechaff when she returns to the
barrack to notify the troops of their reassignment is Officer of the Week, her
vice commander, First Lieutenant Weiss. How considerate of him to have
an orderly ready an extra coat and coffee—that efficiency is skill and
experience. He really is excellent material.
The best part is that he doesn’t smoke. Tanya’s nose is sensitive to
tobacco. And the staff meeting is always smoky. No, I wouldn’t deny
anyone cigarettes on the battlefield, but I’d like separate smoking and
nonsmoking areas. Or just tell them, Don’t blow smoke in my face. It makes
my eyes sting and my nose itch. I resent this assault on my tear ducts.
Limitations on individual rights are obviously oppression and, as such,
difficult for people to stomach. Still, it should be fine if I murder the senior
officers who refuse to stop obnoxiously huffing their smoke in my face,
right?
They don’t even do any work, but the cigars they light up are luxury
items. Tanya can’t help but be disgusted. The gall they must have to voice
nonexistent concern for the troops. Even when I have to spout some
wholesome crap, I keep up appearances better than that.
“That was truly pointless. What an utter waste of time and budget.”
We could have a phony war,9 but instead these nutcases want to fight for
real. You don’t even need a consultant to point out how little can be done
with scant, poor managerial resources.
Lost in thought, Tanya sets her staff officer’s bag on the desk and begins
scribbling notes about the state of the war on a map. Her cover of staying in
the north can’t keep her from the front lines anymore now that a mobile
defense unit was no longer necessary to protect pulling supply lines back.
Not only that, but the Northern Army Group is planning an offensive
that reeks of a death march. Meanwhile, the General Staff, for its part, is
planning a top secret landing operation around the rear.
“These guys are too into war.”
From the bottom of my heart, I advise you to think twice about
surrounding yourself with people who are overly fond of war. I can’t keep
up with their notion of fighting with barely any matériel.
I can’t believe they don’t want to leisurely build fortifications while we
wait for supplies and leave the fierce fighting to the others.
I’d like to suspect them of being too steeped in the romance of
achievement and militarism, but now that the General Staff is planning a
major amphibious operation in the rear, they, too, seem way more into the
idea of fighting than I thought.
“I can’t understand this world.”
I didn’t want to confess my incompetence, but I decided there was
nothing else to do.
That said, if it’s a winnable battle, then it should be fine to advocate
loudly for the advance. And if we’re air-dropping in, we can just fly right
back out if things get rough. Considering how uniquely mobile aerial mages
are, she estimates the risk to be low and grows fairly enthusiastic about the
strike on the rear.
Even MacArthur managed it. The Empire’s General Staff is way more
serious about war than that guy was, so I’m sure they’ll come up with an
ultraprecise plan for us. It will be my first time to fight according to an
operation plan by General von Rudersdorf, but when I tried talking to him,
he seemed unexpectedly easy to work with. This might just pan out, thinks
Tanya, genuinely looking forward to it.
“Get me an extra map.”
“Here you go, ma’am.”
But that doesn’t mean there aren’t any problems.
She takes the map of the entire northern theater from her subordinate
and compares it to her annotated situation map.
She buries her head in her hands and racks her brain, but fjords really
have an optimal shape for coastal defense. You could bombard the narrow
bodies of water all you liked, so if you placed as many batteries as you had
along them, they would be impenetrable.
The only thing that saves Tanya is the lesson from history that
sometimes a fortress built against the water is terribly vulnerable to an
invasion by land, like Singapore. Having had that thought, Tanya tries
moving the pawns according to the scenario she envisions.
The batteries guarding the fjords are certainly a threat to a fleet of
warships. Yes, a threat—but to warships… If they all face the sea, they
could probably be blown up fairly easily from behind with explosives or
what have you. And coastal guns are usually positioned facing the mouth of
a bay. They aren’t built with the expectation of bombardment from behind.
Can we win? To Tanya, even if their opponents were spirits who strayed
from Moominvalley, the deciding factor is that their defensive shells could
be shattered.
“An attack from behind… I suppose our chances of success are decent
enough.”
Farewell from a sinking ship. It’s the most obvious, commonsense thing
to do. But in extremely rare cases, the ship doesn’t sink, and sometimes you
can even make a fortune. If that possibility exists, we should happily count
it as a winning battle. With that thought, Tanya rolls up the map with the
war forecast and mixes it in with the reports for the General Staff.
After all, the General Staff is planning an operation on such a large
scale. You can only call them stupid if they get so far without a contingency
plan in case of failure. It’s worrisome that the Operations Division of the
General Staff—section chief–rank officers—are planning the operation on
the assumption that the northern forces will ignore the General Staff’s
“advice” and march north. Is the cooperation between the regional armies
and the General Staff even shakier than I thought? This anxious thought
crosses my mind.
Then again, if I think of the ill will as a legacy of their predecessors,
who committed the Great Army to Norden and then pulled it out the next
instant, it makes sense. Ludwig really mucked it up. Technically, of course,
the General Staff is nothing more than one of His Imperial Majesty the
Emperor’s advisory committees—even if the supreme authority is simply
rubber-stamping things for them. Each regional army group may be
nominally loyal to that committee, but if everyone isn’t cooperating well,
that’s a problem.
 But no, that’s exactly the point. After that realization, Tanya practically
sighs. I should probably be thinking that if the northern forces’ little
adventure fails, the General Staff will take advantage of the fact that the
world is watching the foray by attempting a major operation of their own in
Norden. And if that works, the General Staff will have taken the initiative to
lead the war.
Currently, the Entente Alliance can repel the Empire’s advance with
guerrilla-style interception, but they don’t have the available force to
counterattack. Until some obstacle to defense in Norden appears, it’s
practically a political issue to consider something that isn’t in accordance
with the Imperial Army elites’ wishes.
In other words, it’s a Vitamin P problem.
“I don’t want to get mixed up in this…”
No, wait. Let’s chill for a minute. At least Tanya has a lot of experience.
She won’t make the same mistake over and over.
My common sense is not always common. Might there not be some sort
of religion that teaches people to love war and recommends suicide?
“Lieutenant Weiss, do you want to kill yourself?”
“Huh? Er, why do you ask that all of a sudden?” He replies with a
question to confirm her intention. Well, judging from his reaction, I’m
worrying over nothing.
I guess that makes sense. After that thought, Tanya reaches for the
coffee Second Lieutenant Serebryakov brought. It’s cold up north. There’s
no way I could stand it without drinking hot coffee. The only thing is,
Northern Command has a tendency to treat me like a kid and load up every
cup with milk and sugar… I hate that.
“It’s hard to believe, but apparently there will be an all-out offensive.
What a waste of soldiers.”
Until the appointed hour arrives for Tanya to open her sealed orders, she
tells her trusty vice commander, Lieutenant Weiss, only as much as she can.
She can’t let anything slip.
In other words, to summarize what she can explain now: There will be a
big offensive this winter. And with only that context, she can’t get rid of the
impression that the Northern Army Group is rushing things with their sights
set on an easy advance like what happened in the war with Dacia.
It’s like making a huge gamble when you don’t have much cash on hand
—although since the stakes are actually soldiers’ lives, it won’t hurt the
high-ranking officers’ pockets at all. If the Chicago school were to analyze
it, they would diagnose a severe lack of proper incentives.
“…Is there money for logistics?”
I’m guessing Lieutenant Weiss’s incredulous reaction is an average
person’s response. Unless the Northern Army Group’s commanders have
some strange concept of supply lines, I don’t know what they’re thinking.
Do they have a secret stash of cash somewhere?
If so, those are off-the-books resources. We’d have to dismiss the
inspectors. Talk about lazy. This is why they say we can’t prevent bubble
economies. Proper audits are indispensable for a market to function
normally!
“How would there be? Once winter hits, the trains will stop running, too.
I have no idea where they’re planning on bringing in supplies from.”
Well, in any age, there are also markets that only officials who come to
collect taxes do well in. To prove it, not even believers in the free market
system call for the privatization of tax collection.
Meanwhile, there’s a fountain of diverse critiques and plans regarding
expenditures.
Look, even the Chicago school is against privatizing tax collection!
With that thought, however, I suddenly feel like something is off.
“So what about us?”
“When I pointed out the risk of an offensive, we were ordered to the
naval base. So I don’t think we can expect funds for a victory celebration.”
And this is an absolutely miserable misunderstanding created in the
name of confidentiality. Even if my intention is to be transferred according
to the will of the Central Army, a Northern Army Group administrator
won’t see it that way, so I’m sure the Budget section will reject the fund
requisition. They’ll make the excuse that it’s not under their jurisdiction and
refuse to pay out what they promised us just the other day.
I can only see it as bullying. Even if I accept the reshuffle, we have
made contributions here and should have the right to commensurate
compensation. Anyhow, we’ll just have to secure celebration funds by
“borrowing” from the Northern Army Group somehow. Hmm…? Finding
funds somehow?
“As such, Lieutenant Serebryakov, we need to dip into the battalion’s
treasury, so draw up a budget.”
“Understood. Umm, how much should I use?”
I could take funds for a little party from the battalion treasury, but
maybe we should avoid having a big bash in this war situation…? When
she considers this, Tanya figures she is thinking too hard and shrugs. She
has worked her troops hard in this freezing cold. Rather than developing a
cruel reputation, it would be better to have a heart and convince them she
was kind, even if they got a little wild.
“Hmm, let’s have a grand old time and not set an upper limit for alcohol
spending.”
Just as she is about to tell her to get it done—
“Major, sorry to intrude, but we have enough free alcohol to swim in.”
It was Lieutenant Weiss who interrupted with a triumphant look on his
face.
After inadvertently starting to ask where he’d snatched the liquor from,
Tanya wills her mouth shut, somehow successfully communicating with her
expression of disbelief instead.
“Umm, excuse me for butting in, but we were able to get this full
complement of canteen alcohol due to the kindness of a local unit.”
Lieutenant Serebryakov jumps in to respond to my suspicious look.
Partly because we’ve been together for a while now, she’s getting good at
knowing what types of things I worry about.
“Oh, don’t worry. The Viper Battalion bought it with their own money
as a gesture of goodwill, I guess you could say.”
Very good. Tanya nods in satisfaction. Someone is treating us because
they’re pleased with our work. That’s wonderful. The only problem is that
due to military regulations and my age, I can’t drink a drop even if I want
to.
“Great. Go and buy some chicken or something, Lieutenant.” I’d like to
sink my teeth into some roast chicken, at least. “We’ll have to toast the
Viper Battalion. Thanks to them, I can treat my battalion.”
“Yeah, we can’t really thank them enough.”
Well, they’re mages. They’re well-paid. After all, there are deployment
allowances, transfer allowances, hazard pay, etc. They each make enough to
build a small house, so if you count the entire battalion’s funds, it adds up to
quite a lot.
 “Indeed. Well, this is a good opportunity. Let’s send them a message
inviting them to the party.”
That’s what we’ll do. It’s not so bad to bond with our kind allies who
weakened our prey for us before we arrived. More than anything, I want to
clear up the misunderstanding that must have arisen due to that repugnant
confession of faith.
I’m normal.
I have to prevent weird rumors from damaging my reputation.

NOVEMBER 29, UNIFIED YEAR 1924, HOME PORT OF

THE NORTHERN SEA FLEET, FLAGSHIP COMMAND

Along the strait, it’s nearly time for the decisive battle. A high-strung
excitement runs through the air at the Imperial Army base. Usually the
atmosphere feels almost heavy, but for the moment, it’s so lively it keeps
the cold at bay. The officers and men running here and there are visibly
tense—no one is relaxed.
It’s the excitement that occurs immediately before a large-scale
operation. Humans are a pain in the neck; though wise enough to fear
fighting, they are also easily intoxicated by the romance of the military.
This has to be the concentrated effect of everyone’s wish to taste sweet
victory.
Those who can’t share in this festive atmosphere appear to be in the
minority. Resigning herself to the fact, Tanya goes to the designated
flagship command meeting room. As far as she can tell from a glance at the
soldiers coming and going in the halls on her way, the entire Northern Sea
Fleet crew seems full of fighting spirit. Even the vessels that would be left
behind seem to be longing to sortie enough to rush out of there at any
moment.
And the operational factors necessary for taking advantage of that spirit
appear to have been given the necessary consideration. A large number of
transport ships are anchored in the bay, and among them are some that
could qualify as landing crafts after being outfitted for the amphibious
assault. They probably have landing crafts requisitioned as high-speed
transports ready to go as well. As far as she can see, traffic in the bay is
orderly, and ships are in a position to begin operations at any time, thanks to
the controlling performed with the Empire’s usual efficiency.
Tanya is conscious again of the weight of her responsibility; a lot is
expected of her unit as the vanguard. It’s better for people to expect
greatness of you than not, but it comes with a lot of annoyances.
That said, she conceals any determination to live up to those
expectations and calmly takes her assigned seat in the meeting room. She
ignores the attention she is getting by nonchalantly looking over the pre-
meeting handouts once again. Of course, in part, she wants to reread them
to circumvent any avoidable problems during the operation.
Just as she’s already read many times, it seems like her unit’s role is
fairly large. Having their performance determine whether the operation
would work or not is a big responsibility. Drop in, capture the coastal guns.
It’ll be glorious but a challenge. If we fail, the whole army will be stuck in
the fjords.
“It’s time, so I’d like to begin.”
Even while she is lost in thought, the hands on the clock keep ticking.
Then, when they reach the appointed hour, an Imperial Navy staff member
announces the beginning of the meeting in a solemn voice, and everyone
turns toward the commander of the operation, the fleet commander, in
unison.
“All right, I’ll explain the situation.”
Tanya listens to the commander as he briefs everyone, unaware of her
feelings on the topic and with a sober expression, but the gripes in her head
threaten to overflow. Internally, she complains up a storm, whining over and
over that it sure would have been nice if the drop team had been given a
few more men.
“We’ll be performing a mission in support of the Northern Army
Group’s operation.”
…In support of the Northern Army Group? Tanya starts to think, but
then it makes sense to her. Yes, the Central Army is nominally giving credit
for the operation to the Northern Army Group. I guess it’s a show of the
General Staff’s intentions or kindness, you could say. After the
awkwardness between them over the Great Army mobilization issues,
this’ll be a heartwarming reconciliation.
In other words, this is a lousy plan, a military operation loaded with the
higher-ups’ motives. But you could also say that they’d managed it in a
nominal way that wouldn’t come back to bite the troops on the ground;
instead of a political compromise, they had pulled off a splendid handshake.
After all, the Northern Army Group is going on the offensive, and as a
bonus they get the honor of leading the operation. Even if they fail, no one
in the Northern Army Group will be harmed if the General Staff take
responsibility for implementing the action plan. Then again, if it goes well,
the war situation improves, so it’s worth it for the General Staff.
Major General von Rudersdorf came out to make an inspection—it’s
probably his evil scheming. On the one hand, I’m impressed with the move,
but on the other, I want to lament just a little bit that when you belong
directly to Central, this is how you get used as a tool.
“As you all know, we currently have both the Northern Sea Fleet and the
High Seas Fleet deployed on a northern support mission.”
Then there’s the situation being described. The main force of the
Northern Sea Fleet is a support unit that acts as a sort of check on the
Entente Alliance. Their mission is to prevent the Entente Alliance’s
warships from escaping to Republic waters while simultaneously
supporting the army maneuvers on land.
So ignoring those ships to perform the amphibious operation is almost a
strategic sneak attack. It isn’t about sealed orders or intercepting the fleet—
the plan from the first is to ignore the Entente Alliance fleet.
The Northern Sea Fleet is going beyond the parameters of its original
mission and sortieing for the sole purpose of receiving a huge number of
reinforcements in the High Seas Fleet and performing the landing operation.
The Entente Alliance ships that will surely come to stop them will be kept
at bay by the High Seas Fleet. If the Northern Sea Fleet can complete their
operation during that time, the war situation will see a literal reversal.
The success of a strategic sneak attack is tantalizing. You could say a
winnable battle is just dangling in front of us. It’s a comparably safe
opportunity to achieve things and get promoted. I’m not the only one—
there’s nothing strange about a soldier wanting to join a winning battle.
Actually, the ones left behind with no prospect of sortieing get depressed
or look for an excuse to go. Anyone is happy to be told they’re going on the
attack.
If there’s one problem, it’s the weather. History tells us units sent into
harsh winter conditions always end up getting stuck in some lousy situation.
And we’ll be performing an airborne operation. If we fall into the ocean,
we’ll freeze to death like Titanic victims.
Even the bright red Soviet Army met with all kinds of disaster in winter
wars. The Imperial Army isn’t used to such conditions, so if we fall into the
winter ocean, we’ll be turned into frozen meat packs.
“This means almost all our main force is going, but that’s just how big
the objective is…” The fleet commander leaves it as implied for just a
moment, then solemnly states our target. “…the Osfjord. We’re going for a
direct strike on their rear communication lines.”
The Osfjord… When everyone grasps the significance of what they’ve
been told, a momentary silence descends.
Fjords are bad news for naval ships. The detestable narrow bodies of
water with terrible cliffs on either side enable the enemy to shoot at them
from any direction. Even without counting the threat of mines, if there are
guns on both sides, any ship that makes a run for it can only lament its fate
to be pummeled to death. The gunners will surely shower the marks with
shells as they struggle to maneuver in the narrow waters.
And although their navy may only have a few destroyers left, if that, the
cramped space forces us to worry about torpedoes.
What’s more, given the geographical importance of Os, the Osfjord will
be more heavily guarded than the average fjord.
“Under these circumstances, we need to go in ahead of the fleet’s
advance and capture the enemy guns.”
From the time General von Rudersdorf gave her secret orders to prepare
for an airborne operation, Tanya has pretty much been expecting this.
Neutralize coastal guns in an aerial mage sneak attack is practically the
same thing as support the fleet as they make a run down the fjord. For what
other reason would the army pit their elites against a rear echelon coastal
stronghold?
She finds herself balling up her fists inside her sleeves. Capturing enemy
guns ahead of the operation to take the mouth of the bay… In other words,
our drop operation is a gamble that could decide everything. And we won’t
be walking leisurely down a gangway in this cold weather but parachuting
out of the sky with our computation orbs and rifles in hand. If we fail, it
will be a huge disaster.
“Our aim is to disable enemy guns in a short amount of time to allow the
fleet’s entry.”
It’s easy to order someone to get in there, but it sounds pretty outrageous
to the one told to go.
The purpose of the airborne operation is fine. I can grasp the military
need for it. At least, I understand that it has to be done. But what’s this
about us securing the guns? The operation is in support of the navy, so it
would make more sense to have the marine mages do it, since they train
closely with the fleet. If instead we seize the guns and sweep the area, it’ll
be basically like rolling out a carpet for the fleet to waltz down.
“Our troops are having difficulties, so in order to support them and
deliver a decisive blow, I want us to do this right.”
…That’s easy to say, but can we? Can we really capture enemy guns on
bad, snowy footing in the fjord? If we were told to suppress enemy forces in
that region, well, that just would have to be done, but the responsibility of
seizing all the enemy guns is enormous.
Talk about mission impossible.
That said, there’s a limit to how much mages can do as direct support for
the fleet, and if guns remain, it’s entirely possible that the ships won’t be
able to enter. So someone has to get saddled with this unlucky operation.
Annoyingly enough, that someone is the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion.
“And the vanguard will be… We’re expecting great things from you,
Major von Degurechaff.”
“May I say something?”
“What is it, Major?”
“My unit is an augmented battalion. Setting aside the issue of firepower,
I may not have enough men to take all the guns and cover the enemy
reinforcements who are bound to attack.”
I hate resisting superior officers. There is nothing I want to do less. But
that’s why I have to be bold at times like these.
Anyone can smash you if you oppose them with a subservient attitude.
But if, on the contrary, you make your case so confidently that it must be
logical, it sounds more persuasive. And if people think you’re giving a
constructive suggestion with the aim of accomplishing your mission, then
even an excuse transforms into the genuine truth. So I have to be the
donkey borrowing the lion’s skin. I just want to probe slightly. Even if I fail,
this isn’t rebellious enough to cause me trouble.
“Don’t worry. We were fearing that as well, so we’re arranging for two
regiments of marines to reinforce you thirty minutes after your drop.”
“Understood. So in a worst-case scenario, do I have the right to suggest
aborting the operation?”
Her attitude says she doesn’t feel at all bad as she masks her request.
Any sign of hesitation can be interpreted as cowardice, but if a request is
stated with conviction, it will most likely have a measure of persuasive
power.
It’s not about who’s right or wrong; it’s about who makes their claims in
a loud voice with confidence.
“…What do you mean?”
“Simply that if my unit fails, the fleet may be exposed to needless
danger.”
What if, hypothetically, we fail?
That we would have to withdraw is self-evident. Put another way, we’d
be able to avoid unfeasible orders to “just do something” so the fleet could
get in. Once we decide to fall back, all the mages have to do is fly away.
Even if the right to call for withdrawal isn’t granted, the record of me
asking for it would make it possible for me to argue that I made every effort
to avoid risks.
“You mean, we should prioritize the safety of the fleet in the event you
can’t neutralize the guns?”
That’s level one cleared. If I haven’t been flat-out refused, it shows he’s
willing to listen.
A good officer would give serious consideration to the risks the fleet
would face if we failed to take the guns and they were in working order. An
officer concerned with self-preservation would be worried about being
blamed for the results of a forced charge under such circumstances.
Either way, he has to carefully analyze what I’ve said, weigh the pros
and cons, and see what he thinks.
“If we don’t take preserving the fleet seriously enough, we may let the
Republican or Commonwealth fleet slip in. That would render the blockade
meaningless and create a very dangerous situation.”
So I give him a little push. The concern of weakened patrol in our
waters. I just prod his instincts as an officer of the navy by asking whether
we should really conduct a landing mission at the risk of our command of
the sea. It’s really too reasonable. Whether he’s out for self-preservation or
not, he can’t ignore this. Of course, I can’t push too hard. Balance in this,
too, is paramount. That said, if I don’t mess up the pressure level, I can
persuade him without upsetting him too much.
“…That’s a reasonable concern, but we can’t leave our course of action
up to a single advance unit. Major, if you fail, fall back to join your
reinforcements and try again.”
“Understood, sir. But due to a quirk of the command structure, I can
neither command nor be commanded by marine mages…” Having gotten
this far, I just need to give him an excuse. He must know how things work.
The navy’s original job is only providing escorts to the mouth of the bay
and maybe firing their cannons. I’m sure he doesn’t want to exacerbate
mage command structure issues. “In light of that, I’d like permission to
advise aborting if the marine regiment commanders agree.”
It’s an adjusted step to save everyone’s faces and avoid any bothersome
disputes.
It doesn’t take any time at all for him to agree.
“…All right. You have it.”

A few days later, the operation is to be carried out as scheduled, and

Tanya and the brave members of the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion are in a
transport plane being taken to the drop zone as the vanguard.
The plan is to jump at the crack of dawn and capitalize on the enemy’s
confusion in order to seize the guns. As the ones performing the operation,
it seems risky, but coastal fortifications are extremely vulnerable to attacks
from behind, so it has its logic.
“I guess we might be able to do this…?” Tanya murmurs, inwardly
seeking comfort in reason.
Coastal fortifications are put in place to prepare for attacks by enemy
ships and units. When she tells herself there is no reason for the backside to
be protected because all that’s there are the communication lines to the rear
echelon, it feels like they have a chance of succeeding. Even if the enemy is
on guard against a sneak attack, their units are likely to be only lightly
outfitted.
The coastal fortifications would say that the army should protect the rear
and that their purpose was to prevent attacks by sea. And a century ago,
they wouldn’t have been wrong.
“I’ve cut the engines! We’re gliding!”
The announcement from the cockpit alerts them that they have entered
the final prep stage.
Loath to betray even the sound of the engine, we make our careful
gliding approach. Naturally, our drop will be performed with airborne gear
and not rely on magic. If we can’t descend undetected, Tanya’s fate is
sealed.
“All right. All hands, prepare to jump.”
She can only hope the troops she has trained will put all their talents on
display. Her only tasks now are to increase the probability of success and
eliminate obstacles.
And a commander can’t wear an anxious expression moments before an
operation. That’s why she orders them to prepare with the carefree tone of
someone announcing picnic plans.
It’s a bit surreal to see mages in full gear jostling around in the cramped
plane, but they’re getting ready, anyhow, so that’s good.
“You’ve heard this before, but our targets are the guns and mines
guarding the fjord. Capturing them is optimal, but if that proves difficult,
disabling or damaging them to inhibit effective functioning is fine.” She
doesn’t insist that she believes in them but reconfirms their objectives
matter-of-factly. “I think you know this, but if we fail, the landing unit will
get stuck in the fjord.”
Guns are not fortresses, which means they aren’t impossible to capture.
Most importantly, their muzzles are pointed at the sea. They aren’t set up to
fight mages dropping in on them from behind, but they still have the power
to trap the fleet. That’s why this operation hinges on us.
“There isn’t much wiggle room in the schedule. Thirty minutes after we
drop, marine mages will arrive ahead of the fleet to back us up, but the plan
is for them to deal with enemy reinforcements on the ground. Basically, we
have to do this ourselves.”
 If things get bad, I can make a joint suggestion with the commanders of
the troops coming later to abort the operation, but the consequences would
be the sacrifice of my career and worse. I’d be ruined. I have no interest in
going to ruin by myself, but to avoid ruin entirely, if possible, is surely the
modest wish at the root of all human emotions.
“Destroy all the positions as best you can in thirty minutes. I expect you
to all be putting the true power of aerial mages on display out there.”
So Tanya is expecting a lot out of her subordinates. No, not even
expecting—all she can do is hope. Don’t fuck this up. Please show me you
have more than it takes.
“Lieutenant, head up the capture of the Albert battery. I’ll take the Narva
battery as planned.”
“Understood. What time are we lifting radio silence?” Vice Commander
Weiss confirms for the third time.
“If you fail to seize the position, contact me immediately. Otherwise, the
plan is to maintain radio silence until our reinforcements arrive.”
“What about enemy reinforcements?”
“Come crying to me if you can’t handle them. Otherwise, crush them.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Reconfirming everything to make sure we don’t miss anything and
keeping the troops informed of relevant information—we’re model
communicators. Anyhow, we can’t say for sure that we’ll succeed, but there
are blatant reasons we could fail, so there’s no better way to prepare than
getting rid of them.
“Okay, Lieutenant Serebryakov, you’re our reserve commander. If
Lieutenant Weiss and I go dark, order the retreat.”
“Retreat, ma’am?”
“The operation is a failure if you lose our signals. If well-outfitted
enemies show up, you have no chance of winning. We’re just like canaries.”
A canary in a coal mine gives its warning by dying. The point of view
that resulted in this method is exemplary in its practicality. Of course, we
face the vexing reality that the army values us and canaries equally.
That said, though Tanya made this troubling simile, she has absolutely
no intention of nobly sacrificing herself. If need be, she’ll make a scene
screaming about the danger to everyone as she makes an airborne escape;
that’s how far her loyalty to the Reich goes.
 “Then I’ll try to sing my sweetest.”
I kind of have to hand it to Weiss for that joke.
“I’m not interested in hearing you sing, Lieutenant. Get ready to move
out!”
“Yes, ma’am!”
As each soldier briskly checks over their gear, Tanya grabs her
parachute, makes the last pre-jump checks, and nods in satisfaction.
If I have no choice but to go, I should at least do a good job.
“Okay! Go!”

When it came to zeal for one’s work, Colonel Anson Sue of the Entente
Alliance Army was like Tanya—the kind of person who made rigorous
preparations for battle.
“Enemy attack!”
“That’s insane! We can detect their mana signals from this far away?
What’s the suppression squad doing…?”
Colonel Sue’s unit had just been stationed there out of a need to protect
the sea, and although they weren’t in perfect fighting condition, they were
already on guard—no doubt because he had learned the horror of
completely losing the initiative in battle.
And especially considering their situation now… Ever since they had
carelessly started the war, the pressure had been growing.
“They were attacked in their sleep? Is the army even training people
properly anymore?”
Which was why Sue couldn’t hide his displeasure with the chaos
descending over their coastal guns and clicked his tongue in annoyance.
The discipline was probably so lousy because they were calling up reserves
from the rear.
“…Enemy status?”
At that time, he was regarding the attack as a mere bit of harassment.
But even a harassing attack on the guns was a nasty move that could lead to
a dispersal of their forces in the name of stationing additional troops in a
rear echelon city like Os. One might say that he still had the wherewithal to
lament such things at that point.
No, more accurately, he was sighing while keeping a hopeful eye on the
situation. Colonel Sue himself probably didn’t understand the core of his
emotions.
But up until then, at least…he didn’t grasp how grave the situation was.
“Unclear. I have reports that the coastal units are engaged…and it seems
the patrol boats haven’t made their regular check-ins.”
“What? Ask the patrol line what’s going on. Could be a sneak attack by
mages flying out of a sub.”
Approach in secret and attack. In that sense, a commando unit and a
submarine went together perfectly. That was why Sue persistently appealed
to the military to adopt submarines, but sadly, the Entente Alliance Navy
was really only a slightly thicker-skinned version of a coast guard. They
didn’t have the resources to allot submarines for use in magic operations.
The few they had, frustratingly enough, had gone on their periodic deep-sea
exercise before the start of the war and then wound up getting disarmed as
warships in a neutral country. That disgraceful situation meant they had
zero operational submarines.
Reflecting jealously, Sue wondered if they could perhaps capture one as
he had his men get ready to sortie. He had the radio operator connect him
with the picket line.
“I’ve been calling them, but none of the ships are replying…”
“Do you think there’s some kind of confusion and they can’t connect?”
That was when he understood the situation.
The picket line ships had gone dark. If it were only one of them, it could
have just happened to be near the submarine and gotten attacked, but if the
entire surface warning line went quiet, that was not a minor problem. No, it
meant the root of the trouble was on the surface!
“…Crap! They’re targeting the guns? We’re moving out! Scramble!”
Enemy mages were sneak attacking the batteries. And they had lost
contact with the ships on the sea.
“Huh?”
“The guns are all facing forward!”
It was the enemy. An enemy attack. A major methodical attack! The
fatherland, my country…the home I must protect…
“In the air now! Scramble! Engines on!”
Sue’s unit, taking off with determination in their breasts, was an
unexpected newcomer for the Imperial Army. The Imperial Army General
Staff thought it was a newly organized unit that had just been stationed
there. They had also grasped that the enemy troops were not very content
and tended to have insufficient logistical support, and the General Staff’s
intelligence wasn’t wrong. So the staff officer who had analyzed the data
came to the utterly commonsense conclusion that it was a static guard with
a measure of defensive capabilities that was protecting the city of Os.
And that was why he thought the troops would be able to clean them up
with the strength of their main force.
He had figured that by the time that unit had assembled to counterattack,
the main imperial force would have already landed.
And he wasn’t entirely wrong. Only his conclusion was.
After all, at face value, Colonel Anson’s force was a puny mage
battalion, a mix of wheat and chaff that was undertrained and lacking unity.
But the Empire didn’t know why these troops were fighting. Because it
didn’t need to yet.
Still, from a totally objective standpoint, the unavoidable truth is… The
Imperial Army commander, Tanya, muttering mainly curses at either God
or the devil about the arrival of these unforeseen enemies, has to come up
with a way to handle the situation.
“Major! New enemies!”
The rapidly approaching formation is a battalion-sized group of mages.
Both their speed and altitude are quite impressive. No doubt about it,
they’re a first-rate interception unit—and a horrible nightmare for the 203rd
Aerial Mage Battalion suppressing enemies on the ground.
“I see that! Lieutenant Serebryakov, take command of First Company
and stop them!”
“Major, it’s too dangerous with only one company! I’ll share some
troops from my group.”
“Lieutenant Weiss, you just capture that battery! We’ll figure out some
way to handle this.”
Tanya decides without a moment’s hesitation to go meet them herself.
I’m at wit’s end, but I can’t run away. If I send my subordinates up and
they get the shit kicked out of them, there’ll be nowhere for me to run. If
that’s how it’ll go, Tanya feels more at ease intercepting them herself from
the start and preparing for trouble.
True, she isn’t terribly keen on facing an elite-seeming enemy battalion
with a force the size of a company, but it’s better than the fear of having
them on top of her. If she doesn’t want be made into a target, she has to get
above them.
“R-roger!”
“First Company, follow me! We’re intercepting!”
The moment their short exchange is finished, Tanya accelerates to climb
hard. As she swiftly ascends, aiming to occupy a combat altitude that is
even with or superior to their opponent’s, she catches sight of the tiny dots
drawing nearer every second.
And as one side got visual confirmation, so too did the other.
“We can’t get through to the surface!”
“I’ve got visuals! They’re on their way up to meet us!”
As Colonel Sue’s battalion raced across the sky in a messy formation
and reached the Osfjord, the situation was as he had feared. The batteries
had descended into chaos due to a sneak attack.
Not only that, but enemy mages were smoothly gaining altitude while
maneuvering into combat formation, as if they had been skillfully lying in
wait.
He could instantly gather from their impressive aptitude and clean
formation that they were formidable opponents—in other words, the kind
he hated.
“They’re fast!”
“A company? They must think we’re wimps!”
“These guys parachuted in. Don’t underestimate their training! Put our
numerical advantage to good use! Let’s go!”
That said, they couldn’t cower. How much do you think numerical
superiority will really matter? the realistic part of his head sneered, but he
suppressed it and encouraged his unit to drive the attackers away from the
batteries.
“Beat them back!”
What else could he say?
“Go! Get ’em!”
All he could do was scream and lead his troops in the charge.
He chose to do it, but it was also his only choice. But it should probably
be said…
Sue looked up at the sky. I guess God isn’t smiling on me.
 “Ngh?! That’s—”
“Colonel Sue?”
Dear God, why…? Why is she here?
“This one’s pesky as rust. Take some distance and fire to suppress. Do
not let her get in close!”
She’s got that obnoxious alias White Silver or whatever. When it came to
an enemy who fought bitterly against his own unit and got an award out of
it, he remembered news from an enemy country. With all the blood she has
on her hands, her alias is White Silver? Ha, the Empire has no talent for
coming up with names.
Might as well call her Rusted Silver, looking like that.
A devil spattered and rusted in the blood of his fellow soldiers. There
was no way for him to mistake that detestable girl—his sworn enemy.
Dear God, I pray. Give me the strength to destroy that devil.
Sue even prayed as he shot the formula, and just as an attack filled with
fervent hopes should, it plowed into the enemy formation.
Or rather, things happened as he expected.
They scattered, taking barely any damage, and sped toward him with no
hesitation. Still, that didn’t mean he could back down. There was no way he
could withdraw.
He was carrying a submachine gun. If that mage would just get in range,
he would turn her into honeycomb. With that thought in mind, Sue eagerly
charged.

In terms of inability to withdraw, Major von Degurechaff’s unit is in the

same boat. Tanya inwardly feels that she is being seriously overworked for
her salary, but even if she wants to declare, This isn’t in my contract and fly
away, that’s not how the army works.
Rules have to be followed.
If a regiment of mages had moved in to attack, perhaps she could have
used numbers as an excuse to run away. But when both the enemy mages
and your own are battalion-sized groups, you can’t get away with excuses—
though she wants to flee, she can’t. In a case like this, the army says to put
up a fight.
“Tch! These guys are tough. Attack in platoon formations!”
 As she thinks how badly she wants to run, she realizes that if she did, the
career she had spent all this time building up would disappear, and she
would be helpless to stop it. Reluctantly, even grudgingly, she has to take on
some degree of risk and fight.
The only way to thwart gaps in firepower and numbers is to dart in for
melee. At close quarters, there is a greater danger of misfire; as a result, the
imbalance in firepower stemming from the disparity in numbers decreases
somewhat. More importantly, if they bring the fight to an individual level
instead of organizational, the imperial mages will definitely have the
advantage.
“Get above them!”
“Don’t let them get above you!”
Crisscrossing gunfire and formulas. The scene displays the very essence
of mana science technology, a fantasy where the practical modern advances
of civilization are having their day. Sadly, it’s a picture painted only in
blood and iron.
In the end, though, the impact of numerical superiority will be felt. If it
becomes a battle of attrition, the side with more matériel and men will be
declared the winners.
“Oh, the reinforcements are here?”
“Shit! Again? More reinforcements?”
A regiment is approaching. Openly jubilant as she notices indications of
their arrival, Tanya is sure of her victory, while Colonel Sue is devastated.
As such, their voices reflect their situations—the former’s is very cheerful
and the latter’s sounds helpless and bitter.
“Major von Degurechaff, what’s the status of the seizure operation?”
“Below they’re sweeping up, but I’m currently fighting an enemy unit.
Requesting backup.”
“Understood! You two battalions, support the major! The rest of you,
head for the interior.”
And in her straightforward exchange with the commander of the
reinforcements, her remarks are businesslike to ensure the operation
proceeds smoothly. The two of them are so in control of the situation,
they’re no longer worried about whether they will succeed or not; instead,
they’re thinking of what comes next.
The coastal guns are being seized, the enemy unit can be eliminated, and
the imperial transport ships are coming into view across the bay. The scene
below makes all the Imperial Army soldiers feel that they are moving step-
by-step closer to victory.
Victory… It will be an established fact in the Imperial Army’s near
future.
Colonel Sue’s beloved fatherland no longer had the power to object.

THE SAME DAY, THE REPUBLIC, CHANNEL

COMMAND

“Alert from the early warning line!”

The observation units along the warning line had an alert. What that
meant was clear: The imperial fleet was on the move.
This was the chance for a naval battle they had been hoping for. The
tension at Command peaked all at once.
“Order DEFCON 1. So they’re finally coming out.”
We’ve been waiting.
That’s practically what the commander was saying, and his feelings
were shared by all the other members of the Republican Navy. While the
army was fighting a grueling battle on the Rhine lines, the navy was
ridiculed as slackers. This was an opportunity to clear its name; they had
been looking forward to this chance to support their troops.
“Er, they have…transport ships with them? Why?!”
But the enemy movements they had longed for completely betrayed
their expectations. The latest update on the imperial fleet indicated that,
contrary to their hopes, it had no intention of engaging in a naval battle. The
fleet maneuver they had predicted was happening, but the warships were
leaving the port accompanied by several transport ships.
Unless the movement was a long one, it was hard to imagine a unit of
battleships sailing with slow, vulnerable transport ships—which is precisely
why upon hearing about those vessels, the clever ones among them
immediately speculated upon what might be inside and were assailed by a
type of foreboding.
…What could be in there? Common sense would say coal, oil, food for
the troops, ammunition, spare parts, and so on—things the unit would need
on a long operation. But there was no way the Imperial Navy would take a
leisurely cruise around the world right now. In that case, the ships had to be
taking something important to where it was needed.
The Command personnel all waited with bated breath for the next
report. The atmosphere was so tense their uneasiness was burning them up
inside.
“Spike 04 to HQ. The imperial fleet is setting course to the north. I say
again, course to the north!”
“Ngh! An amphibious operation?”
Of course, they all felt like they’d been whacked in the back of the head
when they understood.
After all, this was the worst possible development for the Republic. It
had been their worst nightmare ever since one corner of the encirclement,
Dacia, had crumbled—the fear that the Entente Alliance would collapse as
well. And now as they could see the Imperial Northern Army Group
planning an offensive, the Entente Alliance’s main forces were tied up on
the front.
…If the rear logistics base were seized in a landing operation, it would
mean they had failed to avoid another Dacia. War could no longer be fought
with superior ground forces alone, and if the rear supply lines were cut, the
army’s fate would be tragedy.
In the back of their minds, a few senior officers remembered the plans
for the Imperial Army’s amphibious operation, delivered in utmost secret
from the Commonwealth. If the Entente Alliance were to fall like Dacia,
how much would that increase the burden on their beloved fatherland?
“Ready the fleet and the marine mages to sortie on the double! They’re
planning to land in the Entente Alliance’s rear area.” In came another
enemy status report. Increasingly agitated, Command notified them that
they should hurry up and send out the fleet. But one report made them all
freeze. All the hubbub faded in an instant and dissipated.
“…Are you sure?”
“There’s no mistake! Subs and enemy mages are forming a restraining
line!”
 The primary mission of the Republican Channel Fleet was to confront
and annihilate the Imperial High Seas Fleet. But while the Republic had to
split their main forces between the north and south, the Empire could
concentrate their naval power in the north. With the Northern Sea and High
Seas Fleets combining forces, the Republican Channel Fleet would be
forced into a disadvantageous position.
A fight that was once seven on seven had just been joined by three
enemy reinforcements. Fighting a ten-on-seven battle wasn’t impossible,
but it was far from the numbers they would like to see.
Even if they got backup from the Entente Alliance, it probably wouldn’t
help very much. Meanwhile, the Northern Sea Fleet may have been small,
but it featured a lineup of relatively new models. Its flagship, the
Helgoland, was the first of the state-of-the-art Helgoland class. In terms of
capital ships, the Channel Fleet would be overwhelmed.
If under those circumstances, the Empire had chosen them as its
opponent, even if they ended up getting cut in the process, they could
probably have thwarted its aims.
But that hope was only feasible if the imperial fleet chose to meet them
for a knife fight. Instead it was futile because the enemy ships were paying
them no mind and heading in a different direction. They were leisurely
escorting the transport ships north. It was certain—completely certain—that
if they landed successfully, the Entente Alliance would fall. So the only
time to take a risk was now. They had been lucky to discover them so early.
If they had naively gone out to challenge them to a naval battle
unawares, they probably would have been sneak attacked and forced to flee
in a panic. Discovering them first was truly good fortune. The problem now
was how to handle the situation.
“Request backup from army mages! Send in the patrol boats and do
anything necessary to beat a path to the capital ship!”
Will we make it? It only lasted a moment, but the doubt that flitted
across the minds of the Channel Fleet Command personnel was serious.
Whether or not the Republic’s nightmare of the Entente Alliance collapsing
came true hinged on them making it in time. We just have to. They were
determined.
“Send out any ship available! Full-power sortie!”
Sadly, they were out of luck.
 As they raised fists and were about to advance toward the enemy, they
received bad news from the military attaché in the Entente Alliance and
understood. They had been too late. And so they swore with all their might
that Next time… Next time, we’ll get them.

DECEMBER 4, UNIFIED YEAR 1924,

COMMONWEALTH, LONDINIUM, UNDISCLOSED
LOCATION

After the shocking report that the Imperial Navy had taken an amphibious
force to the Osfjord and launched a decisive landing operation, the
atmosphere in the room was unbearably bitter.
The agony of the deteriorating situation was so terrible that it even
dashed all hope for the nearing Christmas leave. Contrary to the
Commonwealth’s futile wish that the Empire, Republic, and Entente
Alliance would just destroy one another, the Empire continued to pile on
victories. By virtue of their shared view on the situation, the entire group of
people connected to the Commonwealth’s intelligence agency had fallen to
the gloom. But the office itself wasn’t out of sorts. The unpleasantness of
the situation was due to the foul mood of the office’s chief occupant, Major
General Donald Habergram, which was permeating the room to a
preposterous extent. He had a difficult personality to begin with, and now
he was especially irritated.
Heads would roll at the first careless remark. The radio operator who
saw the next notification that arrived was truly lucky. Normally, delivering
a report was as nerve-racking as being shoved into a minefield, but this time
was different.
To be blunt—it wasn’t bad news! How many days had it been since he
had nearly run like this to inform his superior? Since Dacia had fallen? Of
course, since it was his job, he couldn’t be swayed by likes or dislikes, but it
was true that there was nothing he hated more than reporting bad news.
“Urgent message from the auxiliary ship Lytol.”
 “Let’s hear it.”
Without flinching at the disgruntled tone, he relayed the facts in a
straightforward way. They had received reports from their intelligence-
collecting ships disguised as civilian vessels as well as their armed
merchant cruisers, but out of all the messages, this one was sent at the
highest emergency-level priority, even using a onetime pad.
He’d thought it would be exceptionally horrible news, but when he
deciphered it, to his surprise, it wasn’t bad, at least. Well, he wasn’t sure if
it was something to get very happy about, but anyhow.
“The Entente Alliance is requesting transport of a VIP.”
The content of the request was transporting a VIP. More specifically, the
person in question was one of the ten councilors of state who, in practical
terms, held the most authority in the nation. Essentially, the Entente
Alliance, no longer concerned about appearances, was shedding decorum in
order to establish a government in exile. That was much better than the
country obediently surrendering to the Empire. And it wasn’t necessarily a
wholly bad development in terms of the Commonwealth’s national
interests, either.
“…Isn’t that Foreign Office business?”
But to the one receiving the message, it seemed like the matter was out
of their jurisdiction. The job of the Foreign Strategy Division was planning
and analysis. They were decidedly not a contact point. In fact, they wanted
to avoid any actions that could compromise their intelligence gathering, as
much as possible. Honestly, they were loath to get involved.
Ordinarily, it was the Foreign Office that accepted diplomatic requests.
In the case of the Entente Alliance, the official channel was through the
embassy on the ground there. And would the heads of a country really try to
negotiate asylum directly with a room in the strategy division of the
intelligence agency? It wasn’t unthinkable to assume they must have just
contacted the wrong place.
The radio operator understood the higher-ranking officer’s suspicion
immediately. He had the same doubts. Still, he had to give a short
explanation, even to General Habergram, who hated wasting time.
“Someone from the Entente Alliance Navy made contact personally.”
“Did they find us out? If so, all I can think is that we have a huge
security leak somewhere.”
 “No, it seems they’ve contacted all our vessels.”
They hadn’t called a ship from the Commonwealth’s intelligence
agency. No, the ship just happened to be the auxiliary ship Lytol. Actually,
they had tried every vessel stopping at the Entente Alliance.
Though they were deeply concerned about the possibility of an
intelligence leak, in this case, the request was simply the natural outcome.
Surely the caller was just trying their luck. In that case, however, they were
dealing with a bothersome amateur.
“No regard for appearances, hmm? What a bad move. Do you have the
list?”
“Here it is. It seems the others were just regular ferries.”
This had to be the worst way to go about it. If you seek help
indiscriminately, word will definitely get out somehow. As more people
learn a secret, the risk of it being leaked grows exponentially. And their
opponent in this case is the Empire, waging war seriously as a world power.
He couldn’t imagine that imperial intelligence was slacking off. So if these
guys were trying to pull off a secret asylum operation, they should probably
proceed with a bit more caution. Well, maybe he couldn’t expect so much
from the Entente Alliance government, now in a state of panic and
dysfunction.
Even if they weren’t planning on doing it in secret, the fact that the
heads of government were preparing to flee would no doubt demoralize the
citizens…although they may very well shift toward nationalistic resistance,
so it was also possible to imagine a hopeful outcome.
The timing was delicate, given they were expecting a large-scale
imperial offensive on the northern lines at just about any moment. Honestly,
if word of this spread now, it could weaken Entente Alliance resistance. But
if it held out heroically and the government called for resistance…it might
have a chance.
If that happened, the Empire would be forced to tie up troops in Entente
Alliance territory, unlike in Dacia.
“What should we do, sir? If we’re going to accept, we need to hurry.”
Actually, in the case of Dacia, things had happened so quickly that the
government-in-exile idea didn’t work out. With that failure behind them,
they knew that this issue demanded a rapid response. They were receiving
the message right when they keenly felt the need to play a card. An
Operations officer asked a question, taking the initiative to suggest it
wouldn’t be wise to pass on this turn: “Shouldn’t we make a move?”
“I’m opposed. I don’t think anything good will come of drawing
attention to our armed merchant cruisers.”
From elsewhere came a proposal for cautious handling of the situation.
After all, armed merchant cruisers were already in violation of international
law as well as various states’ laws. If their orders to collect intelligence and
disrupt trade were exposed, there would be an uproar. Disguising armed
vessels as merchant ships to get them into the port was a legal problem. In a
worst-case scenario, all the crew members would be declared pirates and
arrested.
Even if breaking international law didn’t nag their conscience, every evil
organization needs calculated reluctance based on profits and loss.
You weren’t supposed to break treaties; you were supposed to force the
other party to break them.
At least, General Habergram intended to toe the line of what he could
get away with at the bounds of international law.
“I want to avoid being boarded either way. How’s the loading going?”
Although they shared the same thought, the leader’s idea was somewhat
different. After all, they knew a little bit more than the others—that
Intelligence was proactively working to clear their bad name after Dacia
and had learned several interesting things.
“I think it’s almost done…”
“…Then at this point a little extra cargo won’t make much difference.
Who is the VIP?”
After all, the Intelligence agents had counted their chickens before they
had hatched and suggested it was because Dacia collapsed so readily that
the Republic and the Entente Alliance had more time to construct third
lines. They thought this would be a good time to redeem themselves.
Intelligence collection and analysis was proceeding at a fantastic pace on
the northern lines, and they were really getting results.
The intelligence that the auxiliary ship had so rapidly acquired and the
machinery they had used was secretly on board. They had even learned that
the Imperial Navy was planning a landing operation.
So it went without saying that an inspection of that ship would be bad.
That said, they already had so much dangerous cargo that adding something
new wouldn’t do anything.
He didn’t think throwing in a little more problematic cargo would
change their situation much.
“A councilor.”
One of the ten councilors of state establishing a government in exile in
the Commonwealth was fraught with political implications. Officers
couldn’t work in Intelligence unless they had a nose for understanding
politics, so it was evident to all of them. That probably went for any
outstanding staff officer.
It was no small thing for a politician at the level of minister of state to be
appointed as a government in exile by the previous government with the
proper authority.
And General Habergram was far from inept—which was why he
hesitated.
“…Wait a moment.”
It was certainly true that if they succeeded in getting him asylum, that
achievement would overshadow their previous failure. They might be able
to prevent the nightmare of the Empire smoothly building government
organizations, as it was doing in Dacia, from happening in the Entente
Alliance. That was how well the man in charge here understood the issues.
But that would all only happen if the bid for asylum succeeded. If it
failed, the political and diplomatic risks were huge. Additionally, the fallout
was so far-reaching that this matter was far above what General Habergram
could decide on his own.
And he was a person who knew the extent of his authority. He
understood very well what wasn’t up to his discretion. That was precisely
why he was selected to hold the reins. His ability to make calm judgments
and not go off the rails was valued.
In actuality, the reason they had thrown someone so toxic in there was to
get the department under control. He swiftly had a document prepared, took
it, and stood. This was a matter that demanded extra attention to
confidentiality. And so, taking a few escorts along, he left at once for the
Office of the Admiralty.
“Habergram here. Is the First Lord of the Admiralty in?”
A military policeman stood guarding the office. Habergram had to put
up with the duty officer’s suspicious look, given the man’s job.
 He himself had always been terribly nervous when he had to stop
officers of a higher rank when he was younger. With that in mind, he made
a mental note that this officer had to be quite a serious-minded young man.
“He is. Do you have an appointment?”
“No. There’s an urgent matter I’d like to ask him about.”
After the duty officer confirmed a few things, the general was shown
into the office.
As soon as he ran inside, he asked everyone else to leave. After all the
attendants had been sent away, he made sure no one else was around and
then gave his report.
“General, I trust you can make this quick.”
“Sir, something I’m unable to handle on my discretion alone has
occurred.”
He passed the First Lord the summary he had prepared. At the same
time, he gave him the outline verbally. As he watched his superior look over
the document, he supplied more detailed explanations as necessary to help
him understand.
Anyhow, every second counted. There could be no hesitation, but at the
same they couldn’t act thoughtlessly. That was why the basis of the
decision, the report, had to be given as quickly as possible. The Entente
Alliance was collapsing with each passing moment. The life of the country,
measured by an hourglass, had begun trickling away. If they wanted to save
its invaluable political fruits, they had to act basically right now.
“An Entente Alliance councilor is requesting carriage via our auxiliary
ship.”
“What a hairy situation. There aren’t any civilian vessels of
Commonwealth nationality anchored in the area?”
Politically, creating the government in exile and getting in the Empire’s
way was a promising choice. But it was the difficulty of the task that he was
considering and thus asking about.
The reason was crystal clear. Any major political achievement that came
without risk-taking was a dream. While a government in exile would be an
excellent way to harass the Empire, getting the core members out of the
country in secret and then taking them home to a supposedly neutral
country was so difficult that calling it “hairy” seemed dismissive.
Yes, the issue was how to transport them. How could they get them to
Commonwealth territory? Even if the Lytol was in disguise, it was still
unquestionably conspicuous.
After all, it was registered not as a ferry but purely as a cargo-passenger
ship. It wouldn’t be strange for them to call at any port, but anyone
watching the mouth of the bay would definitely notice.
It was too great a risk to carry someone so important in such a vessel.
“Four or five. But they’re all regular liners. I’m sure the Empire is
watching them.”
The problem was that most ships of Commonwealth nationality had
been avoiding docking at Entente Alliance ports. More accurately, since the
start of the war, anything trying to call at Entente Alliance bay facilities was
being blown out of the water. It wasn’t so much a matter of neutrality; the
Commonwealth was simply worried about getting mixed up in a fight.
So the only boats in the ports right now were the regular ferry lines
scheduled beforehand. But they were almost completely filled with ordinary
citizens trying to evacuate and get asylum. Apart from a slim minority of
charter ships, there were no other vessels anchored besides ferries. It would
be weirder if the auxiliary ship didn’t stand out.
He couldn’t imagine the Empire overlooking it. Even if they weren’t
deliberately keeping watch, it was a ship from the Commonwealth—sailors
at the port would find it a rare sight, and hopeful civilians would be literally
begging to board. The Empire was bound to hear of it somehow.
The ship stood out so much, the Office of the Admiralty was considering
sending a diplomat to go retrieve the intelligence.
At least the Lytol wasn’t armed in a conspicuous way. But it was moving
at 29.5 knots, which was faster than a cargo-passenger ship ever needed to
go, and on top of that, it was even secretly carrying a seaplane, nominally
for sightseeing flights, and a measure of firepower. They were disguised as
hoses and recreational equipment, at least.
If it weren’t for the confidential materials, even if the ship was boarded,
there wouldn’t be any issues under international law. The crew might be
made up of mages, but that was a decision a business could freely make.
After all, the Commonwealth was a free country.
But if they were caught assisting with asylum from a country at war,
things would get tricky. It would raise the issue of whether they should give
the refugee up without resistance… The Entente Alliance would probably
want him to be guarded; it would be furious if they just handed him over.
So what would happen if he had the crew fight the imperial boarding
unit? The answer was obvious. It would come around to bite them in the
ass.
“Lytol can move at a fairly quick clip, but can it outrun the imperial
patrol boats?”
Even if the Lytol was fast, it had its limits. And considering marine
mages or aircraft might be present, it was impossible to say whether it could
make a clean getaway. To go a step further, was a ship really even the best
transportation method in this case?
“All right. We’ll transfer them to a submarine on the water.”
That must have been why the First Lord of the Admiralty made a daring
decision. The ship could certainly sink. Or the living quarters could be
attacked.
But if they used a vessel that could operate underwater, they could stay
hidden.
“A submarine? We have one we can use?”
“Admiral Meyer guarantees it. In any case, we need to consult with the
submarine squadron.”
[chapter] IV The Devil off the Coast of
Norden

DECEMBER 10, UNIFIED YEAR 1924, ENTENTE

ALLIANCE, ARNELSNE PORT

Upon hearing the news that the city of Os had fallen, coupled with the
Imperial Army’s advance on the interior, everyone of that generation
understood that this was the end for the Entente Alliance leadership. Some
lifted a glass to toast the Imperial Army’s victory. Others downed bitter
drinks in anticipation of that victory. Everyone saw it as the end of the
Entente Alliance.
But they cried out to encourage the ones directly involved, who were
beginning to break in the face of their fatherland’s looming fate; it wasn’t
over yet. The Empire’s victory was not certain. Only the government had
given up.
The civilians, the people, were not defeated.
“…So are we ready to sow our seed?”
“The Republic agreed and…the Commonwealth also agreed to take
someone as a diplomat.”
Resistance could continue outside the fatherland.
Yes, the war against the Empire would carry on beyond their borders.
“Well then, shall we jointly sign over our authority?”
“In that case, I think the recipient should be Foreign Affairs Councilor
Abensoll.”
 “No, I think we should send the youngest, Culture Councilor Korsor, as
our ambassador.”
“I disagree. You’re the better man for the job, Councilor Abensoll.”
Someone had to survive and continue the fight, to declare, We’re still
here.
And it was the soldiers who would act based on the councilors’
intentions. The reality was obvious, but the army did what the government
demanded. Everyone would do all they could for their country, which was
how it should be in a unified nation. If there was one thing that was often
forgotten in the big picture, it’s that those soldiers who are asked to give
their all and sacrificed by the politicians in the name of the fatherland have
families and happy households. And so that day before deploying, the
Entente Alliance mages had only a short time to say their farewells.
“Good luck.”
“…I’m sorry,” Colonel Sue quietly apologized as he embraced his
tearful wife. She would evacuate to another country to avoid the fighting.
The fact that they were a family who could choose that option was Sue’s
only consolation as head of the household. He should probably have been
happy he could have his family go to the Unified States.
Still, the way things had turned out meant he had no choice but to send
them away. Probably the only thing I—no, every Entente Alliance soldier—
can do is hug their family and exchange hopes of safety. Our fatherland is
no longer safe.
“Dad?”
“Mary, look after your mother. And take care of yourself.”
“…You can’t come with us?”
“I’m sorry. I have work again.”
He forced himself to remember that he was still lucky. He had the
connections to at least get his family to safety. Given the congested
maritime traffic and issues with controlling the sea routes, it wasn’t an
option open to many people. He did feel a bit guilty, but if he could protect
his family, he had no regrets.
Of course, it wasn’t what Sue wanted. He would have preferred to spend
peaceful days in the warmth of his family. If he had known this was going
to happen, he would have gone home more often. Why didn’t I appreciate
what a blessing that was to have my home so close at hand?
 I should have spoken to my daughter more. There are so many things I
still want to tell my wife. So many regrets. It was stupid of me to believe our
lives would go on unchanged forever.
It was a feeling even he couldn’t explain, but when he loosened the arms
he had unconsciously wrapped around his wife, as if sweeping away some
awkwardness, he managed to put on a smile as he crouched down to his
daughter’s eye level.
 “Anson…”
“I may not have been a very good parent, but I hope someday you’ll
think of me as a father you can be proud of.”
“It’s okay. You’re my dad! Oh, but you should shave.”
She was such a sweet girl. He had hugged her in spite of himself; he
wanted to grin at her ticklishness.
“You’re right. I really should be good and shave.”
“Get it together, Dad!”
“Yeah, you’re right. I gotta get it together.”
The most Sue could do as a father was laugh like that with a wry smile.
The moment where his daughter scolded him for not shaving often enough
—that was normal life. The essence of his precious everyday world.
“Well, this is no good… I can’t have you worrying about me. I’d rather
remember you with a smile.”
“Please stay safe.”
The fact that his wife bravely wished him well, even after she had
broken into tears, pained his heart. He wanted to board the ship with them,
to live out their lives together. But he was a soldier bound by duty.
Duty. Aghh, annoying, noble duty. O Fatherland, I give myself to thee.
So, God, please bless my home, the country my family loves.
“Dad, it’s a little early, but…Merry Christmas!”
As Sue steeped in sentiment, his daughter pointed at a large case before
she boarded the ship with her mother, telling him to take good care of it.
Momentary relief filled his heart as he watched them go, as well as the
sadness at their parting that could very well be final. But if there was one
thing he didn’t want to do, it was regret the moment. There was nothing
unluckier than tears in a send-off. He forced himself to smile and then
suddenly realized the case was gone. He was confused until he noticed an
old acquaintance holding it out to him with an easygoing look on his face.
“Sue, a Christmas present from your daughter. Take it with you.”
The bizarre remark came from Councilor Cazor, who was present to see
the evacuees off. Wondering why the councilor would know about his
daughter’s present, Sue grabbed the case only to be puzzled by its
unexpected weight.
There weren’t cookies or a wool sweater inside. It was something much
heavier.
 “Councilor Cazor, what is this?”
“Go ahead and open it. That’s an SMG from A.S. Weapons in the
Waldstätte Confederacy. Durable with a body like an LMG.”
At the councilor’s suggestion, Sue moved to the shade and opened the
case. What greeted him was a brand-new submachine gun—a fairly costly
model that would work well in conjunction with his orb. Clips, magic
bullets, a set of maintenance tools—it came with everything.
“How did she get ahold of something like this…?” He admired the solid
yet light build as his examination continued. It accepted the same caliber as
his rifle and had a shorter range, but it was easier to handle in a close-
quarters fight. It was a good choice for facing anyone who snuck up on him.
Additionally, the limited range meant a comparatively lower risk of
accidentally shooting an ally, so that was a big plus.
That’s why he had to wonder.
How in the world did my daughter get this?
“It’s a personal gift from a lousy Commonwealth fellow. For a country
with such horrible food, they sent us a good man, wouldn’t you say?”
“Sorry?”
“Apparently, he saw your daughter crying in the park. He put your
initials on it.”
“Oh, the A.S. is for my name?”
He was sure the engraved letters were the factory’s logo; the level of
effort made him smile.
I don’t know if my daughter is sinful or if heaven simply loves her, but
she sure wooed that intelligence agent… Now and again, those Albion
chaps actually can do something nice.
“Surely it’s the initials for Arnold & Smith Weapons.”
“No, apparently, that’s stamped on the underside.” Councilor Cazor
looked somehow amused as he explained.
“That vexing Commonwealth gent was probably moved by your
daughter’s tears and gave her a discount. Apparently, she paid the special
price of a hundred pounts. That’s surprisingly cheap, Colonel.”
Thanks for giving your dad such a great present, sweetie. He wanted to
give her a kiss if he could.
…So this is what the strength of a hundred men feels like.
“I’m proud to have such a happy family.”
 “I’m sorry, Colonel. I’m afraid we’re going to have to ask too much of
you.”
“You arranged the ship for me. For my part, I’m prepared to protect my
family’s home with my own two hands.”
“We’re counting on you.”
One man bowed, and the other smiled in receipt of the gesture. They
didn’t need to say anything more.

DECEMBER 11, UNIFIED YEAR 1924, EMPIRE, RHEINE

HOTEL DINING ROOM

For Tanya, it’s a wonderful autumn lunch. The appetizer had been a
delightful pâté of seasonal fish. The skillfully prepared dish used fish so
fresh it seemed almost a waste to make them into a paste. No praise would
be enough. It was simply sublime.
The potato soup was legendary. She was used to eating potatoes, so it
felt strange to enjoy them so much. That said, it wasn’t a bad thing.
Battlefield rations could hardly compare when it came to the level of care
devoted to their creation, and as such, the dish was an embodiment of
humanity’s delightful creativity.
She has heard the main course, which hasn’t yet arrived, is whitefish.
The waiter explained the dish so proudly she has high expectations. If the
hotel’s waiter says it’s that good, not only should the quality of the
ingredients be high, but she’s certain it will demonstrate the chef’s skills,
too.
And the fact that her dining mates are also happily expectant makes the
meal even more fun. With her are members of the reservists association and
notable figures from the region. To think that she gets to network with
them. She can only marvel at her luck.
As they have an understanding of soldierly habits, the gift from the
troops up north, Koskenkorva,10 is going over well. I can see why this stuff
is notorious for increasing your chances of becoming an alcoholic.
 Though they’re old soldiers, they’re mainly just men well-known around
town who are getting on in years. They’re probably just surprised by the
curious flavor. And if they’re happy to have an interesting story of receiving
such a gift from a child of my age, even better. With her scheme going to
plan, conversation flows naturally, and Tanya is able to enjoy herself quite a
bit.
Even if she can’t drink with them, it was worth the trouble of
confiscating a case of the stuff for private use at parties. She’s most
satisfied.
As she’s thinking how happy she is about the results of her labor, she’s
looking forward to enjoying the sautéed whitefish when the waiter brings
not the highly anticipated main dish but the receiver of an ominous-looking
black telephone.
“Miss von Degurechaff?” He deliberately asks her if she will accept the
call. She’s on her way back to Central, having lunch with these local
reservists and celebrities as an excuse to pass through a resort town. Who
gets a wartime phone call in that setting?
My best day off has turned into my worst in an instant.
I’m also now dubious that I’ll really get to spend Christmas on leave like
I was promised.
She takes the respectfully proffered receiver with reluctance. If it
weren’t her duty, she would want to run away. This has to be just how
Churchill felt getting woken up by the news that his capital ships had been
sunk.
Would someone make me a hellish cup of black coffee?
“This is Major General von Rudersdorf of the General Staff. Major
Tanya von Degurechaff?”
“Yes, sir, this is she.”
She knew before he even spoke. It was obviously a call from a military
person. No statement of purpose or seasonal greeting. Not to mention,
General von Rudersdorf is still at this moment on the forward-most line
fighting the Entente Alliance. The implications are the opposite of this
gorgeous luncheon—the telephone call will be an invitation back to the
wretched front lines.
I want to go home right now. How could I have been so dense to come
to this meeting where everyone would know exactly where I am?
 “A notice from the General Staff Office. ‘Assemble Major von
Degurechaff and her unit at once. Report in as soon as this is done.’”
“Understood, sir. We’ll proceed to the nearest garrison at once, and I’ll
report in as soon as we’re all gathered.”
…It’s an impressively impossible-to-misunderstand order to mobilize.
She has already responded to a pile of unreasonable General von
Rudersdorf orders, but it seems he’s going to work her some more. If this
was going to happen, she should have blocked the radios and taken her time
going back under the pretense of training.
Well, there’s no use crying over whatever. She replaces the receiver and
slips the waiter a generous tip.
It’s not his fault the news is awful. She doesn’t like it, but services must
be compensated.
“Oh. Good news, Major von Degurechaff?”
But apparently, people give big tips when news is favorable. I can’t help
but think of that as emotional, illogical behavior, so I don’t do that…but it
seems the amount I gave was a signal to these local names, who hadn’t
heard, that the message was something fortunate.
I’m probably supposed to smile at these gentlemen and politely reply,
but I’m not sure I can manage it.
In the end, her face wears an unrefined frown as she shakes her head.
“No, sir. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to be very good news.”
“Oh! That’s…”
The man with the expression of utter compassion on his face is truly a
good person. Well, they have the goodwill of men who don’t have to go to
war.
To someone being sent on the assault, it’s complicated, but it is what it
is.
Polite manners are one of the most basic tools for keeping mistakes to a
minimum. As such, it’s only a matter of course that I follow the rules. At
their core, human beings are political animals, but at the same time, they are
social ones.
“Apologies, but I have orders. I’ll have to leave early.”
“…I wish you well, Major.”
Can I say for sure that none of them are feeling lucky it’s not them?
Tanya decides it’s a groundless suspicion and puts on a polite smile as she
swallows her bitter thoughts and stands.
“Thank you. I hope you’ll forgive my rudeness. Excuse me.”
With those parting words and a bow, she takes her overcoat from the
waiter and pays her bill. She’s dressed formally—in uniform. Her overcoat,
having been designed for practical use, is quite substantial. Somehow it
bothers me, but the army can be irrational in the strangest ways.
Of course, I also have to wonder about people who wear trench coats as
fashion…
While she was picking up her coat, a military vehicle had been sent over.
A thoughtful waiter must have alerted the orderly in the waiting room. A
car with her subordinate at the wheel is already standing by. The efficient
arrangements make her feel a little better. Humans have to live with a
positive outlook.
And so she finds the situation genuinely wonderful. She was right not to
be stingy with the tips for the waiters.
It’s also nice that they open the door so courteously. She quickly gets
into the car, and it pulls out.
“Corporal, back to the barracks. Sorry, but if you can step on it…”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The corporal takes off, and amid the slight jolts along the way, she
decides to share her misfortune. I don’t enjoy suffering alone. However, I
don’t mind making others suffer alone. Without even giving herself time to
sink back into her seat, she boots up her computation orb. She connects to
the garrison and calls the Officer of the Week. The fact that he answers on
the second alert means he passes.
“What can I do for you, Major?”
Well, it’s bad news. Rather than beat around the bush, I should just get
to the point.
“Leave’s been cut short! Issue mobilization orders immediately! All
hands should assemble as of right now.”
“…Yes, ma’am, mobilization orders, understood. I’ll call everyone back
from their half-day leave.”
Well, my rest in this resort town is certainly over sooner than planned.
Then Tanya has a vexing thought: the possibility that even before she
applied for leave, General von Rudersdorf had been “kind” enough to hold
her unit up near a naval base for a few days as nominal time off. It’s totally
possible. If, during a large-scale operation on the northern lines, they were
transferring a unit that could keep itself safe from espionage, the General
Staff certainly might have the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion withdraw.
It’s actually quite practical.
“Hurry. It’s orders from the General Staff.”
“Understood.”
The fact that they single her out to give the orders makes her think the
General Staff wants to hide something. Yes, upon closer consideration,
there is something very unnatural about all this. Why now, of all times, is
General von Rudersdorf from Operations personally in Norden on the
pretext of an inspection?

TEMPORARY CAMP OF THE IMPERIAL ARMY’S

203RD BATTALION

“Telegram from the Imperial Navy Northern Sea Fleet Command!”

“…Read it.”
From the fleet? That’s the doubt in my mind. Tanya shares the question
behind the puzzled looks of the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion officers. Why
did the fleet’s command go to the trouble of sending us a telegram?
The fact that they aren’t going through the regional army must mean this
is what the General Staff wants? Or are they intervening directly? Either
way, I have a bad feeling about this. As Tanya interprets the situation, she
presses the radio operator to read the telegram.
As the officers listen with question marks on their faces, he responds to
her request and reads the mission orders. “These are search and destroy
combat orders for the 203rd Battalion. All previous maneuvers are to be
halted immediately. You are requested to proceed directly to the waters
indicated, locate the enemy, and block off the area. That is all!”
Geez. They say “search and destroy” like it’s nothing. Plus, nobody uses
search and destroy these days! And mages don’t have any way to navigate
over the water, so how are we supposed to find enemies and block off an
area? Talk about mission impossible.
As Lieutenant Serebryakov brings the document over, Tanya stares
crankily at a navigation chart of Norden’s coast spread out on her desk. She
doesn’t even usually look at these things. Realizing this, she can’t help an
inward sigh. It confronts her with the reality that she’ll have to fly in
airspace with no sense of place, and it makes her awfully depressed.
“Lieutenant, get me the combat control map for the Northern Sea area.
Call Norden Control.” This is making my brain hurt. Tanya shakes her head
to clear her mind as Lieutenant Serebryakov brings her the requested map
before trying to establish a line through to the local controllers.
“Yes, ma’am. Right away.”
She hands over the map and receiver with crisp motions. It’s Norden
Control. We exchange just a word or two, and the radio operator connects
me to someone from the navy. It’s the worst when they don’t pass you off
irresponsibly but actually have good lateral cooperation.
At this rate, I won’t be able to slack off and blame it on bad
coordination. Maybe being too efficient is a bad thing. I suppose I should at
least praise the integrity with which they do their work, though. I’m a good
citizen, so it’s only right that I commend my fellow countrymen for
performing their duties.
When I think of that, I guess all I can do is stick it out for the public
good.
Since I have no other choice, I make all the necessary calls without a
minute wasted. Griping is a luxury and a waste of time. There is not a day
in the life of a corporate warrior that they are allowed the indulgence of
wasting time. In order to spend their off days as they wish, the highest level
of job performance is essential.
For a soldier, not a thing changes.
“Lieutenant! Where is the Northern Sea Fleet now?”
“I’ll ask right away!”
The military machine is starting to move, and I’m one of its gears, Tanya
automatically thinks. And this gear needs to know the positions of the
remaining Entente Alliance ships, as well as her friendly fleet. She has
crammed the general memo on the Entente Alliance ships into her head at
least, so she dredges it up while quickly confirming the crucial points.
Even if the Northern Sea Fleet deployed in this area isn’t the Empire’s
strongest, the High Seas Fleet, it has some powerful vessels, including
capital ships. Their training is trustworthy, and ever since the landing
operation a few days ago, we’ve been able to coordinate to some extent. But
an unplanned battle is a different story.
Tanya manages to consider all the most important facts while having
Lieutenant Serebryakov make phone calls. She has no choice but to handle
this efficiently, but it’s in an area she has no experience with, not to mention
a rapid response mission. Maybe that’s why she can’t calm down and has
only a tenuous hold on the urge to give a thousand different instructions.
She takes deep breaths—small ones so no one around her will notice.
Sometimes it’s useful to be short. It makes you less conspicuous, but at
times like this, it’s really handy.
Still, we’ve never even done an exercise over water, and now we’re
being thrown into a real marine battle? The target is a group of fleeing
Entente Alliance warships. Missions to assist in pursuit are so hard. It’s like
trying to negotiate an acquisition without knowing anything about the other
side. If we’re in such a superior position that these talks would work out, it
begs the question whether negotiations are even needed in the first place.
Hence, each minute feels like a hundred years, and when the situation
report that Tanya is waiting for comes in and Lieutenant Serebryakov hands
her the receiver, she snatches it away. With her other hand she holds a pen,
ready to make notes at any moment on the map she had Lieutenant Weiss
spread on the table.
“This is Major von Degurechaff of the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion. We
received a mission to support your ships from the General Staff. What’s the
situation?”
“The second fleet of battle cruisers has left the Kiël naval base.
Submarine Task Force 13 went out ahead of them to build a patrol net.”
Luckily, someone from the navy who knows what’s going on fills her in.
According to him, the emergency-dispatched battle cruisers are already
searching for the enemy.
“So we’ll be the vanguard for the battleships? Thrilling!”
Lieutenant Weiss has a penchant for keeping things lighthearted, and
Tanya makes a mental note. A vice commander who stands out by paying
attention to the atmosphere of the troops is hard to come by. But what he
said is actually correct. Just being the vanguard would make them look
good.
“What are you getting all excited about? We’re a rapid-response mage
battalion—it’s what we do.”
Soon enough, she receives the report that the unit is ready to sortie, so
she goes to meet them.
“Your commander!”
Battalion Commander Tanya von Degurechaff’s expression must look
normal to Weiss and everyone else as they meet her with salutes. I’m
confident that I act the part of an unflappable officer that well. She returns
their salutes nonchalantly, glances around, and nods in satisfaction. Well,
internally she’s over it all, but still.
“Thanks. At ease. Lieutenant Weiss?”
“Ma’am. I’ll give the briefing.”
Having one’s subordinates do the annoying stuff is the privilege and
duty of all officers throughout history. An organization runs on hierarchy by
nature. If a superior is stealing work from their reports, that workplace is
topsy-turvy.
“Yesterday before dawn, a scout plane belonging to the 224th Night
Reconnaissance Team spotted a gathering of vessels.”
Photos on the board show multiple Entente Alliance battleships,
including a coastal defense ship. The Entente Alliance is hardly a naval
power, but it’s still an armament lineup on par with what you’d expect of a
player on the world stage. It’s a formidable threat even the Empire can’t
ignore.
To Tanya, the obsession with big ships and their big guns is passé. Still,
she is aware they have to be wary of heavily armed combat vessels. As one
data point, take the fact that a battleship’s naval gun fires way more iron
than an entire division of infantry. On top of that, the porcupine-like anti–
air fire and marine mage interception makes it a difficult net to slip through.
Still, they should be easier to approach than the U.S. ships in the
Marianas were. It’s a question of how much easier.
“Upon analysis, the General Staff has concluded these are the main
remaining forces of the Entente Alliance fleet attempting to escape. It’s
obvious, don’t you think?”
We’ve estimated the various paths they might take, from a beeline for
the Republic to a meandering route to the Commonwealth. But it’s clear
that their goal is to shake off imperial pursuit and get away. Naturally, the
pursuing side wants to locate and annihilate them.
We’ve received reports that the Commonwealth Navy is doing exercises
just outside our territorial waters, which is a real headache. We’ve been
notified to avoid firing stray shots. On the other hand, we’ve notified them
that regardless of what happens on the open sea, anything violating imperial
waters will be shot at. Overall, it’s a delicate situation that puts a huge strain
on the nerves.
“Fleet Command has ordered all ships to find and annihilate the Entente
Alliance vessels. The General Staff’s order for us is to support them.”
Lieutenant Weiss narrows down the broad range of meanings support
could have. Then he looks to me as if the rest is my job, and yeah, I don’t
want to look like I’m getting paid to do nothing, so I take over.
“Battalion, it’s as he said. Reconnaissance Mage Task Force 2 with
Northern Sea Fleet Command has gone out ahead of us. And apparently, a
‘neutral country’ is hard at work doing exercises in nearby waters. Take
care not to hit them.”
It must be really hard for the scouts to stay on top of them in this rain.
Although I must say, it seems backward to send a unit to watch the
Commonwealth exercise while we’re trying to find the Entente Alliance.
But there’s no reason to lower morale by making that kind of remark.
“We’re going to head north and meet up with them as soon as we get
data. This goes without saying, but we’ll be playing it by ear.”
“Understood.”
“According to Intelligence, the enemy is fast. And apparently, they have
marine mages. The scope of our mission includes eliminating those, but
reconnaissance is top priority.”
Our mission is of the common enough “search and destroy” variety—
we’re just being told to prioritize the “search” part.
“Meet at the exercise ground runway in sixty minutes in full gear. Any
questions?”
…Well, they’re my war-obsessed underlings. They’re full of fight.
Without raising any questions, as usual, the unit eventually takes off an
hour later. We head west at cruising speed as we climb.
Apart from a few irritating false reports from friendly submarine units,
there is no news. If there is anything to say at all, it’s that the wind and rain
have picked up, and our visibility has rapidly deteriorated.
I look around, but I can’t even see my battalion.
I’m confident in our ability to fly in formation, so I’ll be pretty upset if
we get separated and can’t bring our full power to the fight. Our saving
grace is that we shouldn’t have anyone with a sense of direction that
hopeless in this unit.
“Control to Pixie. No reports of contact.”
“Pixie 01, roger. How about the weather? Can we expect it to improve?”
Still, I’m fed up with these tiresome reports from the rear. No reports of
contact means that even though we’ve been flying all this time, we have to
keep searching.
If we wanted to get above the rain clouds, we would have to climb
awfully high. Instead, we just get wet. Even though our defensive shells
repel water, getting rained on doesn’t do much for the mood.
“Sending war zone data from Urban Control… Looks like it won’t for a
while. I feel for the ground troops. They must be in hell with this cold.”
“The whole combat zone is hard rain and storm winds. A level-two
flood warning and flight restrictions are being issued? Got it. How are the
other units in the operation doing?” Tanya checks the data as it suddenly
comes in and gets confirmation that the weather is only getting worse,
which boggles her mind. That said, if the flight warnings become no-fly
advisories, they can return to base.
“First Squadron has left Kiël naval base on a search and destroy mission.
The air force is sending up a special force recon company. Make sure you
don’t accidentally shoot them.”
We have other forces searching? I suppose that’s better than not. Guess
we should keep searching till we get permission to go home. That was what
she was thinking when…
“Pixie 01, roger. Can you let me know where the exercising
Commonwealth ships a…?”
Far down.
Even in the downpour, an unmistakable roar and the sound of gunfire
abruptly draw her focus to something below her.
“An explosion?”
It was the dull boom of something detonating underwater. It reverberates
more than you would expect, especially in the quiet night sky.
 When she squints, she can just barely make out several floating shapes.
The next moment, her eyes pop open. In the searchlight are enemy ships.

It was an awful sight for the men on board the submarine belonging to
Imperial Northern Sea Fleet’s Submarine Task Force 13. The captain, who
was looking through the periscope and saw the huge splashes the moment
the explosions sounded, was so shocked at first that he couldn’t get his
mouth closed again. When they realized they didn’t hear any secondary
explosions, everyone looked to the heavens.
The torpedoes had gone off early.
The six aals11 they’d only just been issued really were more useless than
actual eels. The furious sailors spewed strings of curses, swearing that next
time they’d load the torpedo development team, who were only good for
wasting the budget, into the tubes and fire them.
To them, the results the devs had gotten meant nothing.
The Entente Alliance vessels they’d discovered wouldn’t sink; the six
torpedoes they’d launched after making careful calculations in anticipation
of success had gotten impatient and blown up too soon.
It was no surprise that the navigation officer who had gone to such pains
to get them into a striking position was looking dazed. Even the captain’s
thoughts froze for a moment at the sudden scene that seemed to scoff at all
their hard work.
What he saw through the periscope was the Entente Alliance fleet
changing formations for counter-sub combat. Then marine mages began
sweeping the water’s surface for periscopes. As the crew hurriedly pulled
theirs in, they found themselves furious—they didn’t want to die because of
such a stupid failure.
Actually, they didn’t know it at the time, but…given the outcome, they
had actually pulled off a fantastic assist. When the Entente Alliance fleet
realized an imperial submarine was targeting it, it entered counter-sub
combat. As a result, if only for a moment…everyone was looking down.
And that’s why their response to what came out of the sky in the next
moment was delayed. Make them look down, then have the real attack
swoop in from above for the kill.
To Colonel Anson Sue, who realized they’d been caught, it was an
awfully cunning one-two punch.
“They got us, those bastards!”
“Where was the leak?! No, now they’re— Those fuckers!”
It was truly the worst possible timing for the Entente Alliance fleet.
Since they had transitioned into counter-sub combat, the destroyer escorting
the flagship had moved away. Not only that, but the marine mages had
rushed out to suppress the submarine, and the lookouts, staring into the
darkness, were all scouring the sea so as not to miss any torpedo wakes.
That was when it happened.
The enemy mage battalion that had been lurking in the sky made a full-
speed charge at the flagship.
Only a few managed to take off, including Colonel Sue.
But the imperial mages plunging down, trading altitude for acceleration,
were far faster than they were, and the fact that they had control of the air
meant he couldn’t think of a way this desperate situation could get any
worse.
Still, all Sue could do was climb. If he didn’t, that ship and the seed of
his fatherland’s future would be sunk.

Major von Degurechaff’s feelings at that moment, the time, the place,
would be the subject of many inquiries in later years. In reality, the 203rd
Aerial Mage Battalion, including Tanya, is in partial chaos at finding
themselves in an unexpected encounter, but they manage to charge as a
training reflex.
“Battalion! Break! Break! Prepare to attack!”
Making the split-second decision to engage, Tanya enters a headlong
dive; she has no experience fighting ships. The reason is that supposedly
great balance of power. Thanks to diplomatic efforts, the leading nations
have avoided serious armed conflicts up until this war. In other words, this
is practically the first mage attack on a ship in history.
And that was why it’s all they can do to act according to their exercises.
She scatters the unit, and dodging anti–air fire all the while, everyone
swoops in at the same time. It’s a tactic championed by a doctrine that has
only been verified theoretically. No one knows whether it will work or not
until the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion tests it with their own flesh and
blood.
Really, the receiving end of the attack was in the same boat. The ability
of aircraft to attack ships was only just starting to be discussed, so no one
was focused on mages, who have less firepower. As a result, they had only
just touched on anti-mage combat in training exercises.
In a sense, it was an extremely crude firefight for both sides.
“Pixie 01 to CP! Contact! Contact!”
“CP to Pixie 01. What is it?”
It’s hard to do your best when you find yourself stuck in a battle where
you weren’t expecting to get shot at. In that sense, Tanya can’t help but hate
the easygoing CP radio operator. Internally, she can’t stop griping, What the
hell did you mean, telling us there’d be no contact? But a calmer part of her
brain isn’t very impressed with the enemy’s anti–air fire, which is a relief.
Actually, the enemy’s protective fire is so poor it doesn’t even come
close to the American empire’s anti-aircraft fire Tanya is thinking of. It’s
sparse enough that she can evade simply by flying aimlessly, inwardly
outraged and wondering what the other search units have been doing, so it’s
evident that it isn’t much to worry about.
“I’m taking fire! That’s definitely the flash of a battle cruiser gun. Two
hundred off the coast of Wiengenberg.”
As she makes the report, she immediately breaks formation. After all,
naval guns are a much greater threat than small arms or even most field
artillery. Even a single autocannon uses 20 mm ammunition, the same class
as a heavy machine gun on land. The powerful high-angle cannons are 127
mm. The shells they’re aiming at her won’t allow anyone with a human
body to just walk away from a direct hit. If we stay in tight formation, the
enemy anti–air guns will have their way with us.
“Battalion, don’t bunch up! Make sure you attack the mages and the
ships. Don’t get too distracted by one or the other!”
Everywhere around me is dark, but I’m sure I’m exposed. When she
realizes that, she can hardly believe how unexpected this is. Her mission
was to find the enemy. If the submarines, the scout planes that went out
ahead, or the company of recon mages discovered the enemy, Tanya’s unit
might have taken over monitoring, depending on the situation; it was
supposed to be an easy mission. Entering the effective firing range of
enemy ships and engaging was never part of the plan.
But if she squints, she can see a light reminiscent of a muzzle flash from
below. It must be one of our submarines torpedoing them. If it wasn’t for the
noise from the explosion, I probably wouldn’t have noticed it. The thought
that she had narrowly escaped making an error frightens her. If she hadn’t
noticed, she would no doubt have ended up being grilled by an investigative
commission. Boy, am I glad the torpedo’s wake caught her eye. But I can’t
be completely happy because if she had been a little farther away, she could
have noticed and been fine.
“Ngh! Anti-mage counterattack detected! Anti-air disciplined fire
incoming!”
“I’m picking up mages! Damn it! We’ve got marine mages incoming!”
Her talented subordinates have an appropriate understanding of the
situation, so she isn’t actually very worried. But any commander asking
their subordinates to act in a situation they haven’t been trained to handle
has to at least acknowledge their right to scowl.
“All hands, engage at will! Follow your company commander’s lead!”
As long as they are receiving an organized interception, it has to be dealt
with, but she decides that rather than trying to control an entire battalion in
the dark, it’s better to let each company operate individually. We have to
regain some degree of discipline and get out of here!
“Visibility is poor. Don’t lose your depth perception! The air is dense,
but don’t forget we’re over the sea! Take the humidity from the water into
account. Our opponents are used to it! Maintain your altitude!”
The lower companies, Second and Third, seem to be in good positions.
First and Fourth were on guard above, so they have some leeway in terms
of their altitude. And as long as I’m personally commanding First
Company, I want to push all the dangerous stuff onto Fourth. She makes
some quick calculations and decides to adjust some things.
“Ngh, draw the mages away from the ships! Second and Third
Companies, you’re the vanguard! Keep those mages busy!”
Marine mages are a threat to aerial mages. It goes without saying that
exposing myself to anti–air fire and enemy mages isn’t a hobby of mine.
Even the majority of my war-crazy subordinates probably aren’t into it.
We’d all like to avoid working in dangerous areas.
 “Fourth Company, guard the rear. Help Second and Third withdraw. A
shoot-out with the ships is out of the question.”
Really, I want Fourth Company as my shield, but that’s too much to ask
for.
In that case, increasing the number of decoys will probably get me the
best results. From the enemy’s point of view, it must be easier to target the
entire battalion.
“First Company, lament your misfortune—or sob with joy at your
opportunity to earn commendations! Rejoice, for it is we who will harass
the ships! Follow me!”
I’ll have my underlings do the dangerous counter-mage warfare, and I’ll
mess with the boats.
““““Understood!””””
“Plunging into the fleet is a bold move! Allow us to be the vanguard!”
The elated personnel of my company volunteer, but it won’t do for me to
follow their suggestion.
“Sorry, the commander leads the way. Get back.”
This is the only time believing that commanders should lead the way is
useful. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I want to expose myself to enemy
fire. Nobody with common sense wants to be out front charging into a hail
of bullets.
But that’s an amateur’s calculation. Of course, I don’t want to do it, but
since I know it’s the safer option, I choose it without hesitation. Reason
trumps fear.
To explain it simply, most of the bullets aimed at the leader of a pack
will end up hitting the people behind them.
In a little more detail, with deflection shooting, if they open fire
assuming I’m coming in at two hundred fifty, all I have to do is approach at
three hundred. The difference will keep me safe in the lead. But what about
the ones behind me? Yes, the enemy will correct their deflection to my
speed, and it’s the ones who follow who will rush straight into that.
Also, when moving away after the attack, it goes without saying that I’d
rather have a shield behind me. Our eyes are in the front of our heads.
The more you think about it, the more dangerous the rear starts to sound.
In other words, being the bold commander out front is the safer policy.
It’s said that in war, whether you survive or not is determined by how
cowardly you can be. I’m a coward, so I want to calmly maneuver myself
into a safe position.
“Follow me. I say again, follow me.”
For the moment, I look for a ship that isn’t firing so heavily.
I don’t even have to stop and think to know that only war junkies want
to get up close and personal with the dense anti–air fire of cruisers or battle
cruisers. You can see it in war videos or special reports. The anti-aircraft
fire density of American ships was nine parts bullets to one part sky. I
would practically despair just watching.
I don’t care how strong mages’ defensive shells are—I am absolutely
not flying into a 127 mm high-angle gunshot.
This is a night battle, but even if we can expect some help from the
cover of darkness, it’s too dangerous to aim at one of the big ships known
for anti–air fire.
Of course, the sensible way to do this is to attack a destroyer. In war,
picking on the weak is justice. Hooray, justice.
“…Ah. Is that a destroyer? Well, whatever it is, let’s get it!”
I can’t really tell because it’s dark, but there’s a turret firing at random,
so I can make out the shape of the ship.
Considering there are no ships in consort, it must be an isolated
destroyer?
In that case, we don’t have to worry about backup from other ships in
the enemy fleet.
Based on that interpretation, we get into assault formation.
In order to dive all at once from forty-five hundred feet, we maintain the
spindle shape and make minute adjustments to the angle of our assault.
“Gah! I’m hit! Heading back to base! No escort necessary.”
But I guess you can’t underestimate a destroyer. Just as we were about to
strike, one of my men gets hit.
The main gun on a destroyer is 127 mm and can be effectively used for
anti–air fire, so I reappraise the situation and decide we can’t take it lightly.
My mage who got shot seems able to fly, well, fine. Still, he doesn’t look
very good, so he has to drop out, I guess.
Since his mouth works, he’ll fly back to base on his own. There’s
nothing else we can do for him. About the only thing we can do is hope he’s
good bait.
 “Go on, get outta here. Okay, everyone, prepare explosion formulas.
Given a typical destroyer’s armor, we should be able to take it out if we aim
for exposed depth charges or the torpedo tubes.”
Tanya’s able to instantly twist her body to evade a shot as she
approaches, most certainly a result of her training. “Well, would you look at
that? I can dodge them,” she murmurs. She makes a mental note that her
unit probably needs additional training as she returns fire.
The ones firing off interceptor formulas from below must be Entente
Alliance direct support. Since they’re a destroyer’s escort, there are
probably only a few, but if they’re brave enough to come up here, they can’t
be discounted.
Just as she’s thinking that, she seems to recognize one of the enemies, a
mage who gave her a lot of trouble in the fjord. He looks an awful lot like
that fanatically patriotic monster.
Maybe it’s a coincidence, but you can kill a lousy enemy with less guilt
than a good one. In that sense, it’s a plus that this guy resembles a lousy
one. It’ll be refreshing to shoot him.
She changes gears and turns her attention to how best to attack. A heavy
explosion type would blow up a wide area, but she’d be a sitting duck while
she’s using it. Out of the question. Shoot with her rifle? That probably
wouldn’t even count as harassment. Rejected.
That’s when she realizes: A dive at this speed must have a ton of kinetic
energy. All I have to do is literally assault him—with the sharp end of my
rifle.
A fleeting intersection.
But Tanya’s bayonet, propelled at the speed of her dive, cuts through the
Entente Alliance mage’s defensive shell and twists into him. A bayonet
thrust by a mage going over four hundred knots is far more damaging than a
lance charge from a medieval heavy cavalry member.
She jabs it in and, in satisfaction, watches the stunned face of the enemy
soldier, who seems hardly able to believe something is piercing his
abdomen, but when she tries to pull her bayonet out, she frowns slightly
because it seems to have gone too far in and gotten stuck. Even the barrel is
sticking into him, and Tanya struggles a bit to remove it.
 “M…Mar…”
The enemy soldier, murmuring something that’s not even a word, is
fatally wounded. Geez, what’s that about? she thinks, when she realizes he’s
groping at the air, trying as hard as he can to bring his writhing right arm
around to the submachine gun on his back. So she decides to make a trade.
“Auf Wiedersehen.” She murmurs the curt farewell with a smile. I
admire him for his unexpected stubbornness, but I don’t have time to go
along with his futile resistance—I have to hurry on ahead. Shoving his right
arm out of the way, she steals the submachine gun. Then she kicks the
corpse away, already pushing it out of her mind, and takes a quick look at
the weapon she’s acquired.
It’s a standard submachine gun. But oddly enough, it accepts imperial
magic bullets. How nice, this trophy will prove unexpectedly useful. A
Christmas present to myself. Anyhow. Tanya smiles at her clear path, feeling
quite refreshed, and murmurs, “Now there’s nothing in my way.”
Yes, she’s literally kicked the obstacles out of her path. All that’s left is
to evade the ship’s wimpy anti–air fire, strike her blow, and disappear under
the veil of night.
That said, war is a gentlemanly fight for survival wherein one must be
the first to do what the enemy hates. And as a civilized individual with an
education, Tanya will not use her pretty hands for a sophisticated game of
cricket;12 she understands the need to unhesitatingly kick the enemy’s ass.
This situation demands the enemy’s intentions be thwarted.
So what is the best way to bully them?
It’s simple. The enemy fleet is currently being pestered by submarines,
so they have to take counter-sub measures. If I use an explosion formula
with short activation time and get either the ship’s depth charges or their
torpedoes to blow in a secondary explosion, this thing will go down easily.
Those torpedoes can be used against even a battleship. If I can get them
to explode, the destroyer won’t stand a chance. If I concentrate my attack
on the stern, even with low expectations, there’s a possibility of speed
reduction and rudder damage, too. And if it dumps the torpedoes to avoid
the danger of secondary explosions, the destroyer’s ability to counter the
submarines will definitely take a dive.
Not so much risk on my end. This is perfect.
“There’s no law that says a mage can’t sink a ship. I’m gonna rock this!”
 “We drew off the mages! Holding them at a distance now!”
And the one thing I was worried about, the marine mages, had been
pulled away right on schedule. They made it extremely easy by dropping
their altitude to work on the subs. Now I should be able to dive without
worrying about being attacked from above like an idiot. And I’m nominally
here to harass them, so this is too perfect.
“Good. Keep them far enough away that they can’t support the ships.”
“““Roger!”””
It’ll probably be difficult to hold them until our fleet can get here, but
they’ll surely be rewarded for hastening the enemy’s attrition. After all, we
already did a great job by locating the enemy fleet, and we’re even
coordinating with our submarines, though that was rather sudden. All I have
to do is report to the brass that we did all we could with a split-second
decision.
The best thing to do right now is give the enemy one good hit and
RTB.13 Fighting the ships is a secondary objective.
If we return fire, I figure our part of the search and destroy mission is
accomplished. Destroying the Entente Alliance ships is the Northern Sea
Fleet’s job.
“Okay, First Company, if you don’t want to be called a bunch of no-
achievement knuckleheads, it’s time to go to work.”
We begin accelerating again to dive. Unlike air-to-ground attacks, the
humidity from the water makes this descent uncomfortable. But we’re also
in the rain. As expected, the intercepting shots can’t catch me, and they fly
past.
Unless the enemy are hopelessly incompetent, the rest of the company
behind me is in danger. Using your subordinates as bait to survive and
climb the ladder is a constant in a corporate setting and the military.
“…All hands, deploy your formulas!”
That said, to my happy miscalculation, no one has dropped out.
Considering it’s a destroyer, maybe the last guy who got hit was a fluke?
That would make sense.
The company efficiently deploys their formulas. The concentrated
attacks fly one after another toward the stern of the ship.
“This is Fourth Company with an impact report. The enemy ship seems
unharmed.”
 After confirming impact, I pull up sharply to get out of there. Even if my
subordinates are acting as a shield behind me, human flesh is fragile; their
presence is enough to ease my mind somewhat, but I still move at full
speed.
Only an idiot gets shot down while hanging out observing the results of
their attack. A unit spotting from a distance reports the outcome.
And according to Fourth Company, regrettably, the ship is apparently
fine. I knew already since there wasn’t a secondary explosion, but it’s still
disappointing. All we do now is hope is that they’ve jettisoned their
torpedoes.
“Good enough! We achieved our aim of throwing them into confusion!
Let’s get out of here!”
Following the swiftly withdrawing First Company, the other three also
begin to move away, keeping the marine mages in check as they go.
In order to get out of there all at once, I pull us into return formation as
fast as possible. Well, we didn’t do so badly.
We failed to take out the marine mages, but the strategic win of locating
the enemy can’t be ignored. Basically, any further combat would just wear
us down without gaining anything. We should let our fleet get some of the
credit here.
“How did we do?”
“Six mages down and probably moderate damage to an unknown ship.
For a destroyer, it’s moving pretty slowly. Its engine must be hurting. If
we’re lucky, the submarines will confirm. What’s our damage?”
“We also have six with serious injuries and a bunch with scrapes.”
Anyhow, no one died. That’s a blessing in this curse. If we had been up
against an American ship, there would probably be heaps of corpses…
Taking a look at the actual damage, it’s not as bad as I expected.
Considering we were up against a destroyer, we could have come out far
worse. I’m kind of glad VT fuses14 aren’t unleashing their fury yet.
“…We basically lost. How can we show our faces back at base?”
But the mood is heavy because we weren’t able to deal much damage.
The lack of secondary explosion could mean that they had already used up
their depth charges, but still… That’s probably wishful thinking, Tanya
laments.
“But if we encountered the enemy in these waters…they’re advancing
too quickly!”
“Major, if you’ll forgive me…considering the speed of a destroyer…”
“Yeah, you’re right. It’s possible. Still, I can’t believe we missed our
chance to take out a destroyer…”
All Tanya can do is bemoan the unexpected encounter. In other words,
she wasn’t prepared. It was possible for the Entente Alliance ships to be
moving faster than the estimate she’d been given if they had a group of
faster than average ships.
And for just a quick destroyer…it was definitely possible.
Calling it unexpected was basically a confession of incompetence.
“It’s possible, but…what about the enemy coastal defense ship…? This
is going to give me a headache.”
Still, the fact that a superior was wrong is no small matter. Well, the fleet
coming after us has a powerful attack in store. This probably won’t be
viewed as that much of a problem. After all, to our fleet of powerful ships, a
destroyer is easy prey.
At this point, it’s more constructive to think about the damage my unit
has taken and apply for their retraining and rest periods.
Thinking it nearly makes her crack a smile. Of course, I have plenty of
experience controlling myself and faking a sorrowful expression. Nah, I
should be genuinely sad. The damage to the unit I spent my time training
really gets me down.
“Mages were able to hold their own against an enemy battleship. That’s
a fine achievement.”
“We’ll leave the rest up to our friends. Back to base!”
We accomplished our mission, Tanya consoles herself, biting back a
sigh, and orders her soldier with the long-range wireless set to radio
Command. After a few coded exchanges, Tanya is told she’s gotten through,
so she takes the receiver and gives a straightforward summary of the
situation.
“Pixie 01 to Urban Control. That’s it for my report.”
“Urban Control, roger. We’ll take care of it. Can you stay on the
enemy?”
The enemy fleet is several ships, including a battleship. They’re on a
course heading north. They’ve had contact with our submarines. When I
promptly gave Command coordinate data and the details of their speed,
they asked us to pursue.
“With all due respect, we’ve been flying patrol for hours and can’t take
much more fatigue. Is it possible to spare us further anti-ship combat while
we’re flying with wounded men?”
“Understood. I’ve made arrangements for you to land at the nearest
base. Wishing you a safe return.”
“Thanks. Over.”
To Tanya, all she had done was say indirectly that she wanted to go
home. The controller probably hadn’t been expecting much when he asked.
She had no problems getting permission to return to base.
But Tanya doesn’t know that on the way to the nearby base the
controller was considerate enough to get them accommodated at, she’s
about to have a rather lovely run-in.

IMPERIAL ARMY NORTHERN PATROL AIRSPACE, B-47

Magic Major Tanya von Degurechaff is the most senior officer in the
airspace at the moment. And the senior officer has to make a decision at one
point or another. That’s why they’re given the responsibility and authority.
And the decision, when it comes down to it, will be whatever they believe
is the best thing to do.
There’s something you learn if you read a lot of self-improvement
books: Decisions that aren’t made in time are pointless. Judgments that
come too late mean nothing. Of course, it goes without saying that careless
decisions are prohibited.
In other words, the most important thing is balance. We can call it an
essential skill for any managerial profession.
And on this most inauspicious day, the sky over the freezing Northern
Sea has poor visibility. Not only is this the absolute worst possible weather
to fly in, but also the fact that we encountered a submarine of unknown
nationality over the water on our way home is a turn of events so unlucky I
feel like something is wrong with the theory of probability.
 And now that we’ve found it, Tanya, as the most senior officer, is forced
to deal with it.
She has her troops fan out, and when she glances at their faces, she sees
eyes so serious it makes her sick. Just one shot can kill almost a hundred of
our own species. And their expressions mean business—these soldiers will
do their best not to miss. I really hate this world. May ruin befall this place
where humans can’t act like humans.
And fuck the war laws, too, while we’re at it, Tanya grumbles in her
head.
Way to blow it by having no provision about a right to innocent passage
for submarines. Were you planning on appealing to the principle of legality?
Or waiting for a decision from a maritime court? This isn’t a joke.
Before my eyes, a submarine of unknown nationality is attempting to
rapidly flee underwater from us, the Imperial Army. This has to happen
when I’m in charge, of all times. It’s moving awfully fast and will probably
be completely submerged in less than a minute. But although a minute isn’t
much, we do currently have it.
Right now, we can still make it in time.
Submarine armor is as flimsy as paper. My battalion is prepared for anti-
ship combat, so we can sink a sub instantaneously.
I can’t help but feel the eyes of my men turn to me, hoping for
permission to attack. It’s practically the same look a hunting dog uses to ask
permission from its master. Externally, Tanya’s unfazed, but inside she’s
raging.
I’m the one in charge. To put it another way, I have to take
responsibility.
Sink a boat of unknown nationality? That’d be idiotic! thinks Tanya,
flatly rejecting that fantasy.
The law of war doesn’t permit fighting except between countries in
conflict. And the worst part is that there are boats from the Commonwealth
sailing near here. I should break war laws right in front of a neutral
country?
The various ensuing problems would wring my neck. It’d be a way
bigger issue than compliance. If I don’t want to become a political
scapegoat, I have to maintain at least a veneer of reason.
So do I let it go? Before my eyes? Without inspecting it even though
we’re right above it? That could develop into a huge hairy mess in the
Imperial Army. It already looks like I’m forcing a lot of issues in the
military org (even though I’m doing it because I have no choice), so if I let
a sub of unknown nationality get away, they wouldn’t just let me off the
hook. It’s an unknown boat operating in these waters. It must have some
awfully important cargo. I can’t overlook that, either.
And with a little effort, that sub can get away in two days underwater.
As long as we don’t have sonar of some kind, it’ll be practically impossible
to find it again if I let it go now.
…Why? Why must I be driven into this kind of corner?

What started all this, the root of Tanya’s suffering in this dilemma, was a
radio message received after the fight with the Entente Alliance ship as we
were on our way back to base.
“…Commander! Urgent report of a suspicious boat running dark in our
territorial waters at two o’clock.”
I didn’t expect to find anything, but if we’re flying we get paid for it, so
we headed away from base and ended up involved in a fight with the
Entente Alliance.
It happened just as Tanya had started grumbling about how if she
couldn’t warm up by the fireplace with a warm cup of coffee she wouldn’t
be able to go on.
A report of a suspicious boat arrived. Apparently, some industrious guys
found it.
Who is doing more work than they get paid for? She was half-impressed
and half-disgusted as she cocked her head and then sighed in irritation that
she would have to work extra hours—with no overtime pay—to deal with
it.
My battalion was somewhat worn out by the unforeseen battle we had
just been in. I couldn’t imagine wanting to actively enter combat. But we
weren’t hurting so badly that we had to avoid it altogether.
“Well, we can’t ignore it. Challenge it.”
It was a situation that couldn’t be ignored, and even though my battalion
was on its way back to base, I acquiesced since we were the nearest force.
Albeit reluctantly, Tanya and her battalion arrived at the reported sector that
had been reported, and they discovered the suspicious boat.
“Is it one of our transport ships? Check the nationality.”
“It’s a cargo-passenger ship from the Commonwealth, the Lytol.”
When she called and got a response, it was even more troubling.
It wasn’t strange for a Commonwealth cargo-passenger ship to be there,
but that didn’t mean she could just let it go.
“…Tell them we’re boarding.”
“Are you sure? If it takes too long, it will affect our return time…”
“We can’t ignore it now that we challenged it. It’s in waters between
countries at war.”
The boat’s nationality was too problematic to ignore, which was also a
pain.
Yes, ships from neutral countries have the right to come and go as they
please, but at the same time, we have the right to board in the territorial
waters of the country at war. Obnoxiously, if we didn’t inspect this ship, I
would need a good reason for it.
It’s just one thing after another. How annoying. I want to do my job
efficiently, but it’s not as if I want to work, so there’s no way this will end
well.
“Lytol, this is the Imperial Army General Staff’s 203rd Aerial Mage
Battalion. We order you to submit to inspection. Cut your engines
immediately. I say again, cut your engines immediately.”
“This is Lytol. We are a vessel from a neutral country, the
Commonwealth, so we do not believe we are under obligation to comply.”
“Lytol, this is the Imperial Army. Are you carrying any military
personnel? Or are you operating under the orders of military personnel?”
“Lytol to the Imperial Army. We’re not required to answer those
questions.”
“Imperial Army, roger. Lytol, if that is your decision, we’re unable to
recognize your immunity to boarding as a neutral country’s warship. This is
a warning that if you refuse inspection, it will be considered a hostile action
and you will be classified as a hostile nation’s vessel. I say again, if you
refuse inspection, it will be considered a hostile action. We will have no
choice but to sink you.”
 “Lytol, we’ve cut our engines.”
“Good. Start the inspection. Lieutenant Weiss, your company is the
boarding party.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“The rest of you, keep watch over the area.”
Tanya wanted to pull her hair out, the legal exchange was such a pain in
the ass, but just as she was pushing the boarding duty onto her subordinates
and having the smallest acceptable party pull up alongside the ship,
something else happened.
“Wait a minute. What’s that?” Lieutenant Serebryakov asked, pointing at
something on the surface. She seemed to have found something in the mist
over the sea. Drawn by her question, several people followed her gaze
and…bingo, I suppose you could say? There was the cargo-passenger ship
flying the Commonwealth flag plus a submarine of unknown nationality.
…And if I wasn’t seeing things, they seemed to be transferring
something.
It goes without saying that these were two British ladies15 enjoying a
secret meeting.
They couldn’t be unrelated. I most certainly wanted to inquire about
their relationship. I might have seemed like a paparazzo, and you could say
it was bad manners, but I just hoped they’d find it in their hearts to forgive
me.
Another extra job to do? Tanya lamented. As she was about to send out
another boarding party, she was suddenly unsure what to do.
Submarines go underwater, as their name implies, but war laws cover
only surface boarding rules; there’s nothing pertaining to boats that can
dive. After all, submarines are a relatively new type of vessel.
Since they are used in proxy wars, there is research being done into
counter-sub combat and ways to stop them, but most navy personnel are
extremely under-informed. Still, it’s crazy that there is nothing in the naval
war laws about submarines. I realized it was only a matter of time before
unrestricted submarine warfare was declared.
But every second Tanya fretted, the situation was developing. The sub
was trying to dive before her eyes. In a few minutes, it would be deep
enough that our attacks might not reach—it would be able to make a calm
getaway.
 “Ngh. Lieutenant Weiss, capture the Lytol with your company!”
I figured we should hurry. I wanted to keep them from hiding evidence
before the inspection.
But what about the critical submarine?
If it refuses to be boarded, I can shoot, but first it has to be a warning
shot. That’s the standard protocol demanded by the law of war. Submerging
isn’t denying inspection. Annoyingly, my opponent has slipped through a
legal loophole.
I love slipping through legal loopholes, but I hate it when other people
do it to me.
What suddenly crosses my mind is compromise… Does it really matter
how deep the mire goes?
I’m in this bog already. If I’m already covered in mud, it’s not a big deal
if another kind of mud gets involved. I’d hesitate to get clean white sheets
all dirty, but throwing a ball of mud covered in mud into the dirt won’t hurt
it.
“…All units on standby, prepare to attack the submarine! Ready a
warning!”
“Major?!”
“Fire sniping formulas! If it doesn’t comply with orders to halt and starts
to dive, blow its conning tower off!”
All we can do is shoot.
“All hands, at the same time, prepare to subdue the target. Avoid direct
hits. This is for intimidation purposes only.”
So I’ll choose the route that isn’t pitch-black, even if it is dirty.
The law of war doesn’t prohibit shots across the bow. As long as we
don’t hit them directly, we can claim they were warning shots. We can’t call
diving refusing inspection, but it’s not exactly cooperative, either. If we’re
firing warning shots to urge compliance, legally speaking, that’s got to be
the whiter part of gray—in other words, white.
“All hands! Assault formation! Prepare to fire warning shots!”
The company commanders repeat the orders. My men have just enough
self-control to wait when told to heel. If I tell them to intimidate, they
should intimidate. Submarines have such wimpy armor that one depth
charge is enough to crush it. If we blow multiple heavy explosion formulas
in its immediate vicinity, it won’t be able to keep diving. Then all we have
to do is stroll aboard once it surfaces.
“You got that? No direct hits!” So I repeatedly emphasize that we’re not
trying to sink it. If it sinks, I’ll really be in trouble. “The opponent is a sub.
One depth charge is enough to cave in its armor. Stop at a few near misses!
I’m not listening to any excuses if you sink it!”
What did they put on board? Depending on that cargo, this could be a
major achievement. We can’t go lending them a hand by sinking them and
erasing all the tangible evidence.
We have to secure it.
“Jawohl, Frau Major!”
“Good! Gentlemen, that Commonwealth vessel is watching. Make sure
you don’t humiliate us!”
Everyone swiftly gets into formation. The sub doesn’t have any anti–air
fire to speak of. Actually, anyone who would be scared of that should be
shot. So yes, everyone has calmly—leisurely, even—assumed their
positions. All that’s left now is to decide how much distance to keep.
Heavy explosion formulas are different from the simple kind. About ten
meters away should do it.
Converted to gunpowder, they’re a hundred fifty kilos at most. There
won’t be fragmentation; the water pressure will be enough.
“Stay ten—no, fifteen meters away from the hull!” The worry that ten
meters won’t be enough suddenly crosses my mind.
Submarines are fragile. I’m not about to have them too close and send it
to the bottom. Considering it’s half-intimidation tactic, half-warning, fifteen
meters should be good. It might even be a little under-confident, since the
water will dull the shock.
That said, it can’t be interpreted as an attack. We may be in waters
where the Empire and Entente Alliance are at war, but that doesn’t mean it’s
okay to sink a vessel of unknown nationality. Which is precisely why
commanders forced to make quick, delicate calls can never relax—I hate it.
“Warning fire at a distance of fifteen!”
“All right. Fire!”
That’s why I have them keep their distance.
I shout over and over, so there will be no confusion, that this is only for
intimidation.
It must be recorded in the unit logs.
 And the fact that I clearly stated to keep fifteen meters away should be
in the firing data table. In other words, I’m compromising myself as little as
possible. We’ve seen it, so the best thing we can do is perform our duty.
I pour a hefty dose of mana into the computation orb in my hand and put
it in firing mode. The cores regulate the energy, and I aim near the
submarine my unit is trying to keep from diving.
It’s a company’s worth of disciplined fire from 360 degrees and fifteen
meters away—the heavy explosion formulas burst in the water.
The huge splashes obscure the unidentified submarine.
“Second Company, descend! Prepare to board the sub when it comes
up.”
Well, they were warning shots, but at that range, the sub is probably
taking on water.
That’s the weakness of these vulnerable submarines. I’m sure a bunch of
confidential materials will get ruined, so we have to capture it as soon as
possible.

Meanwhile, the captain of the Commonwealth S-class submarine Syrtis

was nearly panicking due to the report of an incoming mage battalion.
There’s a mole16 in the intelligence agency. He was aware of the rumors.
He and his submarine crew were not about to lose to the subterranean, but
unfortunately diving into intelligence and diving into the sea are two
different things. They knew they had taken measures to preserve utmost
secrecy.
Security was so tight that when they were dispatched, he could only tell
his crew that they were performing an utterly normal navigation exercise.
Only the captain knew the true identity of the “technical officer” from the
Office of the Admiralty who was on board; only the captain knew about the
sealed orders.
They had been so thorough that even the navigation officer wasn’t
informed until after they had launched and were setting their course.
However…
There they were at the rendezvous point only a handful of people should
have known about. They managed to make the transfer just as the report
came in that the Imperial Army was approaching, and the situation rapidly
deteriorated.
If that hadn’t happened, all they would have had to do was play dumb
and get past the Imperial Army patrol line. What did it mean that an
imperial mage battalion appeared out of nowhere just then?
The shock was so great that he momentarily locked eyes with the
“technical officer” from the Office of the Admiralty.
“Multiple Imperial Army mages incoming! They saw our rendezvous
with the Lytol!”
The enemy must have known about the cargo and the schedule. If not,
they wouldn’t have shown up here. An auxiliary ship might have been
conspicuous, but it’s nominally a civilian vessel. The Empire couldn’t be
rough with a civilian vessel from the neutral Commonwealth.
But if the vessel was of unknown nationality, handling it as a belligerent
to some extent would be permissible.
If they had known that much planned a raid, there had to be a mole.
“They’re ordering us to halt!”
The radio operator’s shout jerked everyone back to reality.
The captain had to set aside his doubts for the time being and make it
through this moment. An S-class submarine could dive to a depth of over a
hundred meters. Even mages would have trouble following them if they
submerged.
It would be a different story if they took a shot to the hull, but the law of
war wasn’t clear on the definition of halting their ship.
No, submerging was not officially recognized as fugitive behavior. After
all, the rules were written before boats went underwater.
“Cut off all radio communications! Emergency dive!”
All they had to do was dive before the mages were on them. Maintain
radio silence, refuse transmissions, and dive, just like that. He thought they
would be able to escape that way.
But his forecast was naive. Just as they opened the vents…
The observer shrieked a warning, and the captain learned, whether he
wanted to or not, their opponent’s lack of scruples.
“M-multiple mana signals detected! All hands, brace for…”
They were going to shoot. When he realized that, his head told him to
grab hold of something, but the warning was so unexpected that his body
wasn’t moving the way he wanted it to.
 Not many on the crew could get their bodies to cooperate. I have to
move. Everyone thought so, and when they reached their hands out, they
heard a roar. Then came a series of huge shocks to the hull, the captain
noticed that he felt weightless as the attacks landed, and he lost
consciousness.
“Captain?! Shit! Medic! The captain’s wounded! Get to the conning
station!”
He awoke to the sound of someone’s raised voice but not for long.
Noting the captain’s condition, the first officer prepared himself to take
command. The scenario was about as “worst-case” as it could get. Multiple
hull breaches. Rapidly spreading flooding.
On top of that, the water pressure around the bridge had destroyed the
periscope. The engines were just barely running, but there was a problem in
the battery compartments—they were emitting chlorine gas. They needed
masks for poisonous gas, but it was all he could do to just get the battered
crew moving.
Between the flooding and the gas, the environment in the sub would
deteriorate quickly. It was only a matter of time until disaster.
To make matters worse, the rudder wouldn’t budge. It had probably been
damaged by the water pressure. So they wouldn’t be able to move properly.
There was a limit to the emergency repairs they could do. Only one of
the drain pumps was working, so they would eventually lose balance. With
their reserve power situation looking dire, the only choice they had was to
surface.
“…Sir, we can’t take any more.” He addressed the technical officer.
“There’s nothing you can do?”
He had to make a hard decision—and fast. The first officer didn’t really
think the mysterious technical officer was a mere officer. So he hinted at
him that all they could do was surrender.
As long as the captain couldn’t command the ship, the first officer was
responsible for the lives of the crew. Since they were forced to surface, he
had no choice but to say it. “We’re not going to last long. If you need to
take care of the cargo, let’s do so quickly.”
“…Understood.”
A murmured exchange, and then the technical officer and the first
officer went to quickly “deal with” the cargo. It was an awful decision to
make…but it was the only way.

DECEMBER 12, UNIFIED YEAR 1924,

COMMONWEALTH, LONDINIUM, UNDISCLOSED
LOCATION

“What were you doing?!”

An unassuming building stood tucked away in a quiet residential area.
Isolated from the outside in an inconspicuous way, the building’s interior
was in the midst of a storm that struck a perfect contrast with its quiet
environs. Not so much as a molecule of the genial Christmas spirit of the
world at large could survive there.
Particularly violent was Major General Habergram of the Foreign
Strategy Division, who was abusing the line of intelligence officers. He
pounded the desk with his clenched fist almost hard enough to break it. A
half-assed explanation wasn’t going to cut it. The intelligence officers
standing there were as pale as prisoners about to be executed by firing
squad.
Well, it was only natural. Of course the general’s fury would be violent
when he’d been woken from a nap because the plan he’d forgone sleep or
rest to realize was ruined in the span of a single night.
He’d figured out the Imperial Army aerial units’ patrol lines and
analyzed their Northern Sea Fleet’s patrol routes. He’d checked the speed of
that fleet and adjusted the Commonwealth Navy’s exercise schedule
accordingly as a distraction. In a single moment, all his efforts went up in
smoke.
General Habergram was by no means the only person in the
Commonwealth grinding his teeth in disappointment; the need for a
sweeping investigation into the causes of the problem had been
acknowledged. At this point in time, the ones getting the murderous looks
were the security officers; their stomachs probably couldn’t take much
more.
 “Why were there imperial mages over there?”
The failures of the intelligence agency had been in question for some
time, but now there were getting to be too many to brush off as
coincidences. One or two incidents could be unfortunate mistakes, but by
the time the third one happens, it’s inevitable.
When the voluntary army that had been sent out to gather intel and
observe was pinpointed and bombarded by mages, it was still possible to
suspect coincidence.
They were working on improving the apparatuses after they concluded
that reverse detection of the surveillance waves could have been the cause.
It wasn’t out of the question to call it an unfortunate accident or
coincidence.
But this time, it was too hard to fathom as a coincidence; he couldn’t
accept it. They were targeted so precisely.
“We’re performing a thorough investigation, but we can only imagine it
was a coincidence!”
“The Empire might have a good intelligence team, but I really don’t
think they could have known about this…”
“Then explain this video.”
The footage of the battle he projected shut up the officers who were
trying to object. Even though the details were hazy with static thanks to the
dense concentration of combat mana, what it showed was clear.
The imperial mages moved in perfect formation toward a single target.
Other ships tried to draw their fire by attacking, but the enemy unit ignored
them. Not only were they not afraid of getting hit, they maneuvered as if
they weren’t even taking the possibility of damage into account.
Then they held back the marine mages who went up to intercept them
and dived in assault formation.
The log blacked out when an Entente Alliance mage who went to
intercept fell as a corpse into the sea after being mercilessly bayoneted and
kicked away. The last image was the enemy mages darting straight for the
battle cruiser.
Yes, one glance made it obvious. They were clearly aiming for a specific
ship and paying no attention to the others.
“I ask you—why?” It was the question of a man about to explode at any
moment. “Why is the Named who was supposedly deployed in the northern
zone lying in wait for us here?”
Then his thunder crashed. All the intelligence officers could do was pray
for the storm to pass. According to their careful analysis, the imperial
Named had seemed to be providing support to the northern lines.
Central had taken the trouble to dispatch this Named unit. And the
intelligence officers had given a partially incorrect warning that they were
going to be supporting an offensive.
Against their expectations, the Named unit appeared far from the sector
they had been stationed in. At first, they wondered if it was an unknown
elite unit, but the recorded mana signatures answered that question
immediately.
They matched the signals of the Named unit who had just previously
been spotted in the Entente Alliance.
Looking at the combat logs, it was obviously the same unit who had
been so kind as to demolish the voluntary army there just the other day.
Really, it was hard to imagine them being here. Considering the Imperial
Army’s rotation of combat and rest, it was too soon.
“The fighting in the north is intensifying. And they’re planning an
offensive to mop up the Entente Alliance. Why would they dispatch a
powerful mage unit out here?”
Yes. Their analysis said the Imperial Army, which had carried out a
landing operation that ignored communication lines and the power of the
Commonwealth’s Navy, was preparing an operation to finish off the Entente
Alliance. Why would they just happen to send an elite unit to this area at a
time when the Northern Army Group probably needed all the help they
could get?
These were the guys who were massing all available arms, ammunition,
and personnel for the northern lines, so this maneuver clearly had to be the
result of a plan, not a coincidence.
This was the same Named unit who was spotted during the landing
operation. If it had been pulled and then appeared on the Rhine lines, you
could call it proof that the Empire was prioritizing the Rhine front. But just
when they noticed they had stopped seeing it on the northern lines, it was
instead lying in wait for departing Entente Alliance ships and their
submarine in the Northern Sea.
“Most importantly, look at this. They make a beeline for the middle of
the fleet without even looking at the vanguard.”
The attack was too efficient to be explained as a chance encounter. For
starters, look at how the mages suddenly attacked just as a sub distracted
the fleet with a torpedo, causing everyone to look down. How elite mages
dropped out of the sky just when everyone’s minds were blank, and
physically, the fleet had broken formation to perform evasive maneuvers
with too-perfect timing.
But then they didn’t even touch the vanguard destroyers.
As a result, they were able to go undetected for some time. They ignored
the intercepting attack that had just barely occurred at all and headed
straight for their objective. If that was a coincidence, it had to mean about a
dozen ladies of luck were smiling on the Empire. But that seemed
impossible.
“We also have record of some kind of transmission above the fleet.”
Were the mages filing a report right before going into assault formation?
There was not no chance it was a report of enemy contact, but in that case,
you’d think they would have done it sooner. If they were there to restrain
them, they wouldn’t have had to approach so closely.
But if they were an attacking unit, there should have been a combat
control team.
Unexpectedly encountering an unguided battalion of mages? Don’t be
ridiculous. Plus, it happened right after the submarine attack. If it wasn’t
planned and it wasn’t the kind of coincidence only God can conceive of, it
wasn’t possible.
“They started drawing off the escorts straightaway, and on top of that,
one company went right for the battle cruiser. All you can do is laugh.”
Anti–air fire doesn’t score that many direct hits. The navy and even the
army know that. But the difference between knowing something and
experiencing it is night and day. Would you charge a battle cruiser lined
with autocannons simply because the shots don’t usually connect?
Normally there would be some hesitation. Even if they didn’t hesitate,
there would have been various ways to go about it. If attacking was their
aim, deploying barrage formulas at range would have been one option. A
mage’s extra-long range barrage formula would be able to get past most
anti–air fire.
Of course, the marine mages were there to keep them from doing that.
But they had been pretty much caught by surprise, so although the handful
of direct support mages put up the best resistance they could, it was futile,
and they were scattered. The enemy mages were emitting such tranquil
signals we didn’t discover them until they were right on top of us, so they
must have been working really hard to conceal them.
“Look. From the mana signatures, it seems like the Named is leading the
formation.”
Did the Entente Alliance miss the signature of the Named because
they’re incompetent? Observing the mana isotope of the flight leader17 is
the most basic step to take. It’s easy to detect it as long as the mage isn’t
limiting output to conceal themselves.
A unit putting a check on enemies might be able to limit output. It was a
standard way to extend one’s time in the air and liked for the way it lowered
one’s chances of being detected. But could a battalion flying at high speeds
do it?
It did temporarily increase your endurance, but in the end, your fatigue
would spike. It would be out of the question to enter combat. So perhaps
they were limiting output for some other reason, not a sneak attack…
But then right after that, the same unit raided the waters where their
auxiliary ship and submarine were meeting. No matter how optimistically
someone wanted to interpret the situation, it was only natural to suspect a
giant leak. Rather, if the enemy was acting this boldly on their intelligence,
they probably weren’t even trying to hide that they were getting it.
They considered saying it was so obvious it was unnatural…but they
thought they had looked deep into all the circumstances…and yet they still
couldn’t get the possibility out of their heads—and that was the demands of
their job. In an information war, truth was never guaranteed. Even if
something seemed correct, the mere appearance of accuracy wouldn’t help
them. And that was why they had to suspect every possibility—including
the hypothesis of a leak.
“…What did you find out in the hunt?”
Acknowledging that hypothesis had serious implications. If there wasn’t
a leak, they had no explanation for the enemy’s actions.
Naturally, the intelligence agency had launched a major operation in
great haste to whack all the moles and clean out the organization, the
assumption being that if they could just find the culprit…
 Everyone was about ready to cry because they hadn’t found the slightest
sign of the enemy. The people in charge of the investigation had come up
with no evidence and no support, but if there wasn’t a huge leak, then they
were saddled with the bigger problem of having no explanation for the
situation. They really were at wits’ end, about to break down sobbing.
“We considered code issues, a double agent, or betrayal, but so far we’re
clear.”
“We’re still waiting for the actual results of the investigation, but I can’t
imagine the code is broken. We’re not using anything except onetime pads.”
“A double agent or traitor isn’t terribly likely, either. The number of
people with access to this information isn’t even double digits.”
“It’s possible they were a lookout on the flank of the main imperial fleet
headed north. Perhaps it really was just an unfortunate coincidence…”
It wasn’t as if the intelligence agency and its officers were doing
nothing.
They had arrived at this word coincidence after suffering through
investigations that exhausted every other avenue. Now all they could do
was tell their irate boss their troubling conclusion…that perhaps it was
simply chance. Over the course of the hunt, a few moles had been
discovered and purged. Still, they were clear.
At this point, wasn’t it just an unfortunate accident? It was only a matter
of time until a number of people began to think that. Actually, some were
even saying it, given the report that the Entente Alliance fleet had been able
to escape the Empire’s Northern Sea Fleet to meet up with the Republic
fleet in the end.
But that idea was rejected due to one piece of unmistakably clear
evidence: the reports from the intelligence and naval officers dispatched to
the Entente Alliance ship as military observers.
The details written there were enough to silence anyone claiming it was
a coincidence or an accident. No, it blew them out of the water.
“…A big augmented battalion of mages just happens to encounter the
battle cruiser with the councilor who would form the government in exile,
and they just happen to attack and concentrate their fire on where that vital
politician is?”
And immediately before, the submarine torpedo attack with perfect
timing. Right as the ships abruptly shifted to counter-sub combat and the
direct support marine mages were flying low on patrol, the imperial mages
used their altitude to their advantage and swooped out of the sky.
It was awfully well coordinated if they weren’t waiting for us.
Then, as if they had done what they came to do, the enemy mages left
after only one strike.
For General Habergram, the bad news they had woken him up for was
enough to make him nearly crush the pipe in his hand. The attached photo
made it clear that they had focused their attack on a single area—an area
that was almost never considered a strategic target. In anti-ship warfare,
there aren’t many methods of effective attack; maybe a heavy explosion
formula or a gravity formula aimed beneath the target’s waterline.
But they took the trouble to aim for the living quarters with anti-
personnel explosion formulas. Maybe against the bridge it would be
understandable, but they aimed at the living quarters. That is, the entire
company concentrated their fire on them.
And this had been noted already, but according to the reports, after
recklessly charging in and bombing their target area, they all left without
any further combat actions.
They left as if they had no time to lose. They must have been on their
way back to base. Theoretically, it was possible to insist that coincidences
had just stacked up.
But what are the astronomical odds of the coincidence where an enemy
who waited so persistently, only to strike once and rush away, subsequently
runs into the Commonwealth’s auxiliary ship and sub “on their way back”?
You don’t even have to think about it.
“And is there anyone who believes that it was a coincidence that they
ran into our boat on their way back just because it was bobbing out there
looking suspicious?” It was a rhetorical question containing his fury.
He was all but saying that if anyone did, that fist pounding into the table
would smash into them instead. He squared his shoulders imposingly while
inside him the hurricane was raging.
“What a priceless fluke! Of all the coincidences that could possibly
happen, this one’s a real riot!” Shouting, he slammed his fist into the table
again, paid no mind to the fact that he’d started bleeding, and fell silent as
though he’d lost the power of speech.
He had always been praised as an unflappable paragon of composure,
and yet…

SAME DAY, IMPERIAL ARMY GENERAL STAFF

OFFICE, JOINT CONFERENCE ROOM

The situation was bad if the Service Corps staff, the Intelligence staff, and
the Operations staff were all at wits’ end. Maybe there was some kind of
political strategy problem or some kind of military issue. It was natural that
the staff officers would be worried about how to get things under control.
Well, they had probably also started thinking about who to blame.
“What? We lost the Entente Alliance ships?” That accurately summed
up the sentiment of all the army officers present. No, all the participants’
thoughts could be expressed that way.
Not that they’d had them trapped like rats, but everyone had believed it
was certain, given the power balance, that they would deal the enemy ships
a serious blow in this naval battle. It had been finally a chance for the idle
navy to shine and show some results, but the staff’s expectations had been
magnificently betrayed.
“…The Northern Sea Fleet failed to relocate them.”
“Even though we succeeded in building up superior fighting
capabilities?”
“Yes, it seems they got away.”
They let them get away? Not that the fleet was perfect, but they had
managed to gather a fair number of capital ships. They were also able to
choose the battleground. It was only natural to have high expectations under
those circumstances.
Were all those fleet maneuvers just a waste of heavy oil?
The stern gazes from the army seemed to contain a rebuke. What is the
meaning of this? The confused naval officers bearing the brunt of it were
forced to present materials and attempt to explain.
“No, the weather was so horrible. The fact that we even made contact
twice was a fluke. It’s incredibly difficult to relocate a fleet.”
 There was nothing easy about finding something in the sea. Even a fleet
of warships is nothing but a speck in the wide-open water.
Unless you controlled all sides of an area, it was impossible to patrol it
perfectly. How well you could do was practically up to probability. For that
reason, the navy prioritized inferences based on past experience. To put it
another way, the Imperial Navy’s lack of experience was enough to break
them down into tears. Though the expansion of their “hardware” was on
schedule, the personnel operating them still required improvements.
“But that’s your job.”
Still, it was true that griping wouldn’t get them anywhere. They didn’t
need to be told that doing their best with what they were given was
demanded of military men. In that case, the navy had to supplement their
perfectly adequate hardware with “software” that could operate it in the
form of quality manpower.
“Still, I guess saying any more at this point won’t change anything.”
Major General von Zettour figured that was enough useless finger-pointing
and chimed in to end the venting.
As far as he could tell, the army had already expressed most of their
complaints and discontent. The navy was getting near the end of their rope.
Any more of this was just a waste of time. Yes, he made up his mind to end
the witch hunt and proposed that they work toward a realistic solution.
“All we can do is consider our next step. Does the navy have anything to
suggest?” After finishing his question, he gave a stern look to any army
officers who seemed to have more to say and slowly took his seat. An
officer from the navy stood, apparently waiting for the chance. What a
young kid, Zettour thought as he changed gears.
“We would like to prevent their meeting with the Republic by getting
some assistance on the diplomatic front.”
In the documents they’d been given, there was a plan that included an
opinion from the Foreign Office. There was not a problem with the proposal
per se. He actually thought it was fairly well put together. At least, it was
reasonable.
“Making use of the duties of neutral states, hmm? But do you think the
Commonwealth will actually fulfill them?”
But reason is not all that matters in a fight for the survival of a state. If
that were the case, the world would already be Utopia, and the absence of a
heaven on earth made their position clear.
“The Foreign Office thinks it’s tricky. But honestly, they won’t, right?”
The Commonwealth would probably just demand they leave within
forty-eight hours. He didn’t think it would actually take measures to disarm
them like it was supposed to. The military attaché’s confirmation would be
resisted with procedural delays.
By the time permission was granted, the boat would have left the bay.
“In which case, those ships will waltz over to meet up with the Republic
fleet.”
“Ugh. That means Entente Alliance resistance will drag on.”
Inconveniently for the Empire, the Commonwealth and the Republic had
more than a little adjacent territorial water. Since it was out of the question
to battle in the Commonwealth’s territory, there was no real way to prevent
the ships from getting to the Republic once they’d lost them.
And if the Entente Alliance ships were fighting with the Empire, it could
create issues with convincing them to surrender. Look! Our navy’s fit as a
fiddle! the enemy could say. They were trying to discourage further
resistance at this juncture, so the issue had the capacity to develop into a
headache.
“…There’s not really anything else we can do but sink them ASAP.”
There was no other way to rapidly gain control of the situation and
minimize damage. They had to sink all those Entente Alliance ships.
Missing a ship or two was one thing, but they had let them get away.
Sinking a few enemy vessels was no longer enough to resolve the problem.
The only option their current situation permitted was to swiftly sink as
many ships as they could. That was the only way to stop the issue from
evolving any further.
“So the orders for the Northern Sea Fleet are still to promptly sink the
ships?”
“That works.”
The navy had no objections, either.
“We’ll continue to provide support. I just want to get this resolved as
soon as possible.”
 GARRISON OF THE 203RD BATTALION, BATTALION
HQ

It had crystallized into something pure and tranquil…a madness that had
precipitated as a faintly black sediment, then festered and condensed.
Those nightmarish eyes seemed to invite insanity into everything they
fell upon. It was all you could do to resist the bewitching gaze if it landed
on you.
“Your orders, please, Colonel.”
Lieutenant Colonel von Lergen exhaled lightly and finally drew air into
his lungs again. Sunlight streamed in through the window.
It seemed a warm day for winter, but his body felt like it was enveloped
in cold.
The reason was simple—the incarnation of madness before his eyes.
“Major von Degurechaff, you’re being transferred.”
Preparations were under way for a large operation on the Rhine front—
planned and drafted with an unprecedented amount of leverage from Major
General von Rudersdorf, deputy director of Operations, and the support of
Major General von Zettour.
So they needed reinforcements.
And they would need support for those reinforcements.
Of course, as a bit of an obnoxious errand, there was a court-martial
waiting for her at Central—a formality. After all, though she hadn’t realized
it was a neutral country’s boat, she had sunk a Commonwealth submarine as
a suspicious vessel in an unfortunate accident. That said, it would be a
court-martial in form only.
“Of course, I can’t say it won’t be a bother…but it’s really mostly a
formality. I’m expecting your best.”
“…So this’ll be a chance to redeem my reputation?”
But the little major before him didn’t make an effort to understand any
of that. Apparently, she was taking the unofficial transfer orders he’d shown
her as bad news. Maybe she was also a bit nervous about the trial.
She had a warped sense of responsibility, but the thought of being called
to account made her shiver. A mere major had to take responsibility for
everything. He had a strange feeling that something more horrifying than
chilly air was blowing through the room. Or maybe like he had been hurled
into the fissure separating normal and abnormal.
“You succeeded in locating the enemy unit. It’s not your fault. Nobody
was asking any more than that of you.”
“I had our sworn enemy right in front of me, and I let them get away.
Next time, next time, I’ll get them for sure.”
His intercession didn’t accomplish anything. But the words weren’t just
for show.
That her unit had located the enemy at all in those horrible weather
conditions was impressive. They had also dealt some damage to the enemy
marine mages.
Even if the results were not perfect, there was probably only one person
who didn’t acknowledge them as acceptable.
“Major?”
“Don’t worry. I won’t repeat this mistake. I swear to you that it won’t
happen again.”
But that person wouldn’t acknowledge anything less than perfect.
Horrifyingly, her frame of mind seemed to be a combination of bloodlust
and patriotism molded into the form of a soldier’s psyche. Rather than a
soldier, she was more a doll shaped like one.
The words she repeated over and over, practically delirious, exuded a
strange urgency.
One time—just one time—she had gotten merely satisfactory results,
and this was her state. How much of a perfectionist can you be?
She has no interest in anything except for following her orders to the
letter. What kind of education do you have to give a child to warp them like
this?
“…Don’t fret, Major. We’re pleased with what you’ve achieved. All you
need to do is accomplish your missions.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t leave a single ship behind.”
I’m not getting through to her at all. It looks like we’re having a
conversation, but something is making us talk past each other. All I did was
encourage her to accomplish her missions; why does that make this ball of
insanity overflow with a will to fight and declare her intent to annihilate?
How war crazy can you get?
Though she’s the best the Empire has ever produced, she’s the worst war
nut we’ve seen. Can a mere person be so joyful about killing their fellow
men? Can a mere person carry out any and every military duty so faithfully
with no hesitation?
Unless your foundation as a human being was off-kilter, this level of
incongruity was impossible.
“No one at the General Staff Office has any issues with your actions,
Major.”
It was a fact he had to express to her as a messenger. Customarily,
typical notices to unit commanders conveyed expectations that they
eliminate enemy units. They were practically season’s greetings. But what
he had to express this time was not superficial consolation but unmistakable
forgiveness.
But, but… In some corner of his mind, reason was warning him. This
monster in front of you might actually do it.
“But, Major…”
Thus…
“…if you do want to contribute to the fleet’s efforts…”
He gave her as much consideration as his discretion would allow.
“…it is planning a war game in the Northern Sea. I don’t think anyone
would mind if you participated before going to the Rhine.”
“I volunteer.”
“Great. I’ll make the arrangements.”
As she gave the reply he expected, Lergen caught himself feeling
relieved that this would bring closure to the matter.
“I wish you and your unit much success. Good luck.”
Feeling a slight chill, he dutifully answered with the required
encouragement, speaking quickly. She and her men were on his side, at
least. As long as the tip of her spear isn’t pointed at my beloved fatherland,
what is there to fear? He suffocated his mind with that question to deceive
himself.
“Thank you.”
Whether she knew it or not as she bowed, Major von Degurechaff was
an outstanding model soldier.
 BATTALION GARRISON, LARGE AUDITORIUM

To express the feelings of Magic Major Tanya von Degurechaff in a

nutshell: I’ve escaped by a hair.
I was trembling in fear of a rebuke. But when I opened the envelope my
friend Colonel von Lergen brought from the General Staff, it was just an
administrative note. I really expected a reprimand over my failure in that
mission, but I guess the brass is more lenient than I thought.
Relieved, Tanya drains her cold coffee with an involuntary sigh and
smiles wryly, thinking of how uncharacteristically nervous she’s been
feeling.
There’s the court-martial coming up. But it’s supposed be nothing more
than a discussion held as a formality, which means Tanya’s been
unofficially given a mostly unexpected pardon. She was only informed
verbally, but given that it was the word of a staff officer, it has to be true.
In other words, the fact that Lergen, someone she knows, delivered the
note had to be a token of consideration from the higher-ups. Lergen’s report
must be a roundabout way of saying that the brass hasn’t forsaken me yet.
It’s a kindness that says, We’ll keep you around, so show us you can still get
results.
If I’m receiving this sort of understanding, the General Staff must still
have high expectations for my unit and me. I mean, they were nice enough
to spare me mental stress by giving me a heads-up, albeit only verbally, that
I would be found not guilty.
If it were me and my subordinate was being incompetent, I wouldn’t
give a damn about their mental health—I’d advise them to resign. Wouldn’t
anyone? Even in the army, where you can’t lay someone off, they’d have to
be ready for some sort of disciplinary action.
But apparently the higher-ups are letting me off the hook this time and
giving me a second chance. To put it another way, I can’t expect them to be
so lenient again.
They’re even giving me an opportunity to show off my abilities in this
war game. I definitely have to live up to the expectations of the General
Staff and the brass this time.
“Still, I wonder… Who’s the one making allowances for me?”
If I’m getting off so easily, someone in the totem pole is pulling the
strings. There are only a few people it could possibly be. Someone who has
influence higher up but would also deign to do me a favor—it has to be
someone in General von Zettour’s camp.
“Hmm, I’ll have to thank him sometime soon,” Tanya murmurs, her
mood improving slightly after considering her good fortune to have such a
great superior in the army, where soldiers don’t have the luxury of choosing
their bosses. I really can’t thank him enough.
Then, with a single deep breath, I amble leisurely to the room next door.
In the worst-case scenario, I thought the battalion might even be broken up,
so I had summoned them all in case I needed to explain; they’re already
waiting.
Everyone’s exhibiting proper concern, and they seem ready to listen,
which is endearing. I’ll tell them the good news. Tanya slowly begins to
speak.
“Battalion, I don’t believe in God. Not even a little bit.”
If you do exist, grant me the power to feed Being X to pigs after
cramming him through a shredder.
Tanya doesn’t say that part aloud, but I think it.
Nothing happens.
I sigh inwardly. The troops lined up here are way more useful and a hell
of a lot more loyal than some nonexistent god. A great commander of
ancient times said that the hundred men you have are better than the ten
thousand you don’t, and he was quite right.
Of course, if I loosen the reins, they’ll go racing off to the battlefield, so
that gives me a splitting headache, but… Anyhow, I have a chance to make
up for the mistake. She takes the dais and decides to give her troops a few
inspiring words so that she can restore her reputation.
“Gentlemen, I believe in the General Staff. It’s a bastion of logic and
wisdom. Dear God, if you’re so great, try being ethical. Then I’ll show you
that the General Staff’s wisdom is greater than yours.”
The Imperial Army General Staff exists for real; God or whoever only
exists as an idea. In other words, he’s a fantasy.
That’s ethics. If you want to oppose the rule of law, the generally
accepted universal principles, then you have to show us something greater.
To neglect them, unilaterally claim you exist, and declare your own laws
is to ask us to fulfill a one-sided contract.
On that point, the kindhearted General Staff shows mercy even when we
err and gives us chances to redeem ourselves. But Tanya won’t forget her
failure. Colonel von Lergen and the General Staff are considerate enough to
be indirect about it, but it’s torturous. It’s our—in other words, my—failure.
I want to impress these things on my disheartened troops, so I issue a
declaration. These are the kinds of subtleties middle management has to
instill in their subordinates.
“People don’t expect anything from an entity with minimal presence.
My brothers-in-arms, the General Staff—maybe even the Empire itself—
has expectations of us. Our duty and dedication are our honor.”
Of course, Tanya was convinced the higher-ups were disappointed in
them. She could have done nothing if they had been deemed useless.
If a person in manufacturing somehow made an inventory management
error by going out on a business call? It wouldn’t matter how well he did in
the meeting.
He would have to endure castigation for his incompetence.
“It is the will of the army to give us a chance. We’ve been granted an
opportunity to atone for our mistake.”
The General Staff Office even sent someone in person. It means we
haven’t been forsaken. There’s still the danger of being sent to serve in
some penal battalion, but we’ll just have to overcome it by amassing
achievements.
“I don’t care if it’s purgatory—we’ll go there, and we’ll conquer it,
because that’s what soldiers do.”
We go anywhere we’re ordered. That fundamental principle goes
without saying, but it’s important to constantly review the basics. Heinrich’s
Law is a warning against letting minor errors pile up.
Taking a heavier hand to prevent accidents is elementary.
“So let’s do a mission right now. Let’s do it ourselves.”
“Commander?”
Vice Commander Weiss is interrupting me? Am I repeating myself too
much? I feel rather hesitant, but something from my education at the
military academy crosses my mind: Never waver in front of subordinates.
But I’d rather regret doing something than aimlessly doing nothing.
Having made up her mind, she just barely maintains her unconcerned
expression and glances around. Well, the battalion personnel don’t seem to
be so sick of my insistent confirmations. People who value the basics are
the kind of talent I wish I could just put in my pocket.
“Let’s show the Empire how great their watchdog is.”
I make sure it registers. Basically, the army is an instrument of violence
that serves as a watchdog. We need to show that we have no intention of
bucking the state’s control. You never know whose eyes might be out there
glinting as they watch.
It’s good to appeal to their loyalty to a slightly underhanded degree. It’s
a million times better to have them laughing at me than putting them on
their guard and trapping myself. Besides, I can just give anyone who laughs
a beating.
“Let’s teach those rats that no matter where they run we’ll be on their
tails.”
Let’s think a step further. I’m acting like Tsuji right now. Would anyone
with common sense like him? Fat chance. I have the feeling they probably
hated him. Why? Because he would act without consulting anyone?
…Of course. If a sensible person like me had a subordinate like Tsuji,
they would stand him up before a firing squad. After all, he was the kind of
guy who’d go making his own arbitrary decisions. How useless can you
get?
And does my vice commander have common sense? In other words, has
he concluded that I’m a Tsuji who might go on a rampage?
Well, that’s no good. I’m actually a sensible person who feels shame. I
don’t want to make decisions on my own and then shove the responsibility
onto others. Plus, following rules is the meaning of my existence. I don’t
break them; I find loopholes!
“Lieutenant, we’re being transferred to the Rhine. Some of you have
fond memories there. Yes, gentlemen, the Rhine!”
Sweating bullets at this misunderstanding, Tanya racks her brain.
Honestly, I want to avoid being seen like Tsuji, General Brute-Guchi, and
those guys. If Lieutenant Weiss thinks of me like that, I’ll need to have a
talk with him.
Though brooding inside, she concentrates on getting through the current
moment.
“The Rhine?”
“Well, we’ll be in a rush, but they’re expecting a lot out of us. We’re
going to do a counterclockwise sweep of the battlefield.”
We just bop the guys who have the gall to show up. That’s it.
We don’t get paid to do more. There’s also the idea of working hard to
get promotions, but in the army, getting promoted doesn’t always mean
you’ll be happy. As long as that’s the case, I’d like to cut off my efforts
where my pay grade ends. Why in the world is this happening? No, I know
Being X is at the root of this, Tanya laments. I think twice about acting too
much like Tsuji.
Next time maybe I should speak frankly with my troops. Should I ask
Serebryakov what they think of me? Or should I ask Weiss how they’re
doing?
“So?”
“Yes, but before that, we’re going to play a little game of marine mages.
Rejoice. The navy has better food, right?”
But that’s a job for later. For now, I have one piece of good news that is
worth telling them. Navy meals are much higher quality than the army’s.
The navy lambastes the army for spending too much on “hardware,” and
frankly, the army can’t deny it—because on the “software” side, the navy
surpasses the army with their quality food. From a welfare standpoint, the
navy is certainly a much more desirable workplace.
“Huh?”
“Courtesy of Colonel von Lergen. We’re going to go help out the fleet.”

JANUARY 18, UNIFIED YEAR 1925, IMPERIAL NAVY,

NORTHERN SEA FLEET COMMAND’S EXERCISE
AREA 2

At one hundred feet.

Scowling at the spray, Major von Degurechaff gives the order for
boarding assault formation. The idea is to practically skim the water
without dropping their speed and charge their target. Responding to her
directions, the companies all get into formations that support one another.
Beneath her serious expression, however, Tanya is shocked… They were
told they’d be flying into anti–air fire, so despite it being an exercise, she
expected an appropriate interception. Instead, she is compelled to worry.
Are they actually shooting? She’s puzzled by the weak intercepting fire.
Surely, they’re going to fire on us, even though it’s an exercise.
We’re performing an attack on a ship using visual combat maneuvers
with a clear view. According to the scenario, we’ve already deployed a
smoke screen to foil the intercepting fire. Tanya hides in the smoke and gets
down to business, finding it disappointingly easy to reach boarding
distance.
“Enemy mage incoming on the starboard side! Prepare for a close-
quarters fight! Anyone not occupied, come starboard!”
A few petty officers on deck begin moving to handle the situation, but
they’re hopelessly slow. It’s already too late. Once you let a mage get this
close, you can’t avoid a fight on deck. Maybe they weren’t expecting it, but
this is still pathetic.
Inside, she wonders: Is this a trap? Like the wily ones people used to
plan back in the age of sailing ships? I’m pretty sure I’ve read nautical
novels where confusion on the deck turns out to be a trick.
But no matter how I look at it, the opponents running hither and thither
everywhere I can see seem a bit too inexperienced. The deck may be
narrow, but I even see some sailors tripping. If that’s acting, they would
have had to spend an awful lot of time training to fall so naturally.
“Magic blades up! Company, on me!”
Anyhow, leading the charge again, Tanya has no choice but to maintain
her speed perfectly and swoop in. She even deploys an interference formula
right into the panicking cluster of sailors.
As some of them go flying, the sailors grow even more confused, and
the marine unit that came running gets caught up in the mess. The rest of
my company coming after me hinders the marines’ efforts to restore
discipline. They miss their chance to stop us, too busy with the exchange of
checking fire.
“Don’t let up! Keep shooting!”
 “Fix bayonets! All hands, fix bayonets!”
A handful of officers and sailors just barely manage to fight back, but
they’re not enough to keep the force of the attack at bay.
Tanya and her company easily break through their defense. Then they
stab the second bridge’s soft shrapnel shielding and cling to it with their
magic blades. We didn’t slow down at all; one of the internal frames
probably got dented.
Watching us come in is probably freaky as hell.
“Land and capture! Go, go, go!”
Even though they smashed into them pretty much head-on, the members
of the 203rd Battalion are enthusiasm incarnate.
With brisk movements, they promptly establish a bridgehead. From
there, they set about taking the main areas of the boat. Though
outnumbered, their coordination keeps everyone well-covered.
“Destroy the anti–air gun mounts! Take the next set of points!”
“Gunners, don’t let them get any closer!”
“We’re taking the second bridge back. Form an assault team around the
marine unit.”
It takes a little while, but they manage to finish setting up their
counterattack team consisting chiefly of marines.
We may be a battalion, but our strength is our mobility, and that can’t be
used to its fullest in the closed space of a ship’s interior. That’s why the
marines and marine mages are able to put up a fierce fight inside.
“Here’s the counterattack! Marines!”
“Dump ’em overboard! Get rid of ’em.”
But the members of the 203rd Battalion capture point after point with
surprising efficiency.
Normally, mages focus on mobile battles and aerial maneuvers and tend
not to be so great at close-quarters fighting. The vanguard might be
different, but the members in the rear usually have a hard time with it. But
training is about eliminating weak areas.
“Show them what the marines are made of! Don’t let those landlubbers
think they’re so tough!”
“The next group has arrived! I’m sending them in now!”
And so the 203rd Battalion and the marines, each with their own take on
close-quarters combat, clash and refuse to give any ground. The marines
have a slightly better position, but the situation is fluid.
As both sides struggle to make their next move, the follow-up company
lands.
We shall be victorious. Major von Degurechaff and the company
commanders grin. Meanwhile, the marines who had allowed reinforcements
to arrive display their disgrace in their expressions. They’re running out of
fighting resources to tap into. Sailors would be some help, but they can’t be
pulled off the cannons. They hesitate slightly, and their actions get delayed.
“All unoccupied personnel, prepare for hand-to-hand combat! We’re
going to drive them off this ship!”
Still, if the bridges, engine block, and magazine get captured, your ship
is done no matter how much you have left to throw at the enemy.
It’s that crisis that makes them hesitate a bit before they scrape together
what muscle they can for a counterattack.
The captain issues the order to gather up any spare fighting power. And
when it comes down to it, a ship has quite a lot of personnel on board.
Though it isn’t their primary task, sailors can shoot guns. The mobilized
officers and petty officers form provisional naval brigades and start to
reinforce the marines.
It was hopeless to begin with. Their idea is to push and push till they
push us off the boat. It’s quite simple, but it’s still a valid attack plan for the
narrow space inside the ship. If this is all, though, the 203rd Aerial Mage
Battalion can push right back. Humming, I cheerfully lay down a smoke
screen, and just as the cunning fire from the attacking side has distracted the
defenders—
“All hands, I don’t care if they’re marines! Teach them what a bad idea
it is to mount a frontal attack on my battalion! Remember that the useless
ones who die in war get sent to hell!”
With that shout, she attacks in a flash to bring the fight into close
quarters.
The pressure of two companies is hitting the resistance hard.
Just as the sailors begin to retreat from the mages and their ogre-like
game faces, Tanya takes a small unit on a detour.
While everyone is focused on the fierce fighting inside the ship, she
seizes the opening and launches a sneak attack on the port side.
“We’re pincered?! Shit! Move some of the crew to the port side!”
 “They’re all confused?! Success! Major von Degurechaff got around
behind them! Now we destroy them!”
Our opponents look ready to run once they’ve been pincered, but we
don’t let them. Each company commander works to improve their results.
The iron law of war is the harmony of impact and confusion.
Break their composure, disrupt their discipline, and then crush them.
Chaos is spreading on the defensive side between the rear attack, pulled
off efficiently in loyal accordance with the principles of war, and the
intensifying frontal attack. Just like we wanted.
An intense impact crushes the marines faster than they can close gaps
and rebuild the interception line.
“We’re clear.”
“Us too.”
Directly after that, Tanya gives each company their own target as she
mops up the defenders, who are no longer able to operate in an organized
way. “Good. First Company, to the bridge. Follow me. Second and Third
Companies, go to the engines. Fourth Company, to the magazine. Capture
your objectives quickly.” After eliminating the main enemy resistance
force, we need to gain control of the key parts of the ship.
The plan is to approach each area in order by sweeping outward from
captured locations. We manage to maintain speed by going around any
pockets of enemy resistance, and the decision to share the burden across the
battalion is implemented with high standards.
Once the ship side realizes that we’ve stormed the critical areas, they
give up resisting. Discipline has collapsed inside, and the sailors look like
they’re about to flee. At the same time, their pretend enemy joins up with
reinforcements and seems ready for more. The defense’s fighting force is
already practically nonexistent, and their methods of resistance are limited.
They’re forced to gracefully admit their defeat to the referees.
“Okay, rush them in your two-man cells. Vanguard troops, brace
yourselves!”
“Major von Degurechaff, that’s enough, that’s enough.”
The message comes just as she’s about to step onto the bridge.
For the referees, who were forced to follow all those insane maneuvers,
the end couldn’t have come soon enough. Honestly, so many things had
gone through their minds when she told them to come with her because she
was going to seize the second bridge.
“The exercise is over! I say again, the exercise is over!”
The call ending the game echoes throughout the ship over the
loudspeakers.
Hearing this, though they’re concerned about all the things on the ship
that were damaged, everyone is finally able to relax. It had been a rare joint
combat simulation. Many things were broken, but there hadn’t been any
accidents.
“All right, stupid corpses, you can move now.”
All the sailors and marines who were judged dead and ordered to lie
still, facedown, sluggishly get to their feet.
We may have been using exercise-grade rubber bullets and low-power
explosion formulas, but that doesn’t mean they feel good.
Some of the injured even have to go to the infirmary to get treated by a
surgeon.
For example, take the sailors who were unlucky enough to get caught up
in the firefight between the 203rd Battalion and the marines. They said that,
despite ducking down, they came out of it worse for wear because stray
bullets kept hitting them.
Although such bad luck was rare, no small number of people were hurt
in the melee on the interior of the ship. A team of medics and surgeons was
on call and prepared for efficient intake, but I imagine the infirmary will
still be crowded for a while.
And in the midst of all that hustle and bustle, Magic Major Tanya von
Degurechaff is in the wardroom, which has already been picked up.
Although it’s small, some thought was put into the design, so the
atmosphere is relaxing. It’s now packed full of officers. In her hand is a cup
of coffee she was given; it’s supposedly better than the stuff the army
serves. Something smells faintly like baked goods. Surely only in the navy,
where they’re allowed to bring their own rations and cookies, can you enjoy
that.
Naturally, we’re not just having a tea party for no reason. After the
exercise, it’s time for the main event.
“Very well, let’s review the full fleet close-quarters exercise.”
The seamen have been permitted port and starboard liberty and raced off
to the PX still in a holiday mood now boosted by post-exercise cheer, but
unlike them, the officers’ real work begins now. We have to go through the
referees’ commentary and the reports from each unit commander to find
areas of improvement and reflect on what happened so we can put the
lessons to use in actual combat.
This time was different from the usual exercise in that it included a
boarding scenario that aimed to be extremely realistic. But to only do that
would be a waste.
“First of all, it’s still early in the year, but I think we can say that this
exercise was meaningful.”
The all-important ratings showed that the participants thought the
exercise was worth doing.
The navy, who provided the base and ship as the venue, are desperate for
anti-mage combat experience; they can never get enough. Although their
main job is counter-ship warfare, they’ve learned through battle that marine
mages can’t be ignored.
But they never have enough marine mages for an exercise, and how few
mages they do have allotted internally is a matter of constant contention.
Yes, the borderline-overworked marine mages are in such great demand that
they don’t have the wherewithal to participate in war games. And so, the
navy was thrilled to have this joint exercise to gain some of that missing
experience.
At the same time, Tanya herself and the 203rd Battalion had little
experience with anti-ship combat or battles to capture ships, so the exercise
was in their interest as well. More than anything, it was what the General
Staff wanted. They had no choice but to participate. That notwithstanding, it
was still a useful experience.
And when the referees said it was meaningful, they meant it. When it
comes to results, although they were up against particularly elite mages,
building some experience handling that situation was clearly valuable for
the navy.
“All right. First some complaints from Captain Grän of the warship used
in the exercise, Basel.”
Captain Grän stands and bows to Major von Degurechaff. “…To be
blunt, you creamed us. And on top of that, the year has only just started, and
we’ve taken all kinds of damage.” His expression is somewhat resigned as
he acknowledges his ship’s defeat. No one died during the exercise, but that
didn’t mean the ship wasn’t laid to waste.
It was more than a few broken windows. The formulas and grenades
may have been exercise-grade, but they were still hurled all over the place.
Naturally, the crew did cleanup as an exercise in damage control, but still.
“Damage control went fairly well. The crew was able to make prompt
repairs.”
The results were all right. They could at least be satisfied with them.
There were no issues during the operation inspection after interior
maintenance was performed, mainly on the engines.
…That said, although the damage isn’t bad enough that the ships need to
be docked, there are a number of repairs that need to be made—broken
glass exchanged, dents fixed, and so on—that will take some time.
Luckily, it’ll be patched up by the time the Entente Alliance ships have
to leave the neutral port, but the captain still isn’t happy about it.
As such, Major von Degurechaff bows as well. Honestly, it might be a
bit weird that the child among all these adults is the one being so
considerate. It might be weird, but I guess I just have to go with it, since it’s
better than being seen as uncaring.
“Our most urgent task is to reevaluate our anti–air fire. I can’t believe
we didn’t even graze the incoming mages.” He looks like he wants to rough
up the men of his who boasted that they wouldn’t let the mages anywhere
near the ship.
The gunners who upset him are sure to be trained extra hard for some
time. Still, everyone is relieved that they learned their lesson in an exercise
rather than in actual combat.
The observing captains are also sure to tighten up their training regimens
in the same way. If things go downhill when the enemy reaches a ship, then
they have to drive the enemy off before that happens. Learning that is a
great outcome for the exercise.
“Major von Degurechaff, do you have any suggestions for improvement
from the attacking side?”
“I believe the fundamental problem is a lack of firepower. I can’t
imagine anything but a dense barrage of anti–air fire will prevent an
approach.” Tanya, who was actually one of the mages to so easily break
through their defense, has an even simpler opinion—the utterly
straightforward one that they don’t have enough guns.
 Tanya would tell you that if intercepting is a matter of probability, the
only way to raise the probability is to increase the density of anti–air fire.
The idea for this comes from the simple knowledge that at the end of their
trials and errors, the navies of countries outside this world all went running
for the solution of adding more anti–air fire. If you don’t outfit ships like
porcupines, they’ll be vulnerable to an attack from the sky.
Plus, Tanya adds in her head, even the aircraft carriers the Americans
used near the end of World War II that supposedly had great anti-aircraft
fire couldn’t completely stop a certain all-in approach taken on the
assumption of not returning.
“Basel has some of the most powerful anti–air cannons out of all our
existing capital ships.”
To someone who doesn’t know yet, charging a ship with a mountain of
autocannons seems like suicide.
The navy officer who brought it up, looking confused, seems to have
done so because he thought the ship had enough firepower.
And it’s not such an outlandish thing to believe.
It’s a practical truth that human beings, while intending to take in things
objectively, only accept what they themselves can understand subjectively.
In a surprise twist, Lippmann’s “stereotype” paradoxically describes how
far the human intellect can expand.
A warship with a pile of autocannons is a floating fortress. Among them,
Basel boasts outstanding defensive firepower, so the question arises: Isn’t
that enough? To the officers in attendance, it’s a natural question. Or at
least to them, it’s not a strange one.
“From the point of view of the attacker, it’s not much of a threat.” But
Tanya puts an end to it easily. “To be honest, it really wasn’t even an
obstacle.” That matter-of-fact murmur is significant. She has hinted that
anti–air fire is not actually an efficient defense against attacks from the sky.
All the Northern Sea Fleet Command, previously lacking in anti-mage
combat and exercise experience, can do is register anew what a threat
mages are.
Still, that’s just the opinion of one major, and they would like to hear
from a third party who participated in the assault. The head referee gathers
that and discreetly eyes the referee in charge of the attacking side.
The referee takes the hint and begins giving his general opinion. “I agree
with Major von Degurechaff. I accompanied her on the charge and was
surprised to find the firing line not so imposing.” But contrary to most of
the officers’ hopes, he essentially repeats what Tanya said. “Overall, I’m
forced to say that our current anti–air fire is about as useful as a bunch of
firecrackers.”
“…Our defensive firepower is that weak?” The claim is that they have
been overestimating their defense, and in response the officers ask a
question that shows their consternation: Is it really, honestly that weak?
“Yes, we’re lacking even more than I expected. In order to halt
approaches, we need to increase the number of guns until the ships are like
porcupines.”
The reply from the second referee is simple and leaves no room for
misunderstanding.
“I agree. And we should be adding not just 20 mm autocannons but 40
mm as well.”
Tanya concurs more strongly than anyone. She believes the American
military provided the best example of ideal anti–air fire.
In this world, it’s completely unheard of, but it’s already been proven in
combat. She indirectly proposes the innovation as her own contribution,
albeit dispassionately.
“What do you mean?”
“This is just my opinion, but 20 mm are for short-range defense; in order
to create a multilayered interception shield, I strongly recommend adding
midrange guns,” Tanya answers. From what she can tell, the 20 mm guns
have the advantage when it comes to handling and speed, but in terms of
range and power, they’re weaker. It’s logical to add 40 mm autocannons for
intercepting at midrange.
Most importantly, mage defensive shells and aircraft have no chance of
withstanding a 40 mm shell.
From the attacking point of view, capturing a warship with multibarrel
gun emplacements all over like a porcupine would be a difficult task.
“If possible, I’d like to focus on numbers. We probably need ten times
the current amount.”
“Captain Grän, what do you think?”
“…It’s an interesting suggestion, but we can’t change the number of
cannons without doing major overhauls, such as removing the secondary
guns on the flanks.”
“To go a step further, I would say that secondary guns are worse than
useless. We need to increase the priority of air defense.” Tanya knows it’s
disrespectful, but she sees a chance for the navy to take a decisive step
forward and chimes in. After all, she knows the era of aerial warfare better
than anyone here. She’s sure the time will come when warships will be
assigned to aircraft carriers as direct support.
Really, she would like to urge them to change the doctrine from
obsessing about big ships with big guns to focusing on their air forces as
their main power. Incidentally, she’s also a believer in fire action and values
warship cannons for their supporting fire.
That said, even one-shot lighters were able to send the then state-of-the-
art Prince of Wales and the Repulse, which had been reconstructed for the
modern era, to join the seaweed. Of course, we should concentrate on
removing the secondary guns already and increasing the amount of high-
angle guns and other autocannon emplacements.
She also knows that until a comparable incident occurs, it will be
difficult to convince the ship warfare–oriented navy to accept an air force–
centric doctrine.
At the time, the fleet’s original mission was set as counter-ship combat,
and the use of mages was not yet so widespread. I’ve heard that requests for
vessels to be upgraded for anti-mage and anti–air combat began pouring in
this year as a countermeasure. Honestly, everyone still thinks mages fight
on land.
Computation orb functionality and aircraft specs are both improving. As
a result, the idea that maybe orbs and planes might be threats is only just
starting to spread.
Only someone who understands the history of how aviation advanced by
leaps and bounds during the Second World War can understand. Until then,
no one had dreamed war would drive scientific and technological advances
like it does.
“Hmm. It’s not that we’re taking air defense lightly, but…”
“We’ll have to think about it if issues arise fighting off other ships.”
In truth, even officers who are far from inept have deeply rooted views.
Ships are equipped to counter ships because the navy can’t escape the
instinct to keep their original counter-ship combat mission in mind.
 And thinking in terms of counter-ship doctrine, they’d like to keep their
secondary guns. Though the importance of being equipped for close-
quarters fighting has lessened, the need to fight off torpedo boats and
destroyers, which do press in to attack, is a factor that can’t be ignored to
them.
“We’ll have to discuss it with Technology. Please let navy command and
the Technology Department handle this issue.”
In the end, the conclusion is not to reject the idea but take it under
advisement, which essentially means to shelve it. Well, in a way, by saying
her piece Tanya has done her duty. After all, it’s no skin off her back if the
anti–air fire isn’t strengthened.
As long as it’s not a ship I’m on, where it sinks has nothing to do with
me. Besides, the Empire is a continental state, not a maritime state.
Without breathing a word of any of that, she camouflages herself with a
sober attitude, but she is in utter earnest. The best thing for ensuring my
own survival is training my troops.
Of course, she is passionate about identifying issues in this postmortem.
Well, she has to be. She believes that preventing mistakes is best.
“All right. Are there any other remarks from the attacking side?”
“I would say there are cooperation problems.”
“Of what sort?”
“The marines and sailors don’t seem to be very well coordinated. I felt
like the disorder of the sailors was tripping up the marines.”
She had noticed it on her approach—the deck was a real mess. Her
impression was that the two different corps had trouble working together.
If they had been units stationed there today, below-par coordination
would be understandable, but for units that are shipmates, it’s a bit
problematic. From what I could tell, it seemed like the marines felt their job
consisted of ground and landing battles.
Of course, I can’t deny that those are their primary duties, but we don’t
want them to suck at fighting on board a ship. And the confusion and failure
to cooperate with sailors is completely unacceptable. In an organization
where sales and systems engineering become estranged, they have to
compensate with a death march. In the military, the death in death march is
literal.
Considering that I could end up a casualty of poor cooperation between
our own troops, it’s absolutely critical to suggest an improvement. Having
reached this quite reasonable conclusion, albeit via a selfish argument,
Tanya speaks eloquently on the necessity of increased coordination. Her
idea at its root is self-preservation, but at the same time, she’s altruistic; it
can’t be said that she isn’t acting with the aim to benefit the majority.
And that attitude, for the good of the majority, leads to a proposal that is
acceptable by the whole.
Probably everyone was vaguely aware of the poor cooperation. The head
referee questions the concerned party. Naturally, he does it in a way that is
sensitive to their sense of honor. “I see. What do the marines think about
this?”
“I’m embarrassed to admit that we haven’t trained much with fighting
on ships in mind. I acknowledge the need for retraining.”
In response to the comment from the marines, Tanya declares her unit’s
need for more training as well. “After having actually fought inside a ship, I
think my unit is lacking experience, too.”
She’s half using inadequate training as an excuse; though the 203rd
Aerial Mage Battalion is elite, the group is made up entirely of mages, and
their lack of knowledge of other fields is a real problem.
That’s why Tanya hopes to do joint training with the marines, who have
the most experience on this front.
You can’t hesitate to borrow wisdom from experts if you want to stay
alive. The plan for what happens next can come after you survive.
If this meeting runs long enough, the navy will feed us dinner—that is,
the good food that navy officers get. It’s no problem at all if the exercise
schedule takes more time than planned.
In this way, Tanya continues her hard work, cultivating a heartening
friendship with the navy while keeping an eye on her next battlefield—
though it runs against her own thinking—and thus she takes one step after
another toward victory.
 [chapter] V The Devil of the Rhine

PRESENT DAY, AS WELL AS SOMEWHERE IN MARCH

OF UNIFIED YEAR 1925

It’s a familiar dream for the old man who lived through the Rhine.
He would have the same dream again tonight. As one of the soldiers
who served in the Great War, it’s all burned into his mind.
Back then, back there—in a way, it was where the rest of their lives were
forged.
Even now, unceasing gunfire echoes in his head like a broken record.
Before he knows it, his thoughts return to that battlefield full of
memories. Even after the war, the sights and sounds are too raw in their
minds to fade. It’s the past, but they can remember that world so clearly.
The fucking battlefield. The most horrible thing the human race ever
created. That battlefield where mud and flies reigned.
Ahh. He groans at the recollection. The Rhine was the very gates of hell.
The old man has that dream over and over and is reminded again and
again. I’ll probably never forget it.
I remember the events of that day in detail. As shells crisscrossed just
over our heads, me and the rest of Company G were steadily advancing
under orders to move to a new attack position. Of the five regiments
composing the front line, Company E was seeing the most intense fighting,
and our mission was to support their flank.
I was in a machine-gun squad. Our job was simply to set up the guns at
the trench dug by the vanguard unit and create a firing position. The
Imperial Army was supposed to have the Republican Army pretty well
suppressed in that area, but the lines themselves were complicated as
always. They were almost fluid. In other words, the battlefield was a
bloody, chaotic jumble of us and them.
The bombardment had blown away all but one tree in this mire—the sort
of place where resources were wasted, blood ran in rivers, and when you
would peek out of the trench to see what you could see, it would be all
artillery smoke.
Still, the blasted enemy artillerymen made nothing of the awful visibility
and shelled us constantly at a varying pace. Our company’s trench mortar
squad returned fire, but they barely made a dent. Despite the smoke
obscuring the battlefield, we could see a number of muzzle flashes from the
Republican Army positions.
I remember how much we struggled with the mortars. They didn’t have
a stable place to shoot from because the duckboards were sinking into the
mud. Conditions were so bad that for the machine guns, too, even the
highly trained gunners couldn’t control their lines of fire.
I remember that as far as the eye could see, it was soldiers covered in
mud, doing everything within human power to secure their attack positions.
I remember that day very well.
The field guns set up in the trench were trying out some observed fire,
and the designated riflemen were digging foxholes with all their might.
Looking back on it now, these were superhuman actions from the few who
stepped up in one corner of the harsh battlefield. Not allowing themselves
to be discouraged by the maggots, the muck, or the shells raining down,
enveloped in the stenches of rot and death, with no decent cover, those men
advanced through the mud. They had trench foot. Their display of bravery
is burned into my eyelids, and it even appeared divine; I respect those men
to this day from the bottom of my heart.
It was a shocking picture from a world you can’t understand unless
you’ve experienced it; you can only understand by being there.
“I can’t believe this. Those toads. They must really like the mud!”
“Yeah. The gunners want to turn this land into a swamp and jump right
in.”
“But the ones getting shot at are Company H. I feel for them.”
The team’s banter eased our nerves somewhat, but the chatter from the
guys in a nearby foxhole reminded us of reality. The ones under fire were
Company H, who had gone ahead of us. Frustratingly, the brass at the time
seemed convinced we could break through the enemy’s defense with human
bullets.
How many lives do they think this muddy tract of land is worth?!
“Air support still isn’t here?! Shut up the enemy guns already!”
Someone let out a groan that echoed the sentiments of the whole
company. We were supposed to push the lines up in places under local air
superiority. That’s how the operation was supposed to work.
Those despicable bigwigs said we would have complete air support, but
we wanted to scream that they must have meant a complete lack of air
support.
“I told ya, didn’t I? You can bet your Easter turkey that was an empty
promise.”
High explosives crisscrossed over the battlefield. A near hit from one of
those was enough to blow a human body to bits. In a situation like that,
close, full support was a pipe dream. So I don’t think we were expecting
much in the first place. Regardless of how the new recruits rushed through
training felt, the old hands knew that there was no promise less reliable than
one made by the brass.
Everyone ended up like that. The soldiers exposed to the squall of heavy
shelling, faced with the inescapable pain and mental strain of long hours
under fire, couldn’t help their eternal skepticism.
If they didn’t, gruesome reality would slay the beautiful propaganda in a
single blow, and the soldiers would go insane. In order to survive the
horrific war, you couldn’t rely too much on hope.
“Ngh! I’m hit! Damn it!”
“Medic! Medic!”
I remember being able to hear, for some reason, the sounds of someone
in a neighboring dugout crumpling to the ground and their friends
panicking, even over the roar of the battlefield. I suddenly realized that one
unlucky bastard had been done in by a stray shot or a sniper. Since the
entire trench wasn’t blown away and there were no follow-up shots, it had
to be a sniper.
We quickly ducked lower and sprayed harassing fire anywhere it seemed
like he could have been lurking. We don’t wanna die.
 “Send out a stretcher! Cover them!”
Then…
I’ll never forget those four stretcher-bearers racing out under diligent
cover to try to get their injured brother to the rear. Emblems of courage and
integrity. The medics are the only ones those of us headed away from the
battlefield can rely on. Because the medics, called Sanis, were with us, we
were guaranteed some humanity in that hellish world.
Unlike people working easier jobs in the rear, if there was a fellow
soldier who needed them, they would always charge into hails of bullets
even we would balk at. Even when they were blown away with a painful
impact, more of them were ready to go out after their fallen teammates. It
was proof of their courage.
They were the only ones I really, deeply respected. They were the only
ones we could trust no matter what. I still feel that way.
“Lay down a smoke screen!”
“Hand grenades! Throw everything you got!”
The mortar squad shot smoke shells, the designated riflemen threw
grenades, and we just put up a curtain of fire. The stretcher was a sight for
sore eyes when it safely appeared. Our trustworthy friends with their
magnificent bravery. Sanis had to be protected if no one else; they were the
only ones who would save us.
And at the same time, I guess you could say, due to our covering fire,
the Republicans spread out across from us seemed to remember the target
they were supposed to prioritize. They were determined to crush not the
swiftly receding stretcher but the smart-aleck machine-gun nets. Thanks to
that, we were showered in concentrated fire, and I lowered my head without
thinking, unable to take all the blasts of dust filling the air from near hits.
Facedown in our trench with our ears alert, we smiled weakly at the thought
of how many Republican artillerymen must be treating us to shells.
But that strange calm only lasted so long. After the whiz of something
cutting through the air came a big, heavy boom we weren’t used to. It sent
chills up our spines.
Those weren’t 128 mm shells; they’d brought out their precious 180 mm
field guns.
“Listen up, troops! Friendly reinforcements are on their way! Let’s stick
this out!”
 At that moment, we were happy for instructions over the radio from our
battalion commander, but our sense of futility was greater. Our battalion had
no shortage of replacement troops. We’d nearly lost our will to fight, so I
guess they were throwing us a line to cling to.
Maybe that line would work on guys who didn’t know how unreliable it
was, but we understood all too well how that illusion would hold up.
“So when the hell is that support unit getting here?”
Someone on the machine-gun crew expressed what all of us who knew
that battlefield were thinking. We really needed reinforcements. The way it
was going, we figured we would all have to die defending that quagmire
and covered in its muck.
So we really wanted backup as soon as possible.
“I want reinforcements…preferably before we die.” Was it me who
murmured it? Or the fellow next to me? I still don’t know, but I’m sure
someone did.
That was when the nearby radio operator started shouting at the top of
his lungs. The operators were the guys monitoring enemy transmissions,
making sure they didn’t pinpoint us. Usually they were full of bad news, but
later I would think over and over how sometimes they did have something
good for us.
“Reinforcements! Reinforcements are here!”
I remember very well how people thought the operator was shell-
shocked and sent him pitying looks. But then we saw something we could
hardly believe, so there was no time to think about that.
Or rather, we heard it.
“O Fatherland, my love, be at peace.”
On every channel over a wide area, the words were broadcast so
powerfully even a regular soldier with no magic ability could hear them.
Clouds of dust were blackening the sky, and the mud seemed to be
swallowing up everything on the battlefield, but the voice that rang out over
the chaos was surprisingly calm.
It was no wonder we questioned for a moment whether we had gone
crazy as well. The phenomenon seemed that unreal.
It was the code for a unit of reinforcements. We cocked our heads
thinking the backup couldn’t be real, that it had to be an auditory
hallucination.
 “O Fatherland, my love, be at peace.”
But we weren’t hearing things and we weren’t crazy; someone was
really repeating those words in the official language of the Empire. And it
was the single-use password to show they were friend and not foe at that!
“Guardians of the Rhine! Ye are loyal! Ye are rocks! Ye are loyal! Ye are
rocks!”
The operator boosts the signal to the highest output possible, and the
answer from the radio dugout was the happiest sounding I’d ever heard. The
stream of words coming out of the machine-gun squad’s radio will be
forever carved into my eardrums.
We always laughed at what silly codes they’d come up with. The radio
operators, especially, would make fun of them, but this time, just this once,
I think all of us were truly consoled by them. The widespread interference
only mages could employ. It could only be mages. It could only have been
the elite mages of the Imperial Army.
So it’s lucky they didn’t know—that their saviors, their reinforcements,
were hazardous, could bring utter destruction to their allies.
She was supposedly on their side, but even the Imperial Army brass
treated her as a god of death. It was a battalion for war nuts by war nuts,
and they had arrived on the battlefield.

Slicing through the haze of clouds and gunsmoke, she bristles with
nerves. Major Tanya von Degurechaff, internally sick of this, externally
expressionless, is leading her response unit to the Rhine Air Defense
Identification Zone Sector D-5.
“Code confirmed. This is the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion, call sign
Pixie. We’re en route. Arriving in 160 seconds.”
Tanya isn’t particularly keen on trench warfare. The only job I hate more
is turning on the charm for propaganda.
After all, now that I’ve been turned into a girl, I’m faced with this
annoying military framework where men are superior. Just the thought of
my promotions being blocked by an invisible glass ceiling is enough to
dampen any desire I might have to act all girlish for propaganda. Trench
warfare, on the other hand, is just too dangerous.
Apart from that, the Empire’s personnel system has adapted extremely
meritocratic principles for the war, in a way, so I’m more or less satisfied
with it.
So even though hugging every contour of the land to maintain the
lowest-possible altitude as she speeds toward the battlefield is dangerous,
she is satisfied because at least she’ll be valued.
That said, she’s in command of a mission to cross an area littered with
spent shells and assault the enemy artillery position with gunsmoke curling
high into the air. Even if it came with hazard and war zone pay, it didn’t feel
great.
“Troops, you’ll be performing supporting combat. Ready anti-surface
ordnance, diffusion explosion formulas, optical deception formulas, and
counter-bullet outer shells. Take on counter-air and -mage fights as you
like.” Gripping her rifle and computation orb tightly, Tanya gives the
necessary instructions in a matter-of-fact tone.
Supporting combat is actually a pain for commanders. Bombing the
wrong side is unforgivable. If we blow away our own troops, next will be a
shower of bullets from the firing positions on the ground, no question.
The trenches and positions are built in such a way as to limit damage,
but even so, nobody is happy to be blown up by accident. Only the USA is
allowed to accidentally bomb whatever the hell. That they somehow get
enough leeway to—oops—bomb the Chinese embassy in Belgrade makes
me jealous, in a way.
Setting those thoughts aside, the only viable option for this support
mission is to swoop in close to the enemy position and go to town. In that
case, the best plan is to maintain as high a speed and low an altitude as
possible and invade all at once in a sneak attack.
But that’s theory. The ones actually maintaining that speed and altitude
are already fed up. No one will tell you that flying fast near the ground is
comfortable.
Although this allowed me to escape the trouble surrounding the sinking
of the Commonwealth submarine, getting sent to the Rhine front was bad
luck.
“CP, this is Pixie. Send the target.”
“Roger, Pixie. Take out the enemy artillery emplacement pummeling G
and H Companies.”
“Understood. I’d like to request five minutes of supporting suppressive
fire starting now. We’ll get them during that time.”
Still, I’m glad that on this type of arena Tanya’s managed to retain the
measure of autonomy that naturally comes with being a Silver Wings
Assault Badge recipient. For starters, I can choose my targets freely.
And the rear base may not have been perfectly tidy, but it was way better
than getting all muddy, being ordered to defend a position, and ending up
the target of a barrage in the confusion.
The place just barely counts as a rear base, though. The meals aren’t the
standard portable trench rations but proper hot food. On top of that, if I may
broach an indelicate topic, the waste management situation is also better.
It’s only our first spring. If the air when I’m flying low reeks this badly, I
can only imagine they’re doing the exact opposite of what hygiene dictates.
As the cultured man with a commonsense grasp of hygiene I was before
trenches, becoming a little girl, and what have you, I can only say it’s a
difficult environment to withstand. It’s about as bad as being aboard a
submarine sinking into an out-of-order toilet.
Instead of that, I have work commensurate with my pay striking field
guns, with their feeble anti–air fire, from the sky.
And as long as there are no intercepting mages, we’ll just be duck
hunting. They’ll be great targets. I want to rack up as many
accomplishments as I can and fulfill the requirements for leave. I may be
here as punishment, but if nothing’s on paper, I must be allowed to exercise
my rights.
I want to hurry up and get transferred to the rear to find a safe post.
“Five minutes? That won’t even suppress the anti–air fire, much less the
artillery.”
After all, even a strike mission, which is comparatively safe for the front
line, forces you to run some pretty lousy risks.
For example, the observation squad is going out of their way—
volunteering—to support us. If the frontline observers are acting as guides
for us, that has to mean the situation is less than ideal. Usually, the
observers would be out there spotting impacts. If they have time to kill, it
must mean our side doesn’t have much artillery.
If we deploy our mage’s outer shells at full power and fly in anti-surface
assault formation, there’s no way we’ll get shot by our own, at least.
If by some miraculous chance we suffer direct hits, we should be able to
escape fatal injury thanks to the new orb model. More importantly, defense
from artillery is drilled into everyone in boot camp.
“That’s no problem. And don’t worry about us—keep firing after we go
in.”
After all, keeping an eye out overhead is the commander’s job in an anti-
surface assault. Having one unit strike while another unit provides air cover
is a basic necessity in an air battle.
I’m sure I don’t need to explain that if I fly with direct support, the
danger of getting caught in a barrage lessens to an incredible degree. Plus, I
can finally increase my altitude. Escaping that sticky, thick air even feels a
little nice.
Anyhow, leaving the smell and the danger zone is enough to improve
Major von Degurechaff’s mood.
“Lieutenant Serebryakov, we’re getting five minutes of supporting fire.
After all the artillery shelling drills we did, I don’t believe there’s any
numbskulls in my battalion who would take a friendly shell to the head.”
“Understood.”
Frankly, it still feels weird to call my being “she,” but anyhow, this little
girl is wearing a rare smile. She pays no mind to the rather strained quality
of the reply and, noting that it’s time for work, cheerfully starts on an
upward trajectory. Since we’ll be attacking the ground, we don’t have to
climb to freezing cold temperatures—another plus.
As a result, Major Tanya von Degurechaff is decidedly chipper. Her
expression even relaxes into a grin.

And that scene is carved into the mind of the former soldier who was
there watching it. How many years has it been since the war? Yet his
memories of the time are still clear as day.

Pleasantly surprised by the news of reinforcements, we figured things

would work out somehow. That said, the threat level we were facing might
have dropped a bit, but lowering our guard as well would see us turned into
silent corpses.
 So our company used the little extra time we’d been given wisely. The
dead were moved aside, and stretchers were prepared for the wounded. And
the machine guns had just worn out, so we arranged to swap in replacement
barrels. To our dismay, however, although they had plenty of the all-
important barrels, apparently Logistics was too understaffed to deliver them
to the firing line in the middle of a large-scale battle.
When they told my team to send someone, I was called upon to settle
my tab from that ritual both traditional and sacred known as cards. In other
words, “You owe us!” Come to think of it, I think the cards hated me back
then. Or I just couldn’t see through the clever cheating of my company
mates. It pains me that now I have no way of knowing.
But at the time, those things weren’t even a dream in my mind as I set
off, grumbling and crawling to the base dugout. There I negotiated with the
formidable Logistics NCO and ended up stuck carrying the parts.
People tend to have this misunderstanding that it was safe in the rear, but
on the Rhine front at the time, safety was a fantasy.
The closest distance between firing lines was only a few dozen meters. I
wish I had been staring down the enemy in one of those. Since the trenches
were so close together, the risk of accidentally hitting friendlies was high,
so they couldn’t usually conduct bombardments.
Even if that wasn’t their situation, artillerymen apparently hated firing
into dangerous areas where they might lay waste to their own along with the
enemy. Whether Empire or Republic, we all had the common desire to
avoid blowing up our fellow troops.
Rather than drop high explosives on our own positions, shoot for the
enemy, even if you miss. It was common sense for both armies, so if you
watched out for snipers, land mines, and rifles on the forward-most line,
you weren’t likely to be an instant fatality.
But I should probably add that it wasn’t rare for artillery to mistake the
position of the front line or to have trouble telling friend from foe in the
confusion. I was once in a position nearly overrun by the Republican Army,
and I saw all the invading soldiers get wiped out in an instant by
Republican Army shells. Our respectful nomination of the enemy artillery
for the Field Artillery Badge made it into the official gazette as a bit of a
gag. We applaud the Republican artillery’s great demonstration of their
training and contribution to the imperial war cause.
 That’s the kind of battlefield we were dealing with, but there was only
one reason the rear was considered the most dangerous place to be.
It’s the radios. Any strong waves that aren’t your own are obviously
enemy command or a base dugout. It doesn’t take even two days to crush a
newbie’s delusions of safety because of our sturdy underground
fortifications.
If you can’t achieve much firing on the front line, then aim a storm of
steel at the communications apparatus you can find, or so the thinking goes.
If heavy armor-piercing rounds hit, dugouts are practically meaningless.
You’re holed up in a cellar one minute, and then next, you’re being
plowed by artillery shells—the end. A suffocating death under a collapsed
trench would be dreadful. Nobody was eager to set foot in a radio dugout.
At the time, they were so dangerous it was taboo to keep the
communications base in the same dugout for more than forty-eight hours.
Nobody talked about it, but everyone avoided doing it.
The reason radios were brought to the front despite those conditions was
that we needed them. You can’t keep something as big as an army together
with semaphores and trumpets alone. Wireless technology has proved
effective amid the fog of war, so it’s no wonder armies continue to depend
on it even now.
And listening in on the flood of messages was second nature to not only
the radio operators but also the rumor-starved soldiers in the trenches.
That’s why I was keeping my ears open by habit and heard it. Something
so unbelievable I wondered if the fray had ruined my ears.
“There aren’t any numbskulls in my unit who would get hit by a friendly
shell. We need to prioritize keeping the enemy under control and holding
them back above all else.”
A commander asking for a bombardment to be shot over them? I was
about to shake my head, thinking there must have been some mistake, when
—
“CP to Pixie 01. These are high-explosive shells with fuses timed for air
bursts, you know!”
“Pixie 01, roger. That’s fine.”
Despite the static, I could tell she sounded cheerful. I’m still confident in
my hearing ability even at this age, but that time was the one occasion I
didn’t trust it.
 She sounded so excited. Her tone was lighthearted, but her message was
disturbing. What I heard over the radio was definitely the voice of someone
having fun. She thought nothing of a direct hit from an air burst. She wasn’t
worried about shrapnel coming down like rain?
Without thinking, the NCO I didn’t even know and I looked at each
other. We had to make our artillerymen bombard our own mages? I couldn’t
believe it. If they hit them, there would be hell to pay. Even if they were
forgiven, they would have killed their own.
“…Is she serious?”
“She can’t be. Why do the mages listen to her?”
But either God is a piece of shit, or he has some farsighted design us
lambs can’t even begin to imagine. She was serious.
In the case of friendly fire, it was impossible to tell which emplacement
had hit the wrong target, so incidents were handled with silence. They were
unfortunate accidents, and no one said a word.
But it’s a different story if the artillery is executing an observed fire
mission on an area with our troops in it. Their reputation would be ruined.
No one would forgive firing on our own troops, even if it was an order.
“…Major, do you…?”
“Don’t worry about us. Continue the bombardment.”
Even more invigorated. It scared me that such good cheer was coming
over the radio. No, even now I’m not sure exactly what I was scared of.
The fear of being shelled for hours on end, holed up in a trench praying
to make it through. The terror and the urge to scream at the top of your
lungs, Just put me out of my misery! Only someone who has experienced
that horror can understand it. There was something strange about someone
who could laugh off the fear of a bombardment.
I wasn’t this scared even when the sniper was aiming at us. I was cold. It
felt like my body was frozen to the core. What the hell is this chill?
“Pixie 03 to Pixie 01! Detecting multiple mana signals! Two company-
sized groups of enemy mages are on their way up! Time to contact is 600!”
I remember that the warning someone issued brought me back to myself.
And the radio operator frantically relayed the enemy info to other stations.
It was either just a new enemy unit or an intercepting unit. Even so, that
was daily life on the Rhine lines, so I felt a strange happiness at returning to
the normal from such an anomaly.
 I remembered that I had to take the replacement parts and ammunition
and return to the firing line. I had to get back while the communication
trench was relatively tranquil. So it must have been about the time I thanked
the NCO, grabbed the stuff, and was about to set off running?
I definitely heard the click of a tongue and a sigh over the radio—the
same radio that cheerful voice had been coming from until a moment ago.
“First Company, prepare for counter-mage combat. Follow me. These
idiots don’t have an appointment, so we’re going to beat them back. The
rest of you, on the artillery. Finish that quick and join up with us.”
The spirit in her words was like a blizzard. You don’t know that spirits
can dwell in words? It’s a pretty well-known topic on the battlefield, but,
well, it’s probably better not to know. Maybe it’ll be easier to understand if
I say it was like the devil reading prophetic writings at random.
In other words, chaos.
“Pixie 01 to CP. We’ll meet the incoming enemy mages, but no changes
to the original plan. You don’t have to watch out for air combat.”
Normally, that would be condescending and overconfident. The ones
under that commander must have been unlucky. But when I replay the
memories in my mind, I can’t help but shout, You monster!
A hero, a star, an outstanding magic officer. You, ma’am, were a great
officer. To all of us imperial soldiers serving on the Rhine lines, you were a
god.
“A new commander with a lot of mana and not much else? She must
have a death wish.” Unfortunately, whoever uttered that comment is no
longer alive.
“Pixies…? I’m pretty sure I heard of them from some Great Army guys.
They said she was a god of death.”
The rumors from those guys who thought they knew a bit about Major
von Degurechaff were true. Yeah, she’s a god—an immensely powerful one
who presides over life and death.
“Things are getting fun now, troops. You’re having fun, right?”
Her words, brimming with a spine-chilling anger, swept over the area as
if she was planning to attract all the enemy hostility like moths to a flame.
Major von Degurechaff had bared her fangs. It invited a violent reaction.
The Republic wanted to hunt the devil. In other words, they devoted all
humanity’s wisdom to killing the god of death. Gods don’t die, but those of
us next to them?
…They were right to call her a god of death.
She killed the enemy, and the enemy killed our men. Then the noble
major, with a glance at all the dead in the mud, took her leave.
Fucking hell.

FEBRUARY 24, UNIFIED YEAR 1925, THE SUBURBS OF

BERUN, IMPERIAL ARMY MILITARY COURT

Tanya would tell you that an army, at the end of the day, is a state’s
instrument of violence. No matter what rhetorical flourishes are employed,
its fundamental nature doesn’t change. Those who get indignant and ask,
What do you mean, “instrument of violence”? either don’t understand the
military or do understand voters, one or the other.
Either way, regardless of the definition, the army must be controlled.
Thus, regardless of how trustworthy those making up the organization are,
they must be put on a leash.
The emperor’s army, protectors of the Empire, vanguard of the people,
shield of the nation… Even the Imperial Army, showered with such praise,
is no exception.
Imperial subjects are proud of their soldiers. That’s why deviating from
that ideal inspires such reproach.
The imperial military, as one of its standards, desires all officers and
men to be model citizens. These expectations apply across the board, even
to lowly privates.
A natural consequence of this is that proper conduct is demanded of
honorable officers with special emphasis. In a way, during peacetime it’s
even more important than your caliber as a soldier. As a result, the military
authorities have a maniacal love for rules, meaning they have a court-
martial waiting for you if you break one.
As a class in society, military officers are ashamed of being court-
martialed. But that’s during peacetime. The peaceful era of prioritizing
honor and worshipping causes is over.
Now we’re at war. The matters dealt with in military courts, too, become
issues of whether you unflinchingly carried out your duty or not.
So according to military logic, it’s difficult to overlook that this was an
officer just doing their duty who got mixed up in an international political
deal brought about by improperly maintained legislation.
On the other hand, in a foreign affairs sense…a few of the high-ranking
officers and most of the diplomats are pulling their hair out. “Please
consider the politics!” they demand. “You intend to make an officer who
did her duty a scapegoat?” comes the retort. The combination of these
viewpoints makes for a volatile courtroom atmosphere.
There we find the governance of a trial according to law.
“Major von Degurechaff, this court is dismissing your case.” The legal
specialist acting as the judge stands and reads the decision, amid a forest of
thorns formed from the gazes of uniforms and suits alike.
They’re throwing out my case. Which is to say, this compromise lets
them avoid having to reject the claim by saying there’s no reason to make
one; they’re getting around making a judicial call by saying that the case
doesn’t technically meet the criteria to be considered.
The acting judge can do nothing but read the paper in his hands with an
expression like a Françoisman who has been served the best Albion cuisine
in the world three nights in a row. They need to save face on both sides, but
if the positions are in marked contradiction, sublation is the answer. In other
words, shelving the case is the only choice.
“The attack on and sinking of the neutral country’s vessel was an
unfortunate accident.”
But by adding that extra bit at the end, he is able to express his regret
about the affair. It’s clear to all seated in the courtroom that the presiding
legal officer inserted the line to absorb some of the shock.
To Tanya, this is the reconciliation she was expecting. She knows that
someone who is faithful to the logic of the organization is in no danger of
being disciplined unless they do something to harm the whole.
And the group from the Foreign Office had been prepared for that
decision as well. They went in with the gloomy thought that the army
would probably not give them the decision they wanted, but they
understood. Not that understanding does anything to soften the looks
they’re sending Tanya’s way from their seats in the gallery, fists clenched.
Meanwhile, as Tanya, I feel that receiving these murderous stares as if
she’s killed their parents was rather unfair. Of course, I understand what the
Foreign Office guys think. They very badly want a scapegoat to appease
public opinion in the Commonwealth.
For better or worse because the Foreign Office types value the entire
state, they apparently don’t consider an individual’s interests with the same
framework as the national concerns.
Well, that’s annoying. Tanya wants to sigh, but seeing as they are already
seething internally, she figures keeping her mouth shut is the smarter plan
and remains silent.
“It is a grave truth that international relations have been harmed by this
accident, but in light of both precedent and laws and regulations, although it
is our moral obligation to debate Major von Degurechaff’s negligence, we
find that in terms of legal authority, the matter lies outside our jurisdiction.”
The statement he reads is, in a way, declaring an ambiguous position.
While speaking of moral obligation and whatnot, they indicate, in a
roundabout way, that they intend to evade responsibility via the
bureaucratic reply that the matter doesn’t fall under their legal authority.
That said, Tanya’s not the only one who can understand that to not judge
her means the same thing as to not blame her.
“In addition, having taken into account the lawful nature of the mandate
Major von Degurechaff was given, we acknowledge that at the time she had
very little room for discretion and that she acted in faithful accordance with
her orders. In any event, however, we dismiss the case.”
But it seems like the General Staff or someone at the top put pressure on
them. Even to Tanya, that last bit on the conclusion was a strangely
favorable addition.
She grins. Without realizing it, her glossy lips have twisted into a faint
smile. With this, she is as good as innocent.
But in the courtroom, the only one looking so cheerful is the girl at the
center of it all. Among a majority of people who are willfully suppressing
their expressions, the smiling defendant can’t help but draw attention—all
the more so because the happy face belongs to Major von Degurechaff, who
is rumored to have rather emotionless features.
“For the aforementioned reasons, we lift Major von Degurechaff’s
detention order.”
All those involved think it best not to mention that she wasn’t ever under
one.
That said, confronted with her smile, many of the attendees fret and
wonder if this was really the right thing to do. But the decision has already
been made. And the superior mage the front lines want so badly will be
released from custody…exactly as the General Staff expected.
The Rhine lines call for urgency. Having a usable mage detained due to
a political issue would be intolerable.
They can prioritize the allotment of shells and other supplies to the
Great Army but not mages?
If they could fight the war like that, then no one would have to worry.
Give us more mages! Even just one more! When wailing entreaties like that
are coming in from the front lines, the General Staff don’t have the
resources—anywhere—to let a decorated Named just loaf around. And how
would they? If they had such resources, the war would surely have been
decided a long time ago.
We need her on the Rhine. It can’t be helped. For those sorts of reasons
alone, the matter was decided from the start. Well, no, if she had actually
been negligent, things might have been different.
Those are the only reasons. She’s proud and visibly relieved that her
previous judgment has proven correct.
According to the rules of military and international law, I threatened a
submarine of unknown nationality that was either violating or deviating
from established standards. Though unfortunate, the accident was caused by
warning shots fired according to procedures that were not created with
submarines in mind.
If there had been even one mistake in execution, the diplomats probably
could have gotten the heavy punishment they wanted so much. But when
there wasn’t a single error? That’s right—if there are no grounds for a
sacrifice, what do you think will happen?
If they were going to force through disciplinary action on me under
these circumstances, this would turn into a scandal involving everyone from
the Ministry of the Interior and the people from the army and navy who
drafted the rules to members of the Foreign Office. My most significant
military achievement has been to complicate things.
 I’m a promising mage and a recipient of the Silver Wings Assault Badge.
In other words, they can’t afford to cut me off. And Tanya’s analysis is
correct.
The army’s Railroad Department, the Service Corps, Operations in the
General Staff, and even the Technology Division had been putting pressure,
albeit informally, on the legal officers. The person in charge of practical
matters in each department had gone directly and hinted that they were
deeply concerned that an outstanding officer’s reputation might be ruined. It
was probably so much pressure it gave the legal officers stomachaches.
I’m so important that multiple departments came together to protect me.
Not that anyone made direct threats, but the expectations multiple military
organizations have for me put an awful lot of pressure on the legal officers
not to disappoint them.
So the legal specialists’ hard-won achievement was showing that they
were ready to court-martial me and deliberate. I can say that’s a job well
done.
But that’s only an internal matter. Someone within the organization may
have resisted, but to an outsider, the end result wouldn’t look any different.
Of course, in terms of international law, the matter between the Empire
and the Commonwealth is officially settled. It was an unfortunate accident.
The deal is that the Empire expresses their regret, the Commonwealth
makes an announcement to the effect that they hope this will be prevented
going forward, and there ensues some finger-pointing where each lays most
of the blame on the other.
But that’s between diplomats. I highly doubt the people will accept that
just because the government does. The Commonwealth’s public is furious
that one of their warships was sunk and people died as a result; they have
no reason to bury the hatchet so easily.
…On top of that, and I’ll say it without mincing words, Commonwealth
authorities are happily inciting such opinions.
The atrocious Imperial Army.
For someone who knows their geopolitics, their actions are actually
natural. It’s obvious what would happen if the Empire defeated all its
opposition on the continent. Having to face one giant country would have to
be a nightmare. So if the people aren’t on board with fighting the war,
there’s nothing strange about the authorities starting to stir them up.
 Into that situation comes an event, an unfortunate accident, perfect for
propaganda. No matter how dirty it is, they’ll shout their anti-Empire views
endlessly. And reading the complicated legal details of the discussion in the
paper is too much trouble.
Officially, of course, both countries declare it an accident and speak of it
as an unfortunate misunderstanding.
The official line from both sides is that the Commonwealth submarine’s
communications and navigation equipment were malfunctioning from the
start and had broken down, so the sub lost its way in imperial waters, was
unable to pick up the radio contact from the imperial mage unit on guard in
the area, and began a training dive as part of its scheduled exercise. Then,
as a result of warning shots fired according to the law of war, a high level of
water pressure was applied to the hull of the submarine. About to be
crushed, it performed an emergency blow.
Then both sides, implying that the other is to blame, deliver the
ambiguous conclusion that as a result of lifesaving operations performed by
the imperial mages, many injured crew members were treated at an imperial
hospital, but for those with serious injuries, the rescue was in vain, and they
perished. It is also confirmed that the emergency mechanisms didn’t
function in time and the submarine sank due to flooding. Additionally, both
countries agree that the loss of life is regrettable and that there will need to
be discussions about how to prevent similar accidents going forward.
So according to that story, it was more of a shipwreck than a sinking by
attack. What that means politically is that both sides admit to mistakes, but
they agree to look together for a way to prevent future accidents.
But if the Commonwealth wanted to, it could paint a very simple
picture.
Empire Sinks Commonwealth Vessel
That would prime their public more than enough. It’d be like pouring
gasoline on an already smoking fire. That’s precisely why the Empire’s
Foreign Office is so anxious to avoid any further deterioration of the
situation.
No, to be more precise, everyone knows. Everyone knows that at this
stage, the world is asking whether the other powers will allow the Empire to
be the sole winner and invite the birth of a hegemonic state or intervene to
stop that from happening in the interest of balancing the powers.
 So this is an excuse. Nothing more, nothing less. In reality, everyone has
braced themselves. If you have commonsense powers of judgment, it’s
plain to see.
The policy makers in both the Empire and the Commonwealth are aware
that the clash between the two countries is only a matter of time.
As such, the handling of Major von Degurechaff, one little magic
officer, is not top priority.
Basically, it’s politics. But it’s also true that as a result of all this, her
presence is a bit complicated. So being sent to the Rhine is understandable.
In one respect, this is where Major Generals von Zettour and von
Rudersdorf were pushing to put her anyhow, so it can be done now without
any awkwardness.
The General Staff is sending me and expecting results. The diplomats
expect me not to cause any more issues. If possible, they’d like me to die
out there. Then the legal specialists can escape this pain in the neck.
Anyhow, now that everyone and his brother wanted to send her and her
troops west, the Devil of the Rhine sneered.
And the situation on those lines became even more hellish.

APRIL 5, UNIFIED YEAR 1925, THE RHINE LINES

Life with shells from breakfast through brunch. Waking up to find your
friend who was sleeping right next to you dead is a rarity that happens all
the time in service on the forward-most line. If you relax in the trenches,
you get burned. That’s why you have to smile, keep your mind sound, and
watch out for your health. They say you can’t fight a war with a smile, but
wars without smiles are dangerous.
If the troops lose the ability to smile, that’s a bad sign. Times like those,
you need to make sure they aren’t drinking too much. If you don’t want to
get sniped at, you have to give up cigarettes.
As that thought occurs to her, Tanya realizes with a start that she’d like
to give herself a pat on the back for not wanting to drink even though
they’ve confiscated so much alcohol. The only ones in the battalion who are
getting enough drink and tobacco despite no rations are me and Lieutenant
Serebryakov. Someone must care about us; we even get playing cards and
candy.
Cocking her head, wondering whether girls are unexpectedly more
suited to this type of warfare, Tanya is once again forcibly reminded how
harsh life is in the trenches. Even the soldiers most loyal to their nations
might turn traitorous if cards, one of their sole leisure activities, were taken
away. There are tens of thousands stationed on the front lines in this
delicate mental state.
Even on the most peaceful day in those trenches, the weather is rainy
with a chance of shells. Apart from when we deal with snipers and
harassing fire, we can just lie around in the damp and the mud, but we’re
probably only able to get away with that because mages are so scarce.
Mages have leeway to take a quick break in the rear and get cleaned up.
We’re worked that much harder when we get back, though, of course.
On sunny days, vision is good, and we fight huge, fierce battles where
blood demands blood. In this world, the number of shells flying around has
reached the point where a single division consumes one thousand tons in a
day. How could they say, Artillery plows and the infantry advances? Sure,
it’s half-true, but we can’t advance.
Anyhow, both matériel and men are being used as if they are worthless,
and when Tanya steps back and thinks about it, it’s unusual; the more she
thinks about it, the more she wants to frown. It’s such a huge waste that she
can’t imagine a bigger one. Even I think human assets should be better
taken care of.
Once the troops receive their red slips and get called up, it costs money
to train, outfit, and feed them, but here’s this war where we’re going
through them like they’re sold at bulk discount. Our meetings may not be
with stockholders, but it’s a wonder we don’t get criticized.
We’re firing with such wild abandon I want to grill them for about an
hour to see how much kickback they’re getting from Grupper for these
shells.
Tanya doesn’t doubt the importance of a curtain of fire. Of course, she
understands that without the views of her esteemed superiors.
But she has told them they should at least cut costs. The rear is such a
mess that she has to sincerely wonder why there need to be seven or eight
different standards for railway guns alone.
Never mind the 20 cm guns and whatnot. Why does there have to be so
much variety among 80 cm railway guns used by thousands of men? As
someone with rotten experiences with an engineer, I suspect the imperial
engineers just made them because they wanted to. I wouldn’t put it past
them.
Still, shouldn’t they be at least a tiny bit interested in mass production?
Anyhow, faced with this scene, I can see why the military-industrial
complex prefers war.
So that’s why Japan was booming during World War I. Ditto regarding
“special procurement” during the Korean War.
There’s no way sales don’t climb when you have consumers plowing
through supplies at this tremendous rate. It’s a perfect example of supply
and demand. The market is so attractive it almost makes me want to start up
a private military company.
Ah, the heartlessness. If they’re going to waste us like this, they should
at least raise our wages. They have the money to shoot these shells at the
Republic like so much water, and those cost who knows how much a pop.
They should give some thought to employee welfare. I’d like to receive more
than just candy and snacks.
Tanya is lost in these utterly normal thoughts for an employee to have
when Lieutenant Serebryakov interrupts her with an administrative notice.
“Major, we’ve received word that the fresh mages have arrived at group
command. They say they’d like you to stop by to see about them…”
“Fresh mages? …Even if I wanted to replenish the battalion, we haven’t
lost anyone.” Zero casualties. Tanya intends to be performing the most cost-
effective management on the insane Rhine front, so she doesn’t understand
the relationship between her battalion and new recruits. “Are you sure they
weren’t stationed here by accident? Or did the message go to the wrong
person?”
“Though it’s presumptuous, I did, er, check myself…and there’s no
mistake, ma’am.”
I’m confused. I didn’t even request any replacements. But Lieutenant
Serebryakov says she didn’t mishear, that she confirmed there is no
misunderstanding. So Tanya has to think. Her adjutant understands that a
battalion with no casualties doesn’t require replacements. Command
understands this logic even better than Serebryakov, so it couldn’t be them.
On top of that, the battalion is already an augmented battalion. For a unit
under a major’s command, that’s about as big as they get. And it’s difficult
to imagine being promoted and receiving new personnel so suddenly under
these circumstances.
The only logical inference to make is that we’re in for some trouble.
Why? I’m such good person, cost conscious, and a stickler for
compliance. If Fate exists, I can guarantee she’s a jerk. Well, she’s probably
in league with Being X.
“Uh, this isn’t for sure…it’s only a rumor…but I heard Command might
want us to act as an instructor unit.”
“What? And where did you hear that?”
“Well, a classmate from the Cadet Corps is attached to Command as an
observer on the Rhine. She’s in a different sector, but…in a personal letter,
she said, ‘I heard you’re going to be a teacher. Nice work.’”
Hearing this plausible rumor through a random personal connection,
Tanya finds herself asking for clarification.
“Lieutenant, your friend’s ears are a little too sharp. Not that it’s
anything to be upset about.”
The duty to instruct recruits who aren’t used to the battlefield yet… It’s
a bit late, but someone must have noticed the rate at which new troops fall.
That’s all well and good, but how did they conclude that we should be the
instructors?
“But an instructor unit? If that’s true… No, with the war going as it is, I
doubt they’ll have us fall back to the rear. So they’re telling us to train
rookies at the front?”
One of my men snorts as if he can’t believe it. Exactly. Fresh recruits on
a battlefield are deadweight that can’t even be used to deflect incoming
rounds. Honestly, they should be hauled off somewhere else.
I don’t want anyone in my way, and yet they assign me recruits to train?
Frankly, I want to scream at them to come over to the front and see for
themselves whether that is even possible.
But just as I’m thinking that, First Lieutenant Weiss yells it himself.
“Unbelievable. I guess they think we can babysit while fighting a war!”
They all start shouting with no way to vent their indignation. Well,
they’re honest guys. And as one who’s spent time shivering in a trench, I
can sympathize.
“So we’re supposed to keep the shells off them? Have you ever heard
something so stupid?”
“Well, umm, everyone was a new recruit once…”
Still, Lieutenant Serebryakov’s cautiously stated comment is correct.
Watching after panicking newbies is a bona fide pain in the ass, but we
were all new once. Going a step further, Tanya’s already fought on the
Rhine while babysitting once before.
Maybe it’s because she has that experience that the brass is pushing it on
her again.
“Yeah, it’s true. I taught you on the Rhine, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, Major, I’ve come this far thanks to you.”
Considering that, contrary to my expectations, I managed to find a
useful subordinate, maybe we just have to do our best and see if we can dig
up someone good.
“This might be rude, but the major’s training seemed pretty harsh. I
can’t believe you…”
“What’s that, Lieutenant Weiss? If you have something to say, go ahead
and say it.”
“Never mind—excuse me!”
From the looks on my bickering subordinates’ faces, it seems like they’ll
take care of the recruits. And it’s an order, after all. Tanya unwillingly
braces herself. Resigned, she has to force herself to accept the task.
The reason she still can’t think positive is that she knows reality.
They’re throwing new recruits into a world where you’ll go crazy if you
can’t endure the misery of suppressive shellfire. She’ll want to pull her hair
out the day an untrained newbie makes a scene in the trenches or the
lodgings at base. At least if it’s at the base, she can shove them on the
medical staff in the rear, but if they panic on the front lines, we won’t have
time for that. I won’t know what to do.
More importantly, panic is contagious. If one handsome newbie’s face
crumples into a teary mess, and then the brave ones who’ve been enduring
everything start making a fuss, I won’t be able to control it. If someone
pukes everywhere, it’ll start an unacceptable chain of nausea for everyone.
In a worst-case scenario, I’ll have no choice but to produce silence with a
shovel.18
Shovels are fantastic for rookie education—we can bury their waste
products, shut them up, and, if necessary, bury them as well. They’re useful
no matter where you are—trench, base, or graveyard.
“Well, that’s fine. Gentlemen, if that’s our duty, we have no choice but
to do it.” That said, orders are orders, and it’s not as if this one has been
issued yet. It’s important to confirm these things. “Anyhow, first let’s
inquire with Command. If it’s the truth, it’ll be tough, but we’ll just have to
do it. We’ll give it our all!”
If I ask for confirmation on the rumor, I’ll learn whether I want to do
this or not. If it’s true that we’ll be rearing greenhorns, then we’ll have to do
it in a way that doesn’t break our backs. Tanya braces herself. We can’t be
expected to hold their hands every step of the way.
Of course, I know that wasting precious human resources is a folly to be
avoided. Which is also why I think I’d like to do this only as long as it
doesn’t put too much of a burden on me.
“This is Major von Degurechaff. About the new mages…”
So Tanya hazards a simple guess and receives confirmation right away.
In a nutshell, the mission we’ve been given is to break the newbies in.
From the phone conversation, Tanya makes a fairly certain guess that her
unit will be training them.
Then the first thing to do is have them observe the firing line as soon as
possible. I’ll just be glad that the battalion shouldn’t get thrown into
anywhere actually dangerous.
The front lines will teach them reality far better than a million words of
explanation. Apparently, my troops agree.
All right, I need to plan a training schedule is what I should have been
thinking.
Yes, what I should have been thinking.
“Gentlemen, welcome to the Rhine front!”
The fresh recruits were sent over more efficiently than I expected. Tanya
was thoroughly at a loss as she gave them a word of welcome. When
Command does something promptly, things are not normal. It’s an anomaly,
and you need to prepare yourself for the worst.
In the army, not having to worry about Command’s mess of
administrative procedures is the kind of aberration that should put you on
guard. Supplies get held up, reinforcements are delayed, but they’ll send
trouble over right away. In other words, Command being efficient is bad
news.
Which is why even Tanya wants to rip her hair out over the group of
newbies they’ve pushed on her. Even though she knows it isn’t becoming,
she gets cranky and frowns.
She braced herself, but…why are these replacement personnel so utterly
green? Lieutenant Weiss and the others all groan as they look over the
careers of the recruits they’ve been assigned.
They aren’t here for retraining or changing arms—they’re literally a slab
of fresh newbie meat. We’re being given raw recruits, whose only use is
fodder for the meat grinder, and being told, Don’t mince them! Evolve them
into fighting chunks of steak!
“I’m your instructor, Magic Major von Degurechaff.”
If this was what was going to happen I should have never gotten
assigned to the instructor unit at Central. Tech Research wasn’t a proper
workplace, either, and the Elinium Type 95 is one more reason my head
hurts. I guess I haven’t been able to take proper advantage of my promotion
opportunities. I just end up with more and more unfortunate connections.
Tanya can’t help but lament her circumstances.
“As you know, the Rhine is hell. It’s a graveyard, so to speak.”
She smiles weakly, thinking how it won’t do for all the fresh meat to
drop like flies, and describes the battlefield to them in frank terms as a
warning. It would be better if they had received a little more training that’s
actually useful for their situation; soldiers who don’t understand are
deadweight. Then again, on second thought, that’s exactly why someone
thought of making them a proper fighting force with this training mission.
“To break it down further, this is the wonderful Rhine front, where the
Republican Army will throw periodic welcome parties for any useless
bodies who deserve to be disposed of, and you can get promoted two ranks
in no time at all.”
Still, the high rate of attrition on the Rhine lines can only be lamented.
It’s a fundamental problem. I’m only a major, but all the superior officers
here when I arrived were busy getting their posthumous double promotions
or, if they were lucky, getting transferred or sent to the rear.
Before I knew it, as a major, I was closer to the top of the command
structure than the bottom.
Oh, competition is so fierce in the Rhine lines labor market it’ll make
you pale. What would Darwin say if he saw this? Is this the ultimate
progression of the theory of evolution? Or is it a desolate place where the
theory of evolution breaks down? It’s definitely a fascinating question.
“So anyone who wants to be a hero should go play with some snipers.”
Any time you spend talking to idiots who don’t listen is for nothing, and
having them hang around using supplies is a waste.
The best thing they can do is go make an enemy sniper use up a bullet. If
I can get rid of idiots and tire out enemy snipers at the same time, it’s not a
bad deal.
“The rest of you. Do your best not to get in the way.”
Well, if they follow instructions they should at least be able to act as
bullet repellant.
“Okay, gentlemen, we’ll probably only be together a short while, but
let’s all get along.”
Guess that’s about it. Now then, time to work as much as I get paid to.

Shovels are great. Shovels are the quintessence of civilization.

With a shovel, you can dig a hole just deep enough to hide yourself. Or
if you gather a bunch of people with them, you can dig a fine trench.
If you change your viewpoint just a little, you can even dig a tunnel. You
can smash a sturdy enemy trench with mining tactics (not that they get used
often).
A shovel is a good friend to any and every type of soldier. And a shovel
is the best gear for a close-quarters fight in a trench.
Longer than a bayonet, simpler to handle than a rifle, sturdier than any
other tool. Not only that, but they are extremely cheap to make, so they’re
perfect for mass-producing. Plus, I don’t have to worry much about
damaging my mind.
This is it, the ideal piece of equipment. This is the point humanity was
meant to reach. Civilization has developed the shovel as its implement.
Above all, it doesn’t rely on magic, so it’s optimal for stealth kills. With
a shovel, it’s possible to educate numbskulls who are dependent on magic
scanning— Klang! We can say it’s an indispensable item for nighttime
raids. Of course, it’s an excellent general-purpose tool at any time of day.
“The shovel is truly an implement born of civilization,” Tanya murmurs,
leading a unit to wish good evening to the enemy with their shovels. On this
nighttime outing, they get all muddy as they crawl over the ground on their
bellies. Her objective is clear—it’s part of the new recruit education she has
undertaken.
Tanya has no problem forcing them to wriggle through this morass if she
can beat into them that the only ones who can dress nicely on the Rhine are
dumbasses or corpses of heroes being sent to the rear. She doesn’t want to,
but when it’s an order, she has no choice. And so, she’s reluctantly crawling
at the head of the group, biting her lip.
If it were possible, she would want to go back this instant, but she’s
advancing across no-man’s-land. Since the snipers have given up their day
off and are going for the perfect attendance award, she and her troop, clad
in the gray camouflage of the trench dress code, drag themselves inch by
inch toward the enemy camp.
Sneaking forward, jumpy as a mouse, with a heavy steel helmet on your
head is the height of humiliation. What torture that we can do nothing but
sneak like this covered in mud! This place is utterly insanitary; the putrid
reek of the unrecovered corpses of both sides has completely numbed my
nose. Agh, how extraordinarily disgusting! Though conditions are severe
enough that I lament as such, work is work. I curse the fruitlessness of this
3D (dirty, dangerous, and demeaning) labor from the bottom of my heart.
…Why are the higher-ups always asking for the impossible?
To find out how all this started, we have to go back several hours to the
beginning.
Whether you see it as a comedy or a tragedy will depend on your point
of view. The incident does, however, become the momentum for marked
improvements in the Imperial Army’s chain of command and
communications channels.
 “I’d like to hear your opinion on improving field battle capabilities.”
The Operations staffer attached to Command who had come to visit Tanya
that day handed her a circulating notice. On it were the loss rates of new
soldiers stationed on the Rhine lines as replacements, separated by arm of
service. What jumped out at her when she scanned the page was how high
the numbers were. You could say the Empire’s new soldiers were literally
dropping like flies.
As a frontline officer, she put the notice on her desk and sat down with a
sigh. These are what the rates will be if you have to deploy new recruits
with not enough training or experience.
“If I may be blunt, this is surely due to insufficient training and
accelerated education. I should think that instead of learning how to march
in formation, they need to be trained how to lie in a trench. Aside from that,
perhaps they should also be baptized in the most difficult parts of trench
warfare under conditions that minimize casualties.”
“They certainly have a ways to go to be useful, but…we can’t very well
stand them up in front of the machine guns, either.”
Seeing the important colonel sigh, bring his coffee to his lips, and
grimace, Tanya’s face stiffened. On the forward-most line, there’s no way to
provide adequate hospitality. She had given Lieutenant Serebryakov strict
orders to make it the best cup of coffee she could, but there probably hadn’t
been enough fuel to boil the chalk out. The colonel had drunk some, so she
did, too, but it tasted awfully tainted.
“…You don’t like it, sir?”
That said, she showed him what it was like on the front lines by
implying that that’s just how it tastes there.
“I don’t mean to nag you about conditions on the front, but…this is
horrible. It reminds me of the dining room at the central General Staff
Office.”
“They must have better luck with water there, though. This is the firing
line,” Tanya murmured, staring sadly into her butchered coffee, oozing a bit
of helplessness. Even the taste of these luxury items wasn’t the same on the
front. They were in another world, removed from daily civilian life. It
would be no easy task to throw in new recruits with only accelerated
training and get them acclimated.
“You’re saying we should give them a taste of this experience in the
rear?”
“If possible, they should be informed of the realities of the trenches so
as to shatter their illusions about war. The numbskulls who want to be
heroes end up killing not only themselves but their fellow soldiers.”
The newbies who try to pull off heroics in the trenches really are
numbskulls. If one of them succumbs to the rush of adrenaline and does
something reckless or makes a futile charge, at least the damage can be
minimized to affect just him, but oftentimes they have the nerve to involve
others.
On top of that, though you can’t really blame them for a physiological
phenomenon, I’m also really sick of them polluting the trenches with all
varieties of incontinence and creating hotbeds for every type of infectious
disease.
“That’s why, with these young ones, I just…” Tanya groaned, burying
her head in her hands. “…Hmm? What was that, sir?”
“Oh, I just thought it was strange, given how young you are, Major.”
“The one with infant military careers are useless. Of course, I’m sure it’s
a different story if they can manage to survive two months on the Rhine.”
“Ahh, no…uh, forget I said anything. Let’s get back to the topic at
hand.”
I wasn’t really sure why the colonel was mincing words. The whims of
superior officers don’t always make sense. Tanya politely did as she was
told and switched to their main topic without asking anything further.
Tanya’s age might be strange from an objective perspective, but
subjectively, she could only think of years of service, similar to the way
someone would say how long they’d been working at a company.
“Yes, sir. At present, we can’t hope for large-scale mobile battles. All we
can have them do is hole up in the trenches and maybe shoot their guns.”
Anyhow, Tanya’s idea about the loss rates, that they would improve a bit
once the soldiers acclimated, was a violently realistic one—i.e., that’s just
how it goes in total war, where you’re in a competition to literally grind up
human resources. Even if it made sense to be concerned about high losses,
she thinks they’re overly worried about the effect such losses might have on
the lines. To Tanya, you can afford to overlook losses that aren’t big enough
to affect the ability of the organization to continue fighting.
To put it another way, if they were dropping as fast as they were in All
Quiet on the Western Front, things would be pretty much like the title of the
movie—all quiet.
Even if divisions attacked by night, like in the Russo-Japanese War, it
would be a cinch to repel them with machine guns and mage support. Well,
we would have to be practical and expect casualties within some
permissible range, since the newbies would still be learning the ropes.
After all, I wasn’t the one who’d be dying. Not that I wanted them to die
if we could help it.
“Indeed. It is difficult to imagine a large-scale mobile battle breaking
out. You’re probably correct that we should focus our instruction on other
areas, but…”
Ultimately, the colonel didn’t say anything that negated what Tanya had
said.
What came through in his anguished reply were the emotions he
couldn’t shake, the feeling of wrongness and hatred for this way of fighting
that involved sending so many young to die.
“…neither can we ignore the damage being done in these smaller
engagements. The problem is that even if the losses are small, they pile up.
Worst of all, morale will start to flag.”
“But if an engagement is small, it shouldn’t be resulting in too many
losses.”
Wait a minute. Tanya seemed to be the only one present who thought
those losses were within the permissible range. Compared to the rate of
casualties in World War I, these little scuffles were adorable. But a normal
person wouldn’t usually use deaths in World War I as the yardstick even if
they were aware of it, and if they weren’t, they would undoubtedly shiver at
the inconceivable numbers.
“At most, a harassing raid would only kill the ones who would die
anyhow, so that doesn’t seem like such a big deal.”
A serious raid would be too high risk, so the most the enemy can do is
take a company of infantry for a sneak attack. The limit for mages would be
a battalion-sized harassing attack. If that’s all, the casualties the imperial
side could expect wouldn’t be unsuitably high.
Speaking in extremes, of course. With that thought, Tanya drained her
awful coffee and reached for a mint candy as a palate cleanser.
The large gap in experience between veterans and newbies can only be
explained by how much actual combat they’ve been through. My unit’s rate
of loss was far and away the lowest, but the replacements from other units
were starting to get injured, albeit gradually. The soldiers who got their first
taste of combat in the easy Dacian War were lucky. If your first time is this
rough, it must take a long time to get used to it.
“Major von Degurechaff, don’t you think with your instruction and
direction the loss rate could be lowered?”
“If you order me to do it, I’ll do my utmost, but ultimately our only
option for these first-time combatants is to teach them step-by-step.”
On a battlefield with snipers, pointing at a moron who got shot is far
more persuasive than telling them, Don’t stick your head out! While
trenches diminish the effectiveness of field guns, concentrated fire from
large-caliber heavy artillery reduces even reinforced concrete to rubble, so
don’t all hide in the same place! They’ll understand well enough if you
make them recover the bodies of the poor radio operators who suffocated
when they were buried alive in a pillbox.
Take writing the alphabet, for example. If you don’t go A-B-C step-by-
step and actually teach how to write it, there’s no point. When that occurred
to her, Tanya realized her battalion still hadn’t experienced some things on
the Rhine, either.
The obstacle of trenches certainly changed the way night battles were
fought. They changed the way guard duty was performed as well, and the
replacement troops were definitely not used to it. Newbies and veterans
alike had to deal with warnings being given at the drop of a hat. And maybe
this was compounded by the mages not having much opportunity to be in
the trenches during the day.
“That said, it seems to be as you say. From what I’ve seen, I agree that
we should be able to improve a bit more,” said Tanya upon reflection.
In other words, she needed to educate the fresh recruits under the
assumption they were unfamiliar with the trenches. The change in
environment and premises requires retraining.
“Yes, that’s right. Their combat in environments where they can’t rely
on magic is particularly unbearable to watch.”
Tanya nodded in response to the colonel’s observation. The mages were
trained under the assumption they’d be deploying both protective films and
defensive shells, so they really did suck at stealth combat. The shameful
sight of newbies unconsciously protecting themselves and then getting
targeted by the enemy annoyed her.
“It’s true that even though they’re under strict orders not to use magic in
the trenches, there are too many examples of people leaking signals without
realizing and getting picked up by the enemy.”
Having said that, it really started to hit home. Oh, right, there was also
an incident where a whole unit got blown away because some numbskull
gave away their position while they were getting ready…
There had been an inquiry, but did anyone attempt to reevaluate
replacement training as a result? Aha, it really is an issue when one person’s
mistake multiplies the damage. Having jumped to that conclusion through
logic incomprehensible to others, she was touched, thinking it was good
that the higher-ups cared about improving the situation.
“You’re worried about even the small-scale battles with recruits this
under-trained?”
Right, Heinrich’s Law. There is always the risk that letting small errors
go will lead to getting majorly burned. And Murphy’s Law teaches us about
the dangers of ignoring the possibility of failure. Humans are numbskulls. If
there is a way to fail, someone will figure out how to do it at some point.
In that case… Tanya, shocked at her own pride, felt her heart stop. The
higher-ups must be apprehensive about the shaky new recruits not for some
baseless reason but because they’ve discovered some risk that officers
across the front have been carelessly overlooking.
How perceptive. I need to hand it to them, from an HR perspective.
There’s no guarantee that these issues won’t worsen if things develop into a
massive battle, so if there are even small ways to improve, we have to work
at them.
“That’s exactly the issue. Large-scale engagements notwithstanding,
these smaller skirmishes…”
Even if the current assumption is that a large-scale battle won’t break
out… The Operations staffer emphasized that even the present human losses
couldn’t be ignored and felt (as a decent person would) that this level of
harm, this mass production of corpses, was wrong somehow.
Meanwhile, Tanya nodded—quite right—at everything the colonel said
but nevertheless took no particular issue with the losses as such. Rather, she
thought the biggest problem was that many of their units were inferior due
to being formed mainly with replacements.
Certainly, even if the chance of a large-scale fight was negligible, they
were currently leaving open the possibility of failure and piling up small
errors.
Actually, after having this pointed out to her, her most serious concern
was the very real (if sporadic) instances where one person’s error had
caused catastrophic damage—too much. She worried that newbies who
couldn’t function without relying on magic could be a major component of
failure on a high-risk mission.
“You were on an operation in Norden where you couldn’t rely on magic,
right? I imagine you have a handle on the gist of it.”
“As you say, sir. I’m ashamed to say I hadn’t been thinking about it, but
I’ll keep it in mind when I’m teaching.”
The idea of requesting error-prevention measures indicates, in a way,
healthy operation of the organization. In civilian life, trouble can usually be
dealt with by firing the person who made the mistake. In the army, however,
one person’s mistake can mean everyone dies. One for all. All for one. It’s a
truly wise saying. If one person fails, everyone dies, and if everyone else
messes up, one person’s fierce fight won’t be enough to win in the end.
“About that…”
I appreciate that instruction is happening, but it’s far from enough. The
issue really is lack of actual combat experience. The colonel was
enthusiastic, thinking that he’d gotten her to understand his opinion. Thus,
he and Tanya entered a strange misunderstanding without realizing the
incongruity of their views because they saw only their agreement that
something needed to be done.
“Yes, what is it, sir?”
“Can you give them some experience?”
What they needed more than protected experience in a large operation
was thorough repetition and review in small-scale battles. That is what
Tanya believed, so although she didn’t want to, she resolved to go on a non-
magic raid.
Yes, combat experience should be gained alongside a well-trained unit
with extraordinarily low loss rates. Experience trumps schooling.
“Sir! Experience, yes.”
There was no point in training corpses. There was no telling on the
ground when the chance would arise to do a large-scale mobile battle or
breakthrough or difficult operation like an infiltration attack. As long as that
was the case, troops should be kept trained up so they could respond to
orders at any time; Tanya kicked herself for her careless neglect.
I didn’t want losses in my unit, and I figured if I put the newbies out to
pasture, the battlefield would turn them into master soldiers, but that was
the wrong way to go about it.
“Yeah, if there’s a chance to train them in the trenches for a while, I’d
like to have them fight with your troops.”
It was true that having her battalion go to the trenches with the new
recruits as an instructor unit would reinforce the front. The Empire sure gets
all they can out of their people. The shocking truth had just started dawning
on Tanya that in the abnormality of war she had lapsed into irrationality and
laziness. This is why war is bad, she thought. War numbs humanity and
reason and drives you crazy with rotten fantasies.
When that thought crossed her mind, she had been on the verge of
resisting, saying, You’re telling me to leave the rear and throw myself into
the trenches? And not only that but take a bunch of deadweight with me and
train them? She was terrified to see how tainted her own thoughts were.
Even though I know that being hasty and shortsighted is most likely to
cause a failure, once I experienced it, I got a good taste of how easy it is to
fall into that trap.
“Understood! I’ll do my best to instruct the unit.”
“Great. I’ll prepare the written orders immediately. Sorry for the
pressure, but we’re counting on you.”
“Yes, sir. Leave it to me! I’ll have results to show in no time.”
And so, neither of them realized there was a definite contradiction in
their views, and Tanya moved ahead with carrying out her orders.

Taking her time to enjoy her dinner, she has the company commanders
under her prepare for a night battle and confer with the leader of the
recruits. She also points out to her batman that the potatoes are inexcusably
old. When he replies that the supply unit is bringing canned goods as a top
priority, she is forced to reluctantly back down…because she senses her
superiors are focused on logistics network maintenance and efficiency.
 The light railway is handling about as much traffic as it can take, so
they’re probably prioritizing canned goods since those keep for a long time
and can be transported according to a preset plan. In other words, I
shouldn’t expect raw vegetables or fresh meat or fish anytime soon. The
calories, at least, should be up to regulations. Still… When she hits upon
that prospect, she has to accept the reality that her already simple table will
become even drearier.
Well, I guess the only ones who get to expect decent meals at war are the
navy. Or maybe just the submarine squads—I’ve heard they get treated
well. Of course, everything else about their situation is the worst…
Basically, they’re beginning to prioritize ease of transport, and that
makes sense to her. She certainly can’t argue against it, so with nothing else
to do, she lays down her sword on the food issue and continues her meeting.
That’s how essential close cooperation and maintaining leadership will
be in the upcoming operation. After all, discipline in a normal mage
battalion night battle would be managed via magic. But if they were to cast
interference formulas in the middle of no-man’s-land, they’d be detected;
no individual radios will be distributed, either. Fighting a night battle under
these conditions with fresh recruits is incredibly reckless.
Operation Eagle Claw heading for Iran probably had a higher chance of
succeeding.
So should we split into autonomous platoons for the raid? Just one
imperial mage platoon is said to have firepower equal to a company of
regular infantry. Well, practically speaking, an infantry company and a
mage platoon really can probably deliver the same amount of damage.
Plus, it’s a night battle. If we hit them with that much firepower under
the veil of darkness, we can probably expect widespread confusion. But
then to continue fighting, we’ll have to rely on magic. That means the
second we cast interference formulas, it’s possible that the enemy retreats
and the whole area gets bombarded indiscriminately.
Well, or we could just take checking machine-gun fire.
So should we infiltrate as companies? It’s realistic but on a whole new
scale of difficulty. It’s not a bad idea to have each group perform a feint and
then attack from four totally different locations. But sending in all four
companies would mean that even as an augmented battalion, we wouldn’t
have any muscle in reserve. I want to stay in the rear under the pretext of
commanding the reserves, so I can’t accept that plan.
I will take the most highly trained First Company. Having all the other
companies perform the raid would be best for me, but my subordinates are
advocating for a plan where First Company is the main attacking force.
They want to go without reserves and have the others feint.
The objective of our night battle is the abduction of enemy soldiers,
which is relatively less difficult. Basically, we’ll invite enemy sentries from
a warning trench to be friends for Intelligence to chat with.
“In other words, you all want to avoid engaging as much as possible.”
“Yes, Commander. Honestly, it’ll be impossible to fight with those
recruits along.”
…I suppose it is important to avoid combat. My orders are simple.
“Give them night battle experience.” Period.
If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result
of a hundred battles. Or endeavor to understand one another in an advanced,
civilized manner. To that end, a bit of nocturnal hiking to invite enemy
soldiers over isn’t so bad.
No, it’s not bad. Well, it’s not good, either. I guess things can’t be
declared simply good or bad.
“I’m concerned about speed. More than anything, this’ll demand a swift
withdrawal.” Without thinking, I’ve already voiced a worry. Well, as the
one in charge, I have to consider and prepare for all eventualities.
I can’t get away with saying, Oops, I didn’t think about that.
If I say it’s possible and fail, I’ll be laughed at. If I say it’s impossible,
I’ll be reprimanded as inept.
I’m compelled to raise concerns; we need to think seriously about this.
Any resisting enemy soldiers won’t be killed but knocked out. Well, that’s
easy for a mage to do. We get a lot of practical experience on how to leave
people neither dead nor alive in the military academy and basic training.
The venerable Daigongen and Zusho come in surprisingly handy.
We’re up against soldiers instead of farmers, but in terms of governing
theory, the result is the same. Well, no, I’m actually much more comfortable
doing it to civilians.
We could also tap them lightly with the flat side of a shovel. If you
swing a shovel sideways, it slices, but if you hit with the flat, that’s one
down. They really are convenient—so much so that I’d almost like to have
all the recruits participate armed only with shovels.
But what do we do once we capture our guests? If the warning trench
sends out an alert, our only options will be to fight or run. As long as our
objective is to take prisoners, fighting is pointless. When all you’ve got is
the muscle of a group on force recon, dealing with the counterattacking unit
in a trench fight is a completely futile battle of attrition. And if we were to
miss our chance to pull out, we would literally die in vain. That’s why after
we achieve our appointed objective, there’s no reason to stick around.
When your work is done, there’s nothing better than going straight
home.
Which is why we can prioritize speed without fretting over the mana
signals we’ll have been concealing up to then and go literally flying out of
there with flight formulas. There is no better way to let your mana signal
loose and hightail it away from the battle lines than a flight formula.
Hooray for flight formulas.
We’ll have to run for our lives for a couple minutes, but if we can’t get
away, we’ll get blown up in a hail of SOS fire.
Well, another way to look at it is that as long as whatever gets us makes
a clean hit, we won’t have to suffer.
That said, everyone wants to enjoy life.
Even suicidal people aren’t born in such a passionate state of despair
over their existence that they want to kill themselves. If they are able to
believe in the future, humans all have the wonderful potential to build a
bright, peaceful tomorrow. Humans are irreplaceable; we’re all unique.
At least, I don’t know about other people, but I have no substitute.
That’s why I want to survive, no matter what it takes. No, I will survive. To
that end, I’ll even praise the devil as God for those couple minutes to go full
throttle.
I’m saying that we’ll keep an eye out for each other as we withdraw, but
I’m definitely not stopping. Falling behind means being taken prisoner if
you’re lucky or death in battle if you’re not.
“…Well, seems like you’re appropriately nervous.”
Apparently, all my subordinates have screws loose. I mentioned a
concern, so why are they talking about “appropriately nervous”? Was it a
mistake to gather a bunch of war addicts when I formed my unit?
I want to take a little space. I hunt for someone with some other—some
normal—opinion. When I scan my troops, I see Lieutenant Serebryakov
raising her hand.
“Major, the last few minutes are the dangerous part, although we do
have to give the new recruits support on our way over as well.”
This is a much more sensible viewpoint. We’ll be fine on the approach
unless someone makes a sound or some numbskull gives off a mana signal.
“Lieutenant, you and I have seen enough newbies screwing up on the
Rhine to make you sick. You can handle them, right?”
“…If need be. But, Major, I’m going to do my best to cover for them so
that won’t be necessary.”
“Hmm. Well, let’s go over the opinions we’ve presented.”
Let’s round up the most sensible conclusions we have.
1. Do all we can to avoid combat.
Peace is best, of course. No reason to oppose that.
2. Send the strongest unit.
This is irritating, but in terms of military sense, I can’t argue with it.
Accepted for its prudence.
3. If we don’t get discovered, the approach is possible. Withdrawing will
be dangerous.
These are the points we collected. It’s probably the safest plan. That is,
if we arrange for a steady advance and a swift withdrawal, I guess we
shouldn’t have any problems. And if the troops make a mess of it, they’ll
have officers and NCOs with plenty of Rhine experience to back them up.
Lieutenant Serebryakov and the others who have come up through the ranks
will probably do a proper job of that.
“Good. I’ll notify them of the plan.”
Now, which of the fresh mages will I take on our first picnic?

Dinner was potatoes. And a little bit of fresh meat. Everything else was
canned. Mages are usually treated well, and I’m even an officer, but this is
what I get. This is still the rear base, so I’m told it’s on the good side; I
wonder what the situation is on the front line. I hear the Great Army is
putting pressure on the enemy lines, but Logistics is probably still
struggling.
With those things on his mind, Magic Second Lieutenant Warren Grantz,
who had finally just been commissioned, ate his food quickly like soldiers
do. The meal was better than the rations at the field exercise grounds.
At least it satisfied his appetite, and his tongue didn’t reject it. But even
if the food was better, he’d actually been feeling depressed for a few days.
After all, he was being sent to the district with the fiercest fighting.
No, when he left the academy, he even trembled with excitement at
being sent to the Rhine sometimes. He even thought he’d rack up brilliant
exploits and become a hero.
But that enthusiasm withered the closer the military train got to the
Rhine district on the way to the front.
What he saw were shell craters and burned, blistered things. Everything
in his field of vision was gray. All of it, scorched fields. By the time the
pungent odor began invading his nose, his spirit was deflated. And the
thunder of a large gun, maybe an imperial railway gun, intensified his
worries.
Before he knew it, he and the others were restlessly glancing around,
noticing that many of their fellows wore the same anxious faces.
During that journey, one of the few ways to pass the time was sharing
rumors. As he’d heard, the old stagers either slept, played cards, or spread
rumors. Grantz dozed now and then, otherwise chatting as the train rocked
along. He heard some rumors he knew of, too.
For example, one legend at the academy said a second-class student had
once murmured that Cadet Degurechaff was more terrifying than the
battlefield. She certainly is scary. Such were the thoughts running through
his mind as he presented himself at Rhine Command.
When he arrived, he heard he would be attached to an instructor unit,
which was a relief.
According to Command, he’d be retrained as a replacement before
getting his assignment, so the first thing to do was get used to the front
lines.
Maybe I can do this! It was several days ago that he had thought that.
“Gentlemen, welcome to the Rhine front!”
If the devil exists, it has to be our instructor, the commander of the
203rd Aerial Mage Assault Battalion, the legendary Major von
Degurechaff.
The way she smiled. The way she looked at us like we were maggots.
The way she seemed thirsty for blood.
I’d believe she had tried to kill a rebellious underclassman or crack his
skull open. If I screw up on the battlefield, she’ll definitely kill me. That’s
how threatened I felt by the instructor who just had to also be my advisor.
…I wanna cry.
Out of all the replacements, I was the only one who had been through
the academy. In other words, everyone either didn’t know the rumor that
she was a demon in the guise of a little girl or laughed it off. The ones who
figured they could handle war if that little kid could were on the safer side.
Just the thought of what the ones who underestimated her might do
made my stomach hurt. I’ve never hated the words collective responsibility
so much.
Tonight, I’m off duty. I should go to bed early. It happened just as I
thought that.
We were summoned. The 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion was ordered to
appear in the briefing room, grouped by platoon, within three minutes.
“Hurry up! Run!”
I urged my platoon, who had been finishing dinner; raced over to the
briefing room; and just barely made it at two minutes and fifty-one seconds.
No other platoons had arrived yet. Well, no, in ran Seventh Platoon; they’d
been competing with those of us in Fourth Platoon. That second, the three
minutes were up.
And the next second, the superior officers broke into broad grins and
went to go get the tardy platoons. Did the others even feel bad for being
late?
In any case, we all assembled quickly. And our smiling battalion
commander announced a night picnic plan. Not that it involved anything
like a picnic.
“Unfortunately, gentlemen, I think that aside from Fourth and Seventh
Platoons, you deserve penalties.”
This was the major who had once said during a speech at the academy
that deadweight should be killed. I pitied the groups who hadn’t been able
to make it in three minutes because I figured they would be thrown into
hell, but that wasn’t right.
“In order to teach you the importance of haste, I’m sending you to the
trenches. Since you don’t seem to understand when I tell you, you’ll
experience firsthand what happens to slowpokes.”
They’d actually be buried in the depths of hell. The shocked mages were
immediately assigned to the warning trench. The warning trench on the
front lines of the district with the worst fighting… They would be what are
commonly called “canaries,” the first to get attacked on the forward-most
line. The mortality rate was naturally the highest; it was a position where
you couldn’t rest for even a moment.
By the way, they’re called canaries after the caged birds that are taken
into mines. The comparison is made because of the criticism that the raison
d’être of anyone in this post is to stop responding.
But I shouldn’t have been relieved.
“Now then, you fine, punctual fellows, I have a reward.”
She looked at us one by one as if she was going to tell us something
wonderful. My platoon mates next to me seemed to be expecting a reward,
but I wasn’t.
I had a really bad feeling.
“You get a little amity-building recreation. We’ll go on a picnic, make a
toast, and invite some new friends to come back with us. I guess you can
call it a party.”
As soon as she said that, someone handed us a pamphlet that said Field
Trip Guide. Picnic procedure?
“First, equip hand grenades and your shovel; then ready your rifle and
computation orb. Dress in night camo for CQB. By the way, if you use your
computation orb or rifle without permission, you’ll be shot or beaten to
death. Republican soldiers are people, too. That means you can make
friends with them”?
Then why did we have to knock them out with shovels?
“…In ancient times, people made friends by talking with their fists”?
“Civilized people of the present use the implement born of civilization,
the shovel…”?
This is crazy. No one said it aloud, but it was the look on everyone’s
faces. This was a nighttime mission to abduct enemy soldiers—a so-called
intelligence-gathering mission but extremely dangerous nonetheless. If we
were going to drag enemies back with us, it went without saying that we
would have to approach the enemy trenches.
Basically, we had to sneak up to the enemy position—where machine
guns, all types of heavy artillery, infantry guns, snipers, and tons of soldiers
were waiting—and abduct enemies out of the warning trench, which was
the place that was on highest alert.
“…We’re gonna die.”
It was from there that things would get really intense. “After using your
shovels to mingle with lots of friends, let’s invite some to our house. But I
think all our friends will try to keep us from leaving in various ways. The
field trip lasts until you shake them off and make it home”?
“Incidentally, I’m not too worried about you punctual fellows, but one
thing…” She beamed. Oh God, please save us. “If you’re too slow, we’re
leaving you behind. Yes, anyone who wants a quick double promotion can
stay out there. We wouldn’t want to hinder your success in life.”
She said the same sort of thing when I first met her. I didn’t realize it
was word for word the truth!
Magic Second Lieutenant Warren Grantz realized he was shaking.
My survival instinct was screaming. I wanted to avoid the war, the
combat, the killing. I was hesitating.
But one glance from Major von Degurechaff was enough to subjugate
that instinct. She was far more terrifying. We sallied forth like lambs being
herded by a sheepdog. No one raised so much as a groan. We advanced
under the cover of night, crawling in silence.
The commander was the first to strike. We heard the thudding of her
shovel followed by the grunts of several people. We whacked the enemy
soldiers caught with their guard down, too, as if our lives depended on it.
How much time passed after that?
It felt like the experience lasted a lifetime, but in reality, it was only a
few dozen seconds.
It was a short moment. During that tiny amount of time, all the enemy
soldiers in the specified area of the warning trench were either incapacitated
or deep in a sleep they would never wake up from.
I could still feel the shock of the shovel impact in my hand; it was
different from the recoil of shooting like we were taught at the academy.
That particular feeling, the sensation of crushing something, was still
impressed upon my body.
If I had been left like that, I wonder what would have happened to me.
“It’s time. Company, carry the prisoners. Newbies, you’re support. In
thirty seconds, the magic ban is lifted. We’re flying outta here. Sync your
watches—three, two, one, start.”
But the orders delivered in a calm, unruffled whisper brought me back to
reality. Combined with my training, they slowly got my body moving.
That’s what I had been drilled for. My training saved me.
As instructed, thirty seconds later I started up my computation orb at full
throttle and took off.
We really hightailed it back to our own defensive lines. It only took a
few minutes. All we had to do was fly—simple. But it was horrible. My
heart raced with every artillery shot. It hurt to breathe.
I was so terrified I hardly felt like myself anymore.
When we climbed up high to avoid being shot accidentally and set a safe
course for the rear base, all the stress left my body at once, and weariness
washed over me.
…How could the major just calmly sing a hymn?

Today, after completing her morning exercises and eating breakfast,

Major von Degurechaff reaches for her pen as if she’s made up her mind.
In the rear base, the mail can get through. Naturally, it’s possible to send
a letter if necessary.
It’s military mail, so sometimes there are delays, but in general, things
can be sent and received like any normal letter.
Of course, someone like her with no relatives doesn’t have any personal
letters to write.
She only ever writes on official business or unofficial business.
What she’s writing this time is official. That said, in a rare case, she
takes out her stationery hesitantly, and her pen moves over the paper
awkwardly.
She’s already written a pile of these documents. She just accepts that
they’re work and gets them done. But today the tip of her pen feels heavy.
Well, it would be stranger if a person could write it without trouble.
To the dear family of Warrant Officer Anluk E. Kahteijanen,
I am Magic Major Tanya von Degurechaff, his superior officer.
 I regret to inform you that your one and only young Anluk E.
Kahteijanen is being discharged with a disability.
He became abruptly ill during an operation, and the surgeon has judged
that it would be difficult for him to endure lengthy military service.
His recovery will most likely require a long recuperation period at home
or in a military hospital.
The Personnel Division has agreed to go ahead with this treatment plan.
Please speak with him and ensure he has a restful convalescence.
And please forgive us for returning your child in such a condition.
He is an outstanding mage, our irreplaceable brother-in-arms, brave
and trusted by all.
We are deeply saddened to no longer have Anluk E. Kahteijanen in our
ranks.
Small consolation though it must be, I recommended him for the Field
Service Badge First Class and the Disability Medal, both of which were
approved.
I hope he makes a full recovery.
Sincerely,
[xxx] Unit Commander, Imperial Army Magic Major Tanya von
Degurechaff

…To think the day would come when I’d lose a man to some bad
potatoes. Apparently, the legendary remark from an American Thunderbolt
pilot that even a veteran can’t beat food poisoning wasn’t a joke.
So those potatoes really were rotten after all. Tanya puts away her pen,
irritated by the worsening logistics situation.
Sending a letter to the family when something happens to a subordinate
is the superior officer’s responsibility, and I’m not against writing…but
food poisoning from potatoes? Tanya has finished the letter, but she has
complicated feelings about the incident and can’t get over it.
He had eaten, participated in a night raid, and shocked me upon our
return by throwing up and complaining of an awful stomachache. I was
dumbfounded. A veteran writhing about like that, I was sure he had to have
been hit by an NBC weapon. Those work even on mages. I hurriedly cast a
medical formula, but it only eased the pain. Protective films provide
comprehensive NBC coverage, and I remember we were on the verge of
panicking that some new weapon not on that list had been developed.
When the surgeon rushed over and examined him, we were finally able
to sigh in relief. In other words, it was just sudden, acute food poisoning.
And it only hit unlucky Anluk E. Kahteijanen.
He was a good mage, damn it. I never thought I would send someone
away from the front like this.
But it’s really great that Personnel treated his condition as a disability.
This way, he gets his pension, and his honor as a soldier remains intact. And
I, as an officer, won’t have the blemish on my record of a dishonorable
subordinate.
I mean, you can only really laugh at an officer who loses a man to bad
potatoes. Who would have thought I had a guy in my unit who would be
taken out by his own stomach…? Nah, it’s not even funny.
The Republican bombardments come as always, shaking our position
like clockwork, but I must feel oddly reflective on this auspicious day
because I sent a man to the rear for a difficult-to-verbalize reason.
That said, what we learned from this lesson was promptly applied. As
such, this morning’s breakfast was bacon, hard biscuits, and ersatz coffee.
The vegetable soup featuring the guilty potatoes was hastily disposed of.
Personally, I worry about my diet being unbalanced without vegetables, but
there’s nothing I can do about it.
I had someone go to get supplies first thing this morning, so I figure
maybe we’ll get a chance to eat canned vegetables with lunch. And well,
even if we are on a battlefield, we can’t escape falling into routines, and I’m
a bit sick of it. It’d be great if we could get a meal that’s not part of the
rotation.
Aside from these things, our daily battles in the trenches take place in
the world of All Quiet on the Western Front. We basically repeat the same
pattern day after day. The only novelty to keep my attention is whether the
recruits training on the front lines are doing well or not.
Well, I only put them in yesterday. Tanya expects that after a week’s
baptism of war in the trenches she’ll find out whether they’re usable or not.
If not, all she has to do is send them back and apply for their retraining.
 So although she regrets war’s brand of tunnel vision, she devotes herself
to instructing her troops. First, just as her boss said, she gave them the most
difficult test first; despite the risks, she reluctantly took them on a night
battle, but to her surprise and delight, they only lost two.
Though she’d told everyone they were leaving in thirty seconds, that
pair couldn’t keep up and were blown away in an artillery barrage, a fact
confirmed by one of her subordinates. That was all. Apart from that, the
newbies all followed instructions, and no one went insane. As Tanya mulls
over the recruits’ misfortune to be blown up together in their two-man cell,
she finds herself in a somewhat philosophical mood and begins to wonder
about the role of luck in food poisoning.
In any case, she’s doing what she needs to do.
But actually, even though she’s doing what she needs to do, she
sometimes gets doubtful looks.
For instance, she reported in, “I’M INSTRUCTING THEM
ACCORDING TO YOUR ORDERS.”
And the response she received was “ROGER. GOOD LUCK.”
But then when they went on the night raid and lost only two men, the
higher-ups told her to be more careful next time. She began wondering if
maybe they wanted her to do it with zero losses.
But this is a battlefield, she argued, and we went on a high-risk
operation. Losing two newbies under those circumstances is not bad.
But when it comes to luck, it seems Tanya has to admit that she needs to
take certain things into account.
Still, she finds it lamentable that just because they don’t want any losses
and her unit got unlucky, the blame is laid on her as the commander who
was present.
I know history repeats in little ways, from private companies to the
Yankee military. For example, when that guy MacArthur ordered his
subordinate Eisenhower to plan a parade and then insisted he had no
memory of it—there are a number of rotten incidents like that throughout
time.
Still, Tanya is feeling really sad. Ahh, I might start to cry. I mean, I’m a
girl, you know!
…??
When her thoughts stray, she suddenly realizes she feels off.
 Her mind floods with the horror of psychological contamination.
She runs off in search of some kind of help as if her life depends on it.
A doctor! I need to see a doctor!

APRIL 28, UNIFIED YEAR 1925, IMPERIAL ARMY

GENERAL STAFF OFFICE, JOINT MEETING OF THE
SERVICE CORPS AND OPERATIONS

“Well, it’s the appointed hour, so I would like to begin the joint meeting
between the Service Corps and Operations surrounding the pros and cons of
the Rhine offensive plan.”
The officer presiding over the meeting spoke, but no one followed him,
and silence reigned.
In contrast with the splendid exterior of the building, the expressions of
the high-ranking men in the meeting room were dour.
Some of the officers were practically tearing their hair out with incessant
worries, unsure what to do, and among them was Major General von
Zettour. The situation changed from moment to moment, and just getting a
handle on what was going on was incredibly difficult. Moreover, the
Empire was learning from the rising pile of corpses, courtesy of the
Republicans, how fundamentally impossible a frontal breakthrough was in
trench warfare.
That is, the price of a front assault on the trenches was too high. On the
other hand, a large-scale firepower offensive would put too much strain on
the supply lines.
They had just improved the supply-line light-rail to the front, but there
were already requests from every post for reinforcements coming in day
after day.
The burden on supply had blown through prewar estimates long ago.
The Entente Alliance was essentially collapsing, and it was necessary to
allot some military strength to the area for a short time to ensure it, which
also weighed heavy on Logistics.
 Even the local army group alone was enough to secure overwhelming
superiority for the Imperial Army in the north, but the harsh winter weather
had held them back. They weren’t in a situation where they could spare
troops to reinforce the main fighting lines on the Rhine. These lines would
probably be frozen stiff until next spring. In other words, it would be a
while before they could expect any easing up on the supply line burden
from the north.
Meanwhile, the navy was in the process of gaining superiority in the
channel against the Republic, but the navy and army disagreed on whether
that was a good thing or not. The air and magic forces were prepared to
support either side if asked, but the army’s and navy’s worries were just so
different.
The navy apparently couldn’t wait to break through the channel. After
all, their ambition was to wipe out the Republican fleet in a battle of
warships. They even proposed doing an amphibious operation afterward,
like with the Entente Alliance, to completely annihilate the country.
As far as Zettour could see, taking command of the sea for a landing
operation seemed likely to keep casualties down far more effectively than
advancing by breaking through the trenches. The issue was the safety of the
route if they went by sea. If they broke into the channel between the
Republic and the Commonwealth, they had to be worried about how the
(superficially) neutral Commonwealth would react. Would it just stand
quietly by?
He’d already been over these questions with Major General von
Rudersdorf. They were both forced to conclude that if they entered the
channel, the Commonwealth would probably interfere to maintain the
balance of power. If that happened, the fears that made the rounds at the
office in “Predictions on the Shape and Direction of the Current War” and
“Theory of Total War,” would come true.
Yes, world war. The war’s expansion would be like a never-ending
chain reaction, and they wouldn’t be able to avoid it. If that happened, they
could end up with a Rhine-like scenario on every front.
The Republican Army on the Rhine lines was quite a handful. If it was
only the Republic, though, they still had a chance of winning.
But what would happen if some units from the Commonwealth showed
up? They could find themselves in the opposite of their current superior
position.
As long as it was doubtful the Imperial Navy could stop the
Commonwealth Navy, if the remnants of the Republican Navy joined in, it
would be all the imperial fleet could do to protect itself.
Of course, they couldn’t twiddle their thumbs for too long, either. If they
waited to act, even the Empire would run out of steam. Then they would
lose the strategic effects of having brought down Dacia and the Entente
Alliance.
And they couldn’t bear the idea of being beaten from the side by the
Commonwealth or some other interloping power. What can we do about
this dilemma?
Yet, it was becoming clear that if they tolerated the current situation,
anything that happened to affect the supply lines could spell disaster. That
was their irritating predicament.
Since the founding of the nation, the Great Reich had obtained its
historical lands but was also hounded by territorial conflicts, so there was
never any lack of sparks for the next war.
Hence their distress. No one with a simple solution to a problem suffers.
For better or worse, there were people present who knew the plan.
Zettour knew. He knew that all they had to do was not lose. Zettour
believed, to a rather surprising degree for a member of the military, that
there was no need for them to go on the attack. Simply put, the status quo
was fine.
And Rudersdorf was also aware of it. He knew there was no need for
them to make serious attacks on the trenches. Unlike Zettour, however, he
couldn’t accept the notion that this attrition war was fine. He had the lucid
determination of a soldier: If they could control losses and win, then why
not do that?
They finally both made up their minds and received permission to speak.
“I feel we should change the way we’re looking at this problem.”
Zettour didn’t consider himself timid, but given the significance of what
he was about to say, even he was nervous. There was just a hint of stiffness
in his voice, too small for almost anyone to pick up, but he spoke as calmly
as possible.
His secret plan to disentangle these snarled-up threads in one blow
would be gory. The Gordian knot is just a story. A sharp sword is sharp no
matter who it’s cutting.
“With our existing doctrine and values, we probably won’t make it. We
need a paradigm shift.”
Achieving victory by attacking the enemy castle and forcing them to
sign a capitulation was now impossible. It would be difficult to demand a
full surrender outside of instances like the Empire and Dacia or the Entente
Alliance, where there was an overwhelming gap in national strength.
Looking at the current terrible war, it seemed the bloodletting would have to
continue until one or the other of the powers couldn’t take any more.
“Don’t aim for victory, avoid defeat. If we don’t do that, it will be too
hard to be the last one standing.”
“…General von Zettour, you mean you oppose the offensive?” a
member of Operations asked him, perplexed. That was as far as their
thinking went.
No, that was probably common sense. To them, the offensive was how
they would overcome and trample the enemy and end the war. But they
were wrong.
“No, I support the offensive as such, but I do think we should modify its
operational aims.”
“Change its aims?”
Go on—no, stop. The question could mean both of those things, and
Zettour answered by dropping a bomb in plain terms.
“The goal of the operation shouldn’t be to break through. It should be to
bleed the enemy. To put it another way, our offensive plan should be to
wear out as many enemy soldiers as possible.”
Conclusion: Exhaust the enemy.
“We carry out a thorough bloodletting and crush the enemy’s ability to
continue fighting.”
Degurechaff’s remark.
He could still remember each and every word the young soldier said to
him in the war college library. The shock of hearing her speak so
dispassionately about such a horrible world was hard to forget. And now
that everything was progressing just as she had said, he was even more
surprised. How much did that girl Degurechaff predict?
Predicting the future of a war is extremely difficult.
The only constant rule is that common sense can change in an instant
and a new principle of war can conquer the battlefield. There aren’t many
soldiers who can adapt to those changes, so to think there’s one who can
predict them is…!
“In other words, we bleed the enemy until they collapse. This is the only
way to resolve this.”
Someone unconsciously shifted, and the creak of the chair sounded extra
loud in the quiet room. It was completely silent.
Zettour was actually feeling calm in the face of it. No, strictly speaking,
he was sympathizing with Degurechaff. He sensed now that she had been
able to speak so calmly back in the library because she understood.
She understood the cost of breaking through would be too high. Even if
they could pull it off, their losses would be heavy. And if the
Commonwealth, anxious about the deteriorating war situation, decided to
intervene, they would be pushed right back. That would be the worst
possible outcome for the Empire.
If they shed all that blood not for nothing but a push in the wrong
direction, the soldiers’ will to fight would crumble.
I couldn’t send men in that condition back to break through again, at
least. Giving the order would only lead to more waste. So why not let the
enemy make that mistake?
We’ll just wait for the Republic to drown in their own blood.
Zettour believed this was the only viable option for the Imperial Army.
In other words, war is ultimately about not heroes or the expression of
chivalry but how efficiently you can kill your enemies.
To put it another way, it was inevitable that this conflict would become
total war.
“So we’ll thoroughly pummel enemy soldiers and supplies. I ask that we
draw up an offensive plan with those aims, and that is all I wish to say at
this time.”
Surely, almost definitely, our future has been decided. The frozen
expressions on the faces of his colleagues and subordinates spoke to that.
You’re crazy, they said.
The operation he proposed was the opposite of almost anyone’s idea of
common sense. Leave parts of their territory undefended and prioritize
wiping out the enemy field army. And finish them off with a revolving door?
You would have the army that exists to defend the fatherland carry out this
operation? No one could help but think these things.
But sooner or later, the staffers sitting there would understand—there
was no other path. He didn’t know when, but he knew they would come
around to the plan for its military merit, in every way except emotionally.
“I agree. Clearly, we should focus on annihilating the enemy’s field
army.” Despite the others’ hesitation, Rudersdorf made a clear declaration
of his strong support for Zettour’s idea. He was aware that posterity would
judge them harshly, but he made up his mind and stated his position with
confidence.
It’s a mad world where promising youths are pit against one another in
battles to the death to see who can draw the most blood… And we’re likely
to carve our names into history as the ringleaders. If that’s the case, then
let’s at least improve the situation a little bit by putting an end to the war
with our own hands.
“I have an idea… We advance. In other words, I believe the best plan is
to escape forward!”
And therefore, he made a proposal that was devoid of rationality: Fight
the war aiming not at the territory but at the army.

…Oh God, why do you let these things happen?

After vomiting up the contents of his stomach, including everything he’d
eaten the night before, Magic Second Lieutenant Warren Grantz was
lamenting to the heavens in a corner of his lodgings. Even the recollection
of what he’d just experienced horrified him.
I hit a Republican soldier whose name I don’t know over the head with
my shovel and kept swinging like a madman. Then orders brought me back
to reality, and soon after that, we were ordered to leave.
I poured mana into my computation orb like my life depended on it so I
could race across the sky for all I was worth.
As soon as I took off, several machine guns began firing at me.
I frantically formed my defensive shell and protective film. No matter
what, I had to get away. With that on my mind, I forgot about support
completely and made a run for it.
 That’s when it happened. Whether by some trick of fate or the work of
the devil, I saw the battalion commander climbing at a furious pace. Despite
the dark veil of night, she was singing a hymn in an invigorating voice—the
battalion commander. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, but I was scared
she was escaping alone and would leave me behind, so I tried to follow her.
I don’t want to get left behind was what I was thinking when I started to
ascend, but right at that moment, First Lieutenant Weiss seemed to come
out of nowhere to grab my arm and pull me down. When we got back to
base, he chewed me out—Why would you approach the commander while
she’s acting as our decoy? Are you insane?—but if he hadn’t saved me, I
would have been turned into mincemeat like those other two guys who
came to the front the same time as me.
At the time, all I was thinking about was getting back, so my memories
before I made it onto a safe flight path are really hazy.
Looking at the scenes recorded on my computation orb, I want to thank
God I was somehow able to make it back from such a dense rain of fire.
It was only a few seconds. The reactions of the pair from Seventh
Platoon were delayed by mere moments, but they paid for it with their lives.
One careless moment. But it meant so much.
The second I arrived at the rear base, the sensation of bashing someone’s
head returned to my hands, and I felt sick. No, it wasn’t just me. All the
recruits felt the same way.
The guilt—it was like I’d suddenly become an unpardonable criminal.
And right next to us and the worries tormenting us, the senior officers
coolly began to interrogate the prisoners.
“Tell the truth. If you don’t, my hand might slip.”
“Relax. We follow the law of war. If you fellows take the prisoner’s
oath, you’ll have your rights.”
“Don’t worry. We’re not torturers. We’re proper, sensible humans.”
…I couldn’t believe it.
I couldn’t believe humans were capable of this.
This battlefield.
I had thought I understood that all manner of brutal, inhuman things
would be done. I’m a soldier, myself. I thought as long as I was in the
military, I wouldn’t hesitate to do my duty.
…Keyword: thought.
 But what was this?
Was this a soldier’s duty, what must be done to protect the fatherland?
My duty?
I couldn’t stand the feeling. It was a strange sensation, like I was losing
myself forever.
I didn’t want to remember my first…my first time killing someone with
my own hands.
People die too easily on the battlefield. People you eat dinner with one
night disappear by breakfast.
In just a short time, I kill people, and my friends get killed.
The Rhine front is really, truly hell.
The urge to run flitted across my mind.
But then—
The batmen came to tell us breakfast was ready. Since we were at a rear
base, as an officer, I had the right to use the provisional officers’ mess.
Put another way, I have to eat at the officers’ mess.
As I rinsed out my mouth and straightened out my uniform, the mirror
reflected my haggard face. In just one day, I’d transformed into a monster. I
couldn’t believe it was me.
“…Now I’ve seen war.”
Quietly.
My inner thoughts slipped from my mouth on their own.
Leaning on the sink, I just managed to hold back the rising nausea, and
then I looked to the heavens.
Really, how can everyone act normal in this crazy world of war?
The moment I entered the officers’ mess, the feeling intensified.
It was crowded with the officers from my battalion. I heard the
commander had eaten and was already at work. And the officers were
taking their time and chatting.
Despite what had just taken place, I even heard laughter. Everyone was
smiling and talking, relaxed. Something about the gap between the insanity
suffusing the battleground and this scene disgusted me.
My batman waited on me, and my food came out, but how could I
possibly have an appetite? Even so, I still had the habit I’d learned in my
military career to force food down my throat if I had to.
 I used coffee to break up the hard biscuits and made myself eat them
along with some bacon. There was no way the flavors would register, but I
figured my body needed them to stay alive, so I swallowed them down.
Humans have to eat, even at times like this. It’s the same as forcing food
down my throat when I was exhausted at the academy. That’s what I told
myself, but it took an awfully long time for me to finish my meal.
Then I found myself heading to the small auditorium for the usual
morning classroom session.
My mentality was to follow orders due to force of habit from the drilled
repetitions, again and again. Even times like this when I had no willpower, I
was still a soldier.
Then I realized I wanted to burst out laughing.
“…Wait a minute, what happened?”
I can laugh. It was a startling, refreshing discovery.
I guess I didn’t expect it because of my situation. Apparently, the human
spirit is ridiculously resilient.
“Oh, I can’t be late.”
I took so long to eat breakfast even though soldiers, praised for their
unceasing vigilance, are supposed to get that over with quickly.
As a result, I had no time to lose that morning. If I stood around lost in
thought, I wouldn’t make it to the lecture on time. When I realized what
time it was, I dashed off to the hall.
“Magic Second Lieutenant Grantz coming in.”
“Grantz? Sure, come in.”
But when I got there, the desks were empty aside from a few company
commanders and key officers giving me puzzled looks.
Am I too late? The worry flitted across my mind, but when I looked at
the clock on the wall, I had just made it five minutes early.
Everyone was supposed to be there by that time.
Normally, I would never be the only one rushing over here.
“What is it? You guys are supposed to have off today.”
Lieutenant Weiss must have understood why I was confused, and I
finally realized after he said something.
“Sir, embarrassingly enough, I thought we had class today.”
I guess the shock from last night was so great that nothing they told us
registered. Wincing, Lieutenant Weiss explained that after we got back we’d
been granted leave. With my head full of other things, I had gotten up
unsteadily this morning, but apparently they thought I was taking my time
with breakfast to enjoy it. In other words, the superior officers figured I was
having a relaxing breakfast on my day off, so they didn’t check on me.
I should have realized sooner.
“I’m sorry.”
“What? You’re fine. But while you’re here, tell me what you thought of
the raid,” said Lieutenant Weiss, pointing to a seat. The other officers didn’t
seem to mind, so I decided to join them… Well, it was a good opportunity.
You reap what you sow, after all.
“Honestly, I was in a trance. Before I knew it, I was back at base.”
I didn’t want to die, so I had been completely absorbed in taking action.
If you ask me what I actually did, though, my memories are hazy.
It was embarrassing, but I was honest with them.
“Yeah, that’s how it goes, I suppose.”
“Well, nice job making it through. With that as your first combat
experience, your next one should be a lot easier.”
But the officers didn’t really seem to blame me. At the academy, I would
have gotten chewed out—Keep your head screwed on out there! On the
front lines, they’re more realistic; they recognized that I had survived.
They were actually nice to me, as if being considerate were the norm.
“Everyone has to run that gauntlet. Well, if you survive the
commander’s training, consider yourself more or less fine.”
“Lieutenant Serebryakov toughened up just by flying after her.”
“Well, yes, that’s true… Would anyone like to trade with me?”
“Ha-ha-ha-ha. I’m second-in-command, so I can’t fly with her.”
“It wouldn’t do for company commanders to bunch up, so unfortunately
the reality of my duties prevents me from trading with you, Lieutenant.”
“It really is too bad.” Lieutenant Serebryakov puffed out her cheeks and
pouted as if she were really fuming.
The collection of individuals here creating this peaceful atmosphere
were the old stagers who had been working so furiously the other day.
I suddenly felt like I might sigh out of relief. Up until just a moment
ago, I was so shaken, but I was starting to calm down a little bit.
Nobody said so, but I’m sure they had all been upset the first time they
shot and killed someone.
 But now they have those memories, and they aren’t upset by them.
“Don’t think too hard, Lieutenant. Just focus on staying alive.”
Someone patted me on the shoulder, and they let me go. It was proof
that the more experienced officers accepted me as a little bit tougher than a
chick newly hatched.

The next day…

To Tanya, everything is going too well. For starters, when she wakes up,
breakfast and coffee are already neatly prepared for her.
There are no harassing bombardments and no enemies wandering into
their airspace, so after eating in peace, her first administrative tasks of the
day go smoothly. Awfully smoothly. A request that would normally take
weeks to fulfill gets accepted in one try, and the supplies are delivered right
away.
How horrifying can it get? Parsimony is the supply officer’s job, but he
hands over the special bullets for loading with interference formulas and the
casting detonators with a smile. Meeting a grinning debt collector or auditor
would feel more real— No, actually, they’re all unthinkable.
This is the first time everything has gone according to procedure; I never
would have imagined that supply delivery and paperwork inspection could
be done so amiably. Thoroughly astonished, Tanya has no choice but to be
on guard at this unexpected efficiency.
After all, supply and paperwork inspections operate on the iron rules of
precedent and not rocking the boat. In other words, you can practically
describe them as a naturally occurring phenomena.
If they are acting unusual, it has to be a sign of abnormal conditions. I
guess I should avoid going out for a while, if I don’t have to, Tanya thinks;
she’s not averse to preparing for any eventuality.
Today is definitely going to be trouble. Convinced of this, Tanya steels
herself. She’ll give strict orders to the troops in the trenches to be on guard.
She’ll have her unit at combat readiness level two. She’ll keep an eye on the
enemy and make preparations to ensure a rapid response is possible.
Then, for some reason, nothing has happened and it’s lunchtime. Food is
served. It’s a real steak with sauerkraut. There’s even rhubarb juice for
dessert.
 It all just arrived via the unusually smooth-running supply lines.
The members of her unit all dig in enthusiastically, but she still can’t
believe it and inspects the food a bit before eating.
I’m jealous of the guy who struck gold with that potato condition and
got to fall back to a safe area.
I’m wondering if they want to send me to the rear already due to the
nudge I may have given foreign policy regarding the Commonwealth. If I
got food poisoning, they’d happily sacrifice me, so I can’t be carelessly
getting sick.
Of course, watching my subordinates wolf down the meat is torture.
Being the only one who has to wait is sad, indescribably so if it turns out
nothing’s wrong. I can’t stand it anymore. Reluctantly balancing reason
with desire, I am about to start on my meat, and that’s when it happens.
Lieutenant Weiss comes running over with a telegram, and Tanya ends
up missing her chance to eat.
“Major, it’s from Command.”
With no choice but to lay down her knife and fork to exchange salutes,
Tanya is the very definition of displeased.
If he weren’t so sensible I’d throw him out right now.
At least read the situation. It had better be awfully important if you’re
obstructing my opportunity to have a fine meal on the front lines where we
have almost nothing to look forward to. Unbelievably outraged, she can’t
help but reply grouchily, though she knows it’s an emotional reaction.
“…I’m eating, Lieutenant Weiss.”
Her tone doesn’t veer into criticism, but her discontent is faintly audible.
Most subordinates would hesitate if their superior spoke to them in such a
voice. No one wants to incur their boss’s wrath. But in unusual
circumstances, they don’t yield. And this is one of those rare situations.
“My apologies, but it’s quite urgent.”
And from the fact that he presents not a message tube but simply a short
cipher, she smells trouble.
“Hmm? It’s not orders?”
Usually orders come by telegraph.
As long as it’s addressed to the commander, no one can read it before
them except for the radio operator.
So short ciphers are used when it doesn’t need to be telegrammed or
can’t be.
Basically, it’s going to be either stupid or utterly annoying and stupid.
“No, you’ve been summoned to appear immediately.”
“Summoned to appear immediately? Understood.”
Agh, what a day.
It’s going to be horrible.
 [chapter] VI Ordeal of Fire

PRESENT DAY, LONDINIUM

I always get depressed this time of year.

Good evening, everyone.
This is WTN Special Correspondent Andrew.
…Today, we won’t be bringing you the usual documentary.
We’ll still be looking back on what happened during the war, but today
we’ll be doing it with a prayer. This will be a memorial broadcast.
First, let’s talk about the disturbance in the Arene-Roygen region. The
video you’re all seeing right now is invaluable archival footage of residents
of the occupied area revolting against the Imperial Army… This program
contains numerous violent scenes. What happened during that time?
Because our aim is to confront the truth, we’ve been granted permission
under the ethics code to broadcast this material, but viewer discretion is
advised.
Now then, are you still with us? What you see in the upper right-hand
corner of your screen is Karelian Cathedral. It was also the scene of a
tragedy we’ll discuss later on.
All right, we’ll keep the prefatory remarks to a minimum, as we’re
connected to the venue of the memorial ceremony now. Here is video of the
commemoration of the victims of the suppression. This year, we can finally
see ambassadors from each country in attendance.
The controversy goes on, but we should be glad the reconciliation
process has reached the point where the two nations are having a joint
memorial.
After all, this is a day to remember: They’re unveiling the new Karelian
Cathedral, raised out of the wreckage by the citizens’ own hands.
The city of Arene burned. This is the story of how its people overcame
their suffering and rebuilt.
Tonight, we discuss this wartime tragedy with an eye on those who are
thinking of the future.
Here is Arene in the immediate aftermath, ruined.
This was recorded in secret by a newscaster from the Waldstätte
Confederacy, which was one of the few neutral countries.
Can you tell that the partially collapsed building in the foreground is the
famous white cathedral Karelian?
This all started when a hunt for partisans turned into a military clash.
Arene had always been staunchly anti-Empire. It didn’t even take a day for
skirmishes to develop into a full-on uprising. We’re told that the Imperial
Army was shocked upon receiving the report that anti-Empire riots were
spreading and that they no longer had control over the city.
“This could cause the collapse of supply lines servicing the Great Army
on the front.”
Having made this judgment, the army feared the collapse of the front,
where it had dedicated its bodies and souls, and it responded without mercy.
Upon receiving word that anti-Empire riots had broken out in Arene,
Major General (at the time) von Zettour proposed a swift, ruthless way to
“cope.” Major General von Rudersdorf of the Operations Division
immediately called an emergency meeting of the Imperial Army General
Staff and got the operation approved as a joint proposal from the Service
Corps and Operations. With that, the army had permission to send military
forces into the city.
One of the main points of controversy, even today, is that the Imperial
Army unhesitatingly chose to gain control of the city with not police power
but the army.
From that decision, it is generally believed that the Empire regarded the
uprising as irregular warfare, and people speculate that the mission given to
the Imperial Army units envisioned not suppression of the partisans but
elimination.
On that point, the Empire argued at the time that partisan activities or the
support of them was to forfeit the protection of the law of war.
And so the flames engulfed Arene terribly quickly.
We have here testimony from citizens of Arene who just barely escaped.
They’ve told us that they weren’t revolting but that their protests had simply
intensified.
…Of course, history tells us that no matter how things started, the
Empire’s reaction was fierce.
Due to some documents being lost and others remaining classified, we
don’t know the details, but a battalion-size, possibly larger group of mages
was the first to attack.
After receiving what barely counted as a warning, the citizens were
beset by a storm of mages.
“They gunned people down like they were so many targets in a firing
exercise.”
“They got ‘points’ for shooting people.”
“People had blocked themselves in, so they used heavy-explosion
formulas to bombard whole districts.”
These are all painful memories of the tragedy being shared today.
Even counting only the confirmed deaths, the city of Arene lost half its
population that day. The worst incident occurred at the Karelian Cathedral I
mentioned earlier.
The swift, disproportionate mage assault they witnessed was only the
vanguard. Once a train brought in a multitude of reserve units to sweep
through and gain complete control of the city, the residents were left with
few places to hide.
To protect themselves and their families, the only options remaining to
the men and women who took up arms were to put up a hopeless resistance
within the city or risk a desperate escape through enemy forces.
But with no other way to do battle, the sad reality is that the citizens
were forced to barricade themselves in. The great majority of them took
refuge in and around Karelian Cathedral.
The actions the Empire took in response to this are still debated today,
and they have many critics. At the same time, you can’t help but notice a
strange discrepancy between the complicated laws and common sense.
After all, legal scholars agree that the massacre wasn’t in violation of
any laws of war. To you viewers at home, that fact must come as a shock.
 It’s not as though citizens participating in the armed uprising were
wearing military uniforms. They were irregular combatants. In other words,
international law didn’t even guarantee them the rights of prisoners.
Perhaps that’s why the Imperial Army surrounded them and gave a word
of warning.
“Release unaffiliated members of the general population immediately.
We can’t allow your slaughter to continue. We demand the release of
imperial citizens according to article 26, paragraph 3, of the Rules of War
on Land.”
Records of what the citizens did are sparse, due to the chaos. But we do
know that a small number of pro-Empire people attempted to escape and
were shot in full view of the Imperial Army.
Now, why did this tragedy occur?
It recent years, scholars have pointed to the possibility that it was an
unforeseen result of Republican propaganda. They had been expressing
their intent to dispatch a rescue to take the city back.
Some Republican soldiers were even prepared to fight the Empire.
A number of historians say that atmosphere spread to the populace of
Arene. More than a few suggest that the arrival of Republican Army mages
led the citizens to make the wrong decision.
And in fact, many of the survivors report a prevailing attitude that they
could hold out until the Republic saved them.
Then the Empire issued its last warning.
“This is a warning for the irregular combatants of the armed revolt. In
accordance with article 8, paragraph 5, of the Rules of War on Land, I
demand someone meet with our representative to discuss the subjects of the
Empire you so unjustly imprison.”
In response, the city of Arene said, “We are the citizens of Arene. There
are no prisoners. We are just people asking to be free.”
And so, according to the Rules of War on Land, since there were no
prisoners and no imperial citizens among the irregular combatants
occupying the city, the Empire carried out an operation to capture it.
In order to avoid the heavy responsibility for each soldier that would
result if they went into the city and had to visually confirm their targets,
they aimed to cause widespread fires via artillery bombardment from
positions surrounding the city.
 A portion of the documents shows that they had chosen targets that were
likely to spread the flames as proof-of-concept for a firestorm.
This notorious atrocity perpetrated by the Imperial Army is commonly
known as the Arene Massacre.
We have with us Professor Walter Halbom of Londinium University.
Professor Halbom, we’ll jump right into it. Why did the Imperial Army take
such drastic military action with no hesitation?
“Well, you have to understand how the imperial soldiers were thinking.
Their paradigm tended to have military leanings. To put it another way,
they wanted to apply that logic to everything.
“In other words, they were thinking in terms of strategy and whatnot.
“You can probably understand the significance of riots behind the
Western District Army’s front for guys with that mind-set.
“Let’s take this step-by-step. First, the Empire’s Arene-Roygen region
has always contained sparks of partisan resistance. The Imperial Army
hypothesizes that someone is inciting the area’s anti-Empire faction.
“I think the real problem was that that possibility couldn’t be completely
denied.
“And if you consider that the uprising cut off the western Imperial Army
rear areas from the front, the rest is simple.
“What the Imperial Army General Staff feared first and foremost at the
time was the western army getting pinned down before they could scrape
together the troops for a unit to suppress the revolt. Most of the Empire’s
forces were committed on the Rhine lines, so an attack from the militia
while the troops were pinned down by the Republican Army might have
been enough to cost the Empire the western industrial district.
“The second possibility was that the revolt would stay contained within
the Arene-Roygen region. In that case, they would be able to protect the
industrial region, but…Arene was a major city on the supply rail line. I
think that played a major role.
“Because, you know, if there is pressure on the supply lines, the troops
won’t be able to fight for very long no matter how tough they are.
“The potential was there for the Empire’s worst-case scenario to come
to pass—at least, it wouldn’t have been an unexpected line of reasoning for
the imperial side.
“We can see that the anti-Empire movement uprising gave the Empire a
tremendous shock in terms of strategy.
“I myself can declare, from my experience serving, that the mere notion
of the communication lines to the rear becoming paralyzed is terrifying for
anyone.
“So I think the Imperial Army was imagining the Republican Army
Command would throw their weight around. If that happened, the imperial
forces would be requested to urgently eliminate the resistance, but they
would have to worry about Republican mages joining and strengthening it.
“At that point, the army was already short on troops for the front, so
stabilizing the rear at the same time was a practically impossible demand.
“With these two difficult problems, the Empire now faced a major
dilemma. The only good thing—or perhaps, the disastrous thing—was that
they had an intercepting mage unit as reinforcements.
“The mage units Command kept on hand as reserves for the army had a
measure of firepower. That gave them the option to suppress the separatist
independent movement.
“Of course, if they mobilized them here, they wouldn’t be able to use
them to resist an invasion.
“Naturally, that led to worries that the main battlefront could collapse.
Additionally, in a battle to capture a city, the mage units would really only
be good for intimidation and diversions.
“But on the front lines, they could wipe out or repel enemy units.

“Should they prioritize fending off attacking Republicans? If they did

that, with the rear devoid of soldiers, the revolt was liable to spread. If that
happened, it could have a markedly negative effect on the supply lines,
causing enormous losses in a battle of attrition. On the front lines, where
they were already fighting close-pitched battles, it was hard to imagine they
would be able to take such losses.

“So should they put down the revolt first? But spending the time of their
only reserves to suppress the revolt could prove fatal. If the reserves got tied
up and lost time and the Republican Army broke through, the invasion
could result in an immeasurable increase in casualties. All the lives lost
countering the sneak attack and pushing the enemy back would have been
lost for nothing, and that would not be acceptable.
“For the Republican Army, on the other hand, success was guaranteed.
No matter which objective the Imperial Army chose, the Republicans would
achieve something in the end.

“It is here that the Imperial Army commits an obviously atrocious deed,
leaving a mark on history no country should make.
“Who ordered it is unclear. We don’t even really have a record of who
carried it out. These were truly soldiers who had to be left out of the
records.
“While they were soldiers of the finest caliber who pulled off a
miraculous defensive battle, they were also the lowest of the low who deeply
stained the Empire’s honor.
“Now in the postwar period, many soldiers criticize them. Personally,
though, I defend the people who were put in that difficult position. Under
the circumstances, they had no alternative options, and additionally, it
came down as an order.
“What is certain is that someone saved the Empire’s battle lines,
although I have to say, the method is not one I personally agree with.”
Thank you, Professor Walter Halbom.
Now, take a look at this next video… Professor Halbom offers this
internal document from the Imperial Army General Staff.

She might call it “an extreme form of ‘practicality.’”

Command has removed her restraints. Wisely, to achieve victory, they
took away her limits. These are the orders of the army, of the Empire, and
as a soldier, I am forced to obey. The impulses that were successfully
suppressed with logic will be unchained for this great cause. Or perhaps it’s
that the cause she had to hesitate will disappear.
Whose responsibility is it when a beast bites into a meal thrown in front
of it? I believe those responsible are none other than the ones who threw the
sacrifice to the starving animal.
*A scribbled note discovered in a wastebasket at the Imperial Army
General Staff Headquarters
 MAY 4, UNIFIED YEAR 1925, THE RHINE FRONT

“As chief of staff, did you know this might happen?” the army corps
commander generously pretended to ask, trying to hide the tremble in his
voice at the seriousness of the situation.
Actually, though he was controlling his expression, he was seething
internally. The Republican Army had moved far more quickly than the
Empire had anticipated.
News had come in that, completely contrary to their expectations, mage
reinforcements, albeit a small number of them, had entered Arene.
Arene’s defenses would probably grow stronger as more time passed.
Meanwhile, our plan has utterly failed. The initial confusion had finally
been brought under control, and they were getting a grasp on the situation,
but he wanted to shield his eyes from the pathetic spectacle of panicking
troops. Is this really our Imperial Army?
Even the suppression unit the central General Staff promised them had
gotten held up, and this was the result. He wanted to chew out the Railroad
Department, who was responsible for managing the schedules, and ask what
the hell they had been doing.
But the necessity of such complaints showed how bad the situation was
in Arene. If the trains that ran through there were paralyzed for even a day,
the supply line delivering tens of thousands of tons of ammunition and food
to the front would be physically disrupted. Unless each division was sent at
least five hundred—but a thousand, if possible—tons of supplies, the
frontline troops would find their ranks thinning out. That statistic was now
basically the General Staff’s nightmare.
To make matters worse, there was no alternative line. Arene was a main
relay point that even had a switchyard. There were branch lines, yes, but as
for whether or not they could serve the front, the hopeless, pale faces of the
Railroad Department members said it all. The Imperial Army was realizing
again what an Achilles’ heel logistics trouble was when invading—
especially after cutting off its enemies up north.
So for a moment, what crossed the commanders’ minds was the furious
scolding they would unleash on the Feldgendarmerie, since they had failed
to quash the sparks of rebellion.
The army corps commander wasn’t the only one softly sneering, “You
good-for-nothing freeloaders.”
He didn’t know where the military police’s precious Feldgendarmerie
had been napping, but talk about lazy. If you have a siesta custom, get your
asses back to the countryside. Though no one said it out loud, they all
groaned and spat on the ground.
Circumstances were so lamentable that someone murmured, “We could
have avoided this if we had one of our brave, loyal mage companies.”
The situation was rapidly deteriorating. They couldn’t help but fear the
worst.
Riots in the rear. Thanks to that, the units were stuck.
If we move the front, won’t the Republic react? As long as that worry
remained, they had to keep movement of troops to a minimum. But if
supplies were interrupted for even a few days, they would soon lose the
ability to fight.
So the threat in Arene had to be eliminated. Well, that was easy to say. It
would be very difficult to get rid of the rebels quickly now that Republican
mages had joined them.
“Yes, sir, there was some idea. Operations, please explain.”
But as expected, you could say, it took the staff corps very little time to
collect their analyses of a scenario like this. Plans made in advance may not
be everything, but they can help you tackle your problems.
“Sir. We have a plan drawn up from a purely military view to achieve a
very limited aim that was created as part of strategy research.”
“What? Is it actually usable?”
The only issue was whether what they came up with was usable or not.
After all, the situation was bad. A half-baked scheme wasn’t going to cut
it. He would accept anything as long as it solved their problem in one shot.
…But from the sound of it, he couldn’t expect too much.
“Well, it will definitely achieve certain results. But it will require a, uh,
very important decision to be made…”
Just spit it out, he stopped himself from shouting.
“We don’t have time for this. Tell me what it is.”
“Yes, sir. It’s a plan by the war college’s strategy research committee
submitted with the idea of eliminating enemy units building defensive lines
in an urban setting, including mages, in an extremely short amount of time.”
As far as the dubious army corps commander could tell, it sounded like
an effective plan. If the strategy research committee at the war college had
submitted it, that meant they acknowledged its practicality. If they could
really use it to quickly take out mages and other defenses in an urban
setting, the plan would be invaluable in their current predicament.
“…This is quite groundbreaking, isn’t it? Why didn’t it get passed
around to all the armies?”
If it’s so useful, then why not share it?
“Does it violate the Worms Convention?” Perhaps wondering the same
thing, the chief of staff voiced a possible worry—an international treaty.
They imagined that the rapid capture of a city and elimination of
resistance would be difficult without using gas or heavy artillery. Of course,
gas wouldn’t be allowed in a city. And even the General Staff probably
didn’t have a plan to defend against gas.
“No, the legal specialists say it doesn’t conflict with any existing
treaties.”
“Even better. So what’s the problem?”
There shouldn’t be any reason to hesitate if it’s legal. Honestly, we don’t
have a second to lose.
They didn’t have time to debate with the legal specialists. The army
corps commander banged the table in irritation and urged the hesitating
staffer on with his eyes.
“The plan was written on the assumption, from a purely military point of
view, that there are no noncombatants in the city, only enemy forces.”
“What is that supposed to mean? How can we use something based on
such an improbable assumption?”
He nearly shouted that it was stupid. There aren’t any cities where only
enemy soldiers live.
Cities are mostly civilians. At most, civilians with militia among them.
And they had confirmed when they occupied Arene that many civilians
lived there.
“Well, we’d create those conditions by following a legal procedure.”
Both the one answering and the one asking spoke in a monotone to
conceal their emotions.
 “In short, it’s a sort of deceit. According to the legal specialists, the plan
is only valid upon ruling out the existence of noncombatants, so we’ll just
make sure there are none.”
“…So we’d just be killing everyone regardless of gender or age?”
It was unmistakably clear. In everyone’s heads appeared an urban battle.
Yes, a bloody slaughter in the guise of an urban battle. Everyone understood
that if they were being told to take this rotten fight seriously, they couldn’t
bother with legal practicality.
“We would employ the simple, straightforward method of burning the
city down.”
I just want to be done with this is what the tone of the Operations officer
seemed to say as he continued the requested explanation. He wasn’t the
only one who wished there was nothing to continue.
“A fire attack? Well, that’s classic. But against mages?”
“Have you ever heard of a firestorm?”
A terrifying report or a proposal from hell. The one who thought of this
was either a lawyer so cunning the devil would invite them to join forces or
a criminal. This way of thinking is practically inhuman. Only a devil who
forgot their reason and conscience in their mother’s womb could come up
with such a tactic.
That someone would equate having the technical capabilities for an
operation with actually doing it… Are they deranged?
“No, it’s the first time I’ve heard of it.”
“It was proposed after the idea was verified by looking at large-scale
conflagrations of the past.”
Urban warfare has many different legal constraints. The topic of the
research was how the army should deal with them, but nobody would have
thought to look for a plan that removed them.
No, for better or worse, outside of the specialists, no soldiers felt like
confronting the laws at all. To put it nicely, you could call them simple; to
cast it negatively, you could say the army had an anti-intellectual streak. So
they weren’t used to explanations of legal principles.
But from a soldier’s point of view, the rules of engagement were to some
extent self-evident, and indiscriminately shooting civilians was like police
groping for a solution to a hostage crisis and deciding to shoot all the
hostages along with the criminal. Certainly, apprehending the culprit would
be the highest priority, but would you arrive at a plan to eliminate the
hostages instead of save them? Ideas that are purely unthinkable for a
normal person are a soldier’s common sense.
Of course, there is the delicate issue with military wisdom that the ethics
and morality tend to be old-fashioned, due to the inevitable reference to
wars of the previous era for its standards.
Still, a soldier’s way of thinking was generally rational. This way of
thinking was such a single-minded pursuit of purposive rationality that it
was anomalous.
“It seems they’ve arrived at one conclusion, which is that, ideally, the
operation should be carried out by mages with fire attacks.”
“Never mind the theory. Has it been put into practice?”
“When it was attempted on army exercise grounds, a phenomenon
approaching the projected results was achieved. If fire attacks are
coordinated from multiple locations, it’s plenty possible to create.”
And when he understood, the army corps commander was frightened of
the plan his army had received.
…Ohhh, oh God.
Why, why must I do such a thing?
Why must I be ordered to carry out a plan conceived by the devil?

When I respond to the immediate summons, an Intelligence officer

wearing the rank of captain meets me. In other words, I’m sure he is the
bearer of bad news. Having made that conclusion, Tanya takes a deep
breath to brace herself.
Always be calm and collected.
But that thought promptly crumbles. That’s how shocking the news is.
The news that…
“The rear has been cut off.”
One of my forerunners gave me a piece of advice: “What’s important
when being brought bad news is whether or not you can find the silver
lining.”
Ever since then, I’ve remained faithful to it.
 For instance, right now, I have a cup of real coffee in my hands, a treat
from the rear headquarters, and I’m glad I’m not drinking it because doing a
spit take or choking on it would have been a terrible waste of such a
valuable item.
…Of all things, the rear is cut off? The supply lines?
“Yes, Major von Degurechaff. It’s a partisan uprising.”
“Now?!”
What occurs to me is Republican leadership. The rear cut off. The
collapse of logistics. If that happens, our entire army could be sent fleeing
in a disorderly panic.
Even a child could imagine that much. The partisan movement
intensifies at a strategic point in the rear while the Imperial Army’s main
forces are pinned down? There’s no way the Republicans won’t pour oil on
that little fire. And after such libation, there’s no way the partisans won’t go
a little pyromaniac. The logic is self-evident.
No doubt, a huge fire is about to start raging. Detrimental situations tend
to go downhill fast. There is only a handful of exceptions.
“Yes, now, ma’am.”
I want to tell this situation to eat shit.
Tanya’s natural reaction to the news is for her facial muscles to tense.
The command personnel are all wearing expressions of pensive distress. I
probably have the same look on my face, too, Tanya observes in a somehow
calm way, with a tinge of self-derision. Maybe I shouldn’t look this way in
front of my subordinates, but all I can do is wish. All the officers who heard
the news got the same look on their faces, and they’re probably just as self-
conscious.
“What’s the situation?”
“The military police and some of the troops garrisoned there are doing
their best to bring the area under control, but it seems things are getting
worse fast.”
“That’s no good. Can they put it down?”
In a way, it’s as bad as I expected. The inept Feldgendarmerie screwed
up, so they got caught when the fat hit the fire. If we leave them alone, the
rear will get burned. But if we put out the fire, our front lines will get
trampled. One wrong move, and it’ll be trench warfare without ammunition
or food.
 No matter how optimistically you look at this, it’s bound to be an utter
disaster with piles of corpses. We should even be prepared for the lines to
break.
“I don’t know, but I think we need to be ready to respond.”
“Right. Give standby orders. Make sure we can move as soon as we get
the word.”
What I’m hoping, what I’d like, is for this situation to settle down on its
own. It could happen. But my optimistic speculation that the fire might just
fizzle out misses the mark.
In reality, my wish means nothing, and the situation rapidly deteriorates.
Signs of a Republican offensive are confirmed, and Command is forced to
make a decision.
As a result, we end up in the pursuit of pure military logic and nothing
else.
The deciding factor is a report that Republican Army reinforcements
have joined the partisans. At this point, the army reaches a conclusion that
is quite straightforward. As long as there is a line that can’t be crossed,
holding it has to be made priority.
“An airdrop?! Crud! They’re mages. The Republican Army is
conducting an airborne operation! Looks like they’re meeting up with the
rebels!”
Shrieks from Control.
If they were just armed insurrectionists with no mages, it would be hard
to put them down, but there was the possibility that police power would be
enough. Or maybe it could be resolved with a division of infantry.
But in urban combat up against mages, even heavy infantry will have to
prepare for insane losses. After all, a city is a three-dimensional battlefield
full of cover and obstacles. It doesn’t get shouted from the rooftops, but it is
said that mages actually do their best work in urban battles. So this will
have to be a serious fight.
“Is someone intercepting them?”
And that’s why mages helping to defend the city is so hugely significant.
Just one infantry division plucked from the mustered reserves would
probably be enough to suppress an armed mob, even if it took a little time.
With the manpower of the police and Ministry of the Interior, they might
have been able to suppress them, even if they had to shed some blood to do
it.
But once mages are the defenders of the city, it’s different from
intercepting on flat ground or from defensive positions, and military
intervention is required. But even then, just throwing a ton of matériel at
them won’t be very effective. You need to literally disregard any damage
and capture the city district by district.
For that reason, mages should be stopped with their weak point, air-to-
air combat, and there should have been an air defense network covering 360
degrees. That was how it was supposed to be.
“They didn’t make it in time and got diverted.”
But there is a glaring chasm between the plan and our present situation.
There should have been some leeway in the rotation of the aerial forces, but
it has been broken down for a while now. The Imperial Air Fleet was
basically out in full force every day and having trouble making up for losses
in the Rhine Air Battle.
The air units have more types of missions than expected—not just
securing supremacy in the sky. As a result, the plan created before the war
started meant absolutely nothing when it met the reality of borderline
overworked air units being mobilized for missions they weren’t expecting.
It was only once the air units had been sent in that the military began to
understand the necessity of the types of missions they could perform; the
army is much more aware of how important controlling the sky is than they
were before the start of the war.
Dacia, where the ones who soared through the sky ruled everything, has
been taken as a model case. For that reason alone, perhaps you can say? Or
precisely because of that?—the Imperial Air Fleet put all their forces into
securing command of the air near the front lines.
As a result, they’ve succeeded in stabilizing the battlefront and managed
to establish a degree of supremacy in the sky. It’s somewhat ironic that they
should be lacking the forces to prevent a sneak attack in the rear… This is
practically like Norden with offense and defense reversed.
“This is bad. We can’t let them secure a bridgehead.”
“So it’ll be a counter-mage battle? Against mages who are ready and
waiting for us?”
Yes, that. The longer it takes to suppress them, the worse things will get.
We don’t know how many mages they sent in, but if we consider how
many it would take to organize a resistance, we can get an idea. After all,
the Imperial Army pioneered this tactic. We understand it even if we don’t
want to.
“…Major von Degurechaff. Report to the commander’s office
immediately.”
And so.
Things happen without anyone making a definite decision.
History, to a surprising extent, is a series of miscalculations.

APRIL 13, UNIFIED YEAR 1924, RESEARCH ROOM 17

(JOINT STRATEGY RESEARCH MEETING HELD AT
THE IMPERIAL WAR COLLEGE)

“As you can see, as the war situation changes, the chances of combat in a
city will become extremely high.”
The instructor finishes his explanation in front of a war map spread on
the desk. It was a review of the war situation touching on how the Imperial
Army has been making a comeback bit by bit on the Rhine front.
The two armies are still competing for a scrap of barren land, but the
Imperial Army has been gradually advancing. Progress is progress, even in
baby steps. It’s huge that we’ve gone from being invaded to being able to
plan a counterattack.
And that’s why at this new stage, all variety of combat in Republican
territory is starting to sound more realistic, thinks Tanya.
It’ll come down to urban warfare.
It’s difficult to imagine the Republic simply neglecting key strategic
cities that function as transport terminals. And unfortunately, a lot of
civilians must live in urban areas. Some of them will certainly have taken
shelter or been evacuated, but we have to assume that enough people will
stay behind to keep the city functioning.
“So the General Staff has tasked us with coming up with ways to handle
urban warfare.”
 As Tanya expected, the task the instructor has for them is planning
countermeasures for just such a battle.
The law of war is extremely critical of involving noncombatants in
urban battles. I don’t know if it’s true or not, but supposedly there is a
trigger clause that allows unlimited economic sanctions against countries
that purposely attack in a way that involves noncombatants.
Actually invoking the clause would be up to each individual country,
but…it’s still a troublesome provision from the Empire’s point of view.
That’s why this request was made—it’s necessary to capture a city without
giving the major powers a rallying cause.
Of course, even if we did that, it would only buy us time. After all,
geopolitically the other powers have plenty of reason to intervene.
Well, that’s why we should try to keep them from intervening for a bit
longer.
“To be frank, the only option we’ll have if we don’t involve
noncombatants is to surround and starve them into submission.”
Everyone present knows how unrealistic the request is.
But despite knowing the extent of the problem, they understand well
enough to curse to hell how critical it is strategically. That’s why she uses
an indirect expression shrouded in rhetoric to say, Don’t order us to do the
impossible! Crying like that is all that is ever possible under political
pressure.
She said to surround and starve them into submission, but it would be
incredibly difficult to keep them surrounded until the city finally fell. Even
sending in three times the force of the enemy would put an unimaginable
burden on Logistics.
“I think we can free ourselves from this type of issue by leaving the
front lines where they are and devoting ourselves to defense until the enemy
can’t take it anymore.”
Purely in terms of the principle of concentration of force, it’s better to
defend than invade. Even though that is only one of the assumptions made
internally, more than a few officers think that way. Even they want to win,
thinks Tanya. Still, she thinks again. The officers of the Imperial Army
aren’t excitable enough to think they can fight a war with their arms and
legs tied up.
“But we were able to do it in the Entente Alliance.”
 “Consider how much stronger we were, please. Besides, doing it that
way is why we now have so many troops stuck up there.”
Though she is listening to the debate going on before her, Tanya has
already accepted the fact that it’s impossible to be considerate of civilians in
urban warfare. Even the American Army tried to conduct urban warfare
with kindness to civilians and is now stuck writhing around in agony.
In this age of total war, Tanya has no choice but to give up on kindness
to civilians.
What’s worse, most of the surplus forces are tied up in the north and
west. The burden on the supply lines has far surpassed prewar estimates.
We’re up against small powers that we beat in terms of both muscle and
population, and this is where we’re at. A huge war between the major
players will require full power not to get eaten alive. At this rate, it’ll be
impossible. Tanya regrets it, but they are no longer in a position to observe
international laws and fight with concern for civilians.
Even with an industrial base that can manufacture a vast amount of
matériel, the supply lines are shrieking, and the people in charge of logistics
in the rear are flailing around, trying to prevent a shortage of food and other
consumables.
“…I don’t mean to be rude, but is this discussion really necessary?”
That’s why she interrupts. Aware that she’s not being very cute, she
speaks calmly in a deliberately flat tone.
Normally you would be rebuked for such a comment. But Tanya didn’t
think she would have any problems.
“That’s a bold remark from a student, Degurechaff. Tell us what you
mean.”
“Yes, sir. Encircling and starving the enemy is a leisurely tactic from
medieval times or, at best, a previous era.”
Specifically, the Ottoman’s siege of Vienna or Napoleon’s campaign in
Italy. An army fighting a modern war can’t use tactics from an earlier
period when there weren’t even railroads.
If you’re going to end up using that strategy, you’re better off not
fighting.
“So…”
True, there aren’t many realistic options besides starving them into
submission. She understands that. But that’s a problem that everyone is
aware of.
We aren’t gathered here to debate something so well understood.
If you can’t brainstorm, it’s better to look for a legal loophole.
Setting aside feasibility, failing to consider every possibility would be a
big mistake.
As an individual with what passes for an intellectual education, it would
be an inexcusable error.
Therefore, Tanya is simply convinced that even if it’s just debate for the
sake of debate, they should try approaching the issue in a different way.
As someone who, in a way, is familiar with urban warfare as historical
truth, the question is how to fight an urban battle.
“…shouldn’t we try to think of a way to make fighting in a city legal?”
Urban warfare is restricted by international laws? Groping for a way to
defeat them besides urban warfare is like playing by their rules. It’s like
negotiating an important deal at the other party’s office.
You’ll never win that way. What you need to do is flip the situation so
they’re coming to negotiate with you.
In other words, isn’t it possible to shift our point of view and ask how to
make urban warfare legal? Of course, having seen Iraq and Afghanistan, I
seriously refuse to actually do it. Having thought that, Tanya realizes, But if
we could lay waste to whole blocks like they did in Warsaw, this urban
warfare thing would be a cinch. She even begins to calculate. It would be a
pain to go into all-out war, but it’s definitely a possibility.
“…Degurechaff. Haven’t you learned about the war of law in your
classes?”
“Yes, I completed the subject. It’s terribly interesting.”
I hadn’t studied laws since I was a student taking Jurisprudence
(including constitutional theory) and Civil Law A and B. I did learn a little
about international relations theory, international administration, and
international law. In that sense, getting the chance to study law, the ruler of
civilization, was genuinely fun.
And that’s why she can make her declaration with confidence even in
terms of the legal basis. There’s nothing wrong with her idea, and it doesn’t
come into conflict with any legal principles.
“…So you’re saying this with that experience in mind?”
“Yes, Instructor.”
 After all, any law has room for interpretation as a matter of course.
That’s why there are so many opportunities for jerks to twist them to fit
their aims and annoy the rational marketplace. Legal opportunists can even
profit from something as time consuming as patent litigation… That’s why
in litigation societies like the United States, there are a ton of lawyers
waging great legal battles. Basically, what you can and can’t do under a law
changes any number of times depending on how it’s interpreted and
enforced—to the point where some peaceful island nation can be a weird
country that says it doesn’t have an army while equipping it with all kinds
of fantastic weapons. Well, that’s a better idea than abandoning the notion
of an army completely, but it just goes to show how broadly laws can be
interpreted.
What’s wrong with the ever-serious Empire doing a serious
reinterpretation of the law? To Tanya, it’s nothing but an utterly natural
course of events.
Of course, domestic laws are ultimately interpreted by the one with the
sovereign rights, His Imperial Majesty the Emperor, and impinging on his
authority is prohibited…but the military studies international laws; they’re
totally safe. Tanya believes, without question, that gray is white.
“It’s a problem of interpretation. Anything the international laws do not
expressly forbid is only restricted depending on one’s interpretation.”
“Specifically?”
“This is only one example, but there is a clause that says, ‘Armies are
prohibited from indiscriminately attacking areas where there are
noncombatants.’”
If you just look at that, it seems like you couldn’t possibly fight in a city.
Tons of noncombatants live there. But think of it flipped around. The enemy
is limited in the same way. After all, armies have the duty to protect.
“At a glance, it appears to be a clause that restricts the attacking side,
but naturally, it also limits the defending side. It’s possible to demand that
they protect those in the shelters according to law. In other words, if they
don’t take the evacuees and withdraw…it’s possible to interpret that as
meaning there are no civilians.”
“…I see. And then?”
If I have permission to continue, then I’ll do so.
Well, legal debate is half-sophistry, half-finger-pointing. A court might
make the final decision, but the way each country interprets the law has a
major influence on international legal cases.
“According to the law of war, we both have the duty to protect
noncombatants. So we’ll be expected to do everything in our power to
fulfill it. It depends on how you work it, but I think we can use it.”
For example, what would happen if we had a small unit infiltrate an area
where civilians lived, and we got attacked? If there was even one stray shot
fired our way, we could turn it into a justification. Well, that’s an extreme
method. There’s a more legitimate way to go about it.
“Or if we make them tell us there are no noncombatants, the restriction
will be instantly lifted.”
“What?”
“If they say that every person down to the last civilian will resist us. If
we interpret that as meaning that every last civilian is militia, then we don’t
have to recognize any prisoners’ rights.”
…The former Yugoslavia said all their citizens were soldiers. Then if
everyone’s a soldier, we can blow them up and it won’t be a war crime
would be the logical end to that interpretation. That said, if you pursue this
sort of interpretation to extremes, it’s possible to twist reason itself.
So of course, justice and fairness are warped as well.
Yep. And? What about it? Concepts are concepts, and bad laws are still
laws. In the first place, this is a world where a god or a devil—this Being X
guy—is getting his way. If you want to think seriously about the question of
what justice is, maybe the guy who stipulates the world should be at war is
the evil one.
In other words, I’m just one good person doing my duty.
QED.19

X-DAY

Luckily, an army corps commander summoning a mere major is

exceedingly rare. But the army corps commander probably had a hard time
being happy about the infrequency. Exceptional though it was, it meant
there was a chance he might have to summon this monster again someday.
Telling him it was only a possibility wouldn’t make him feel any better.
“Rejoice, Major von Degurechaff.”
“Sir.”
Doing his best not to look directly at the monster straightening her
posture in front of him, the army corps commander accepted that it was for
work and met her. As far as he could tell from a normal person’s
perspective, mages were more than a little foreign.
They were humans who could fly by their own power and use magic to
interfere with the world. Even if he understood them logically, when he met
one face-to-face, his emotions couldn’t catch up.
But this he could state confidently: The principles behind the actions of
this major in front of him were impossible to understand using anyone’s
logic or emotions. Her inorganic eyes compelled you to conclude that her
thoughts, her frameworks, her way of being were all warped. She may have
had blue eyes and a pretty face, which probably gave a gentle impression,
but the emotions in those eyes said everything and made her look different.
“You’ve got a special mission from the regional command.”
She was commissioned before her age hit double digits.
When he had heard that, he had laughed and said, “A fabled child
soldier, then?” But when he met her, his first impression was combat
machine. He immediately corrected his perception of her, but he didn’t
begin to think he had understood her. The reputation that had preceded her
—for a recipient of the Silver Wings Assault Badge, she looks like a fairy,
albeit one who was born to fight—must have been true to the letter. Maybe
it was her symmetrical features, but she seemed like the type who might get
called a vampire behind her back.
“The orders will be issued at 1422.”
When she had been ordered to do some simple field training, she had,
unbelievably, taken her recruits on a night raid against an enemy outpost
trench. And yet the unit’s loss ratio was surprisingly low. Though they
fought hard with dauntless bravery and got results, their loss ratios were
lower than that of all the other units. Honestly, if that was all, she would be
a great soldier.
She’s too perfect. There’s nothing about her to criticize; she’s so logical
and has achieved so much. So no one can stop her. It makes sense that
Lieutenant Colonel von Lergen failed when he tried to eliminate her. Well,
the legal specialists letting her go and the Foreign Office giving up are
probably bigger factors…
“Promptly eliminate the enemy mage unit that has penetrated the rear
city of Arene. After that, join up with reinforcements and suppress the city.
That is all.”
Republican mages had dropped into the city of Arene in the rear, in a
sense, completely outwitting the imperial lookouts. On top of that, the
partisan riots were growing. If they couldn’t suppress Arene, they couldn’t
use the railway. If they couldn’t use the railway, logistics would get cut off.
And then, the army corps commander concluded, somewhat self-
mockingly, if the logistics got cut off, they would starve. At that rate, even a
child would be able to understand where the war was headed.
For exactly that reason, the brass was not fooling around. No, they had
probably already braced themselves. Their determination could be felt in
the orders.
Apparently, if there was no other way, they wouldn’t stop at turning
Arene to ashes.
Evacuation orders had already been issued at this point, as well as a
curfew to prevent people going out at night, accompanied by a stern
warning. If things proceeded according to the plan he’d been given, if the
rebels didn’t obediently surrender, the entire city would be “dealt with
appropriately.”
And she was so trusted to get things done that she would be assisting.
Well, she was frightfully capable.
“Any questions?”
“If you could tell me what size of enemy force to expect…”
“At least a battalion.”
The vanguard would be the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion. They would
be sent in to eliminate the mages obstructing imperial suppression of the
city.
Really, the top seemed reluctant to burn Arene. They must have been
thinking that resolving things without burning it would be best. The artillery
and air units had only just been ordered to prepare to attack, so they weren’t
ready to do it at a moment’s notice.
 So is it as an alibi, then, that they’re to issue a warning to surrender
after the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion eliminates the mages? The problem
was that if the people of Arene didn’t lose their will to fight with that, there
would be no options left for the Imperial Army.
“What kind of troops?”
“Apart from a small number of Republican mages, they’re militia. Many
citizens of Arene have already become casualties.”
But there was another horrible truth right next to him. The magic major
before his eyes had presented striking views on international law at the war
college. And these were not your average “striking views.”
To speak in extremes, she had a brain diabolical enough to foresee
today’s situation and come up with a solution.
After all, I know she’s the one who came up with the justification to
sacrifice the people of Arene in this operation.
General von Zettour in the Service Corps gave me all the details, but I
never thought I would regret taking her on this much.
That bastard, he should be more considerate of his superior’s stomach.
“How sad. By the way, I overheard a little bird twittering about
partisans…”
“It’s a problem for me if you can hear too well. You must have mistaken
some other sound.”
“So our enemy is the Republican Army, then?”
Just in case. Yes, she was only checking to make sure their enemy was
the Republican Army. Who does that? A normal officer wouldn’t even
wonder. On the Rhine lines, “the enemy” meant “the Republican Army.”
“Isn’t that a given? They don’t follow the Land War Convention. We
need to get in there and protect the noncombatants.”
But he could see why she reconfirmed her definitions. This wasn’t a
mission you could perform if you didn’t know what enemy meant.
“So we’ll get to flex our muscles. You mean that we should buy time
cheerfully despite being fatally outnumbered?”
“Ha, Major. You can choose victory or Valhalla, either one you like.”
“Is that an order to annihilate them and win, sir?”
Well, I can see how it could be interpreted that way.
Cause widespread destruction, theoretically with no legal restrictions. Is
there any other way to win?
 It’s like we’re ordering a bloodbath. There won’t even be combat.
Even if you believed the war college’s interpretation of the laws was
correct, this plan was clearly designed with a massacre in mind.
And I heard rumors she was involved in the plan. This expression, this
calm… Maybe the rumors are true. That was how inhuman she was.
“Yes, and yesterday at 1100 hours Arene was given an evacuation
warning. So you can assume the entire city has already been captured.”
“Which means?”
“The higher-ups are saying to eliminate everything. Legally, only the
Republican Army units are there.”
I’ll just be frank. There’s not really any reason to hide it. After all, the
only thing this war machine soldier needs is permission and orders.
She adheres to the rules. That is, she doesn’t do anything beyond them.
Apparently, she limits herself in a strange way.
“How awful. It’ll be hell no matter what we do,” Major von Degurechaff
said coolly.
But then why is she smiling so happily?
What is that delighted smile glowing on your cheeks?! What are those
fangs peeking out of your mouth?! Why are you happy enough to grin? …
You vampire.
“…A battle to capture a city is a fight against time.”
I hope no one noticed that I just flinched, thought the army corps
commander, sensing that he was distinctly afraid of her.
“The city is already under enemy control, right? So can’t we lay waste to
entire blocks?”
“Major?”
“If civilians were there, they would limit us, but if the city has been
overrun, then no worries.”
No worries about what? He deeply wanted to ask what she was planning
to do, but he held back. He told himself it was surely better not to know.
“But this is really too bad.”
With this, the die is cast.
For the one responsible, there was probably no die more nauseating.
“Yes, it’s really, truly awful. But we’re soldiers. If it’s an order, we have
to burn even the beautiful city of Arene.”
You devil. Zettour and Rudersdorf, you wicked men.
 Apparently, they’ll do anything to win the war. They would literally do
any and everything.
They mean to win this war by any means necessary, even if they go
insane. Soldiers they may be, but they’re cracked.
“…No one should ever be a soldier.”
“You’re right about that. But not everyone gets to live the life they
want.”
That’s right, Magic Major von Degurechaff.
But there is probably no one more suited to being a soldier than you.
Perhaps you feel at home in hell on the Rhine front.

I was wondering why I was summoned from my standby dugout on the

forward-most line to the safe command dugout farther back under the
highest-priority orders, and now I have a mission to eliminate enemy mages
invading a key location in the rear. Fighting enemy mages is a totally
ordinary mission.
The difference this time is that the “field” will be a city. Not just any
city, but Arene, a critical node in the Empire’s rail transport network.
According to the orders, we have to be prompt and speedy… Use any
means necessary to eliminate the enemy is the missive from my superior’s
superior’s superior.
Having wrapped her head around the situation in her own way, it doesn’t
seem so difficult. Her position, in a nutshell, is like being told to crush the
Prague Spring.
The enemy mages are apparently joined by a battalion-sized militia, so
it’s a simple order to take care of the uprising along with their tanks—the
mages—with our artillery.
If the order is to crush this mob, Tanya is almost bored, knowing history
and how common such orders were. Of course, considering the supply lines
are in danger, it’s not a trivial mission. Tanya is well aware of that.
But that’s all. If a riot starts, just give the order to put it down. She
double-checked so many times because she was startled that the local army
corps commander had to call her, a frontline officer, over to discuss it.
 Once she realized the orders were simply to deal with a mob, she could
barely keep herself from grinning. This isn’t going to be so hard. And it’s a
great chance to get away from the front lines.
Having made that conclusion, she dashed over to her battalion’s
headquarters to start getting ready just a little while ago.
…Then I finally realize that there’s something bothering me about the
written orders I was given. We’re legally in the white, but then why do they
hint at the possibility of indiscriminate strategic bombardment?
If the remaining troops don’t surrender after we eliminate the enemy
mages, the next steps are terrifying. When Tanya realizes that, she kicks her
brain into high gear. Yes, the WTO,20 who crushed the Prague Spring, were
the WTO. It’s not as if they were acting under a banner of democracy or
anything. In other words, history can denounce it.
After all, this plan calls for doing as much damage as possible to stone
buildings using high explosives and explosion formulas. Militarily, it’s a
great idea and will expose the buildings’ flammable innards.
After that, I guess we just drop mainly incendiary bombs? No, we can
probably burn things fine with artillery time bombs. If all the Imperial
Army units assembled here concentrate their fire, Arene will end up having
something in common with Dresden.
…It’ll be a massacre even if we don’t screw up. Ehh, but we’ll basically
be substituting artillery for carpet-bombing, so it’s like in the Warsaw
Uprising; it is within the realm of the typical.
One regrettable thing is the gray zone where those bombings will be evil
for the country that loses, but the ones the winning country conducted don’t
even get questioned, much less written off as a result of said nonexistent
questioning. One wrong move and I could end up nominated as a war
criminal. I refuse to put myself in such danger.
But wait, that’ll only happen if the Empire loses. Which means that
supposing we don’t lose, if I refuse to follow orders at this point, I’ll be shot
for insubordination, fleeing before the enemy, et cetera.
After all, orders are orders. And at this point, there is nothing wrong
with the ones I’ve received. I have no grounds for refusing them and no
reason to worry. I don’t even know if my superiors would listen to me if I
tried to talk to them. Well, there may not be time for that, anyhow.
On the other hand, I could devote myself to actions with no legal issues
now, but given that laws were retroactively enforced in the Military
Tribunal for the Far East, I’ll definitely need to be humane. And on top of
that, I have to act in such a way that a bunch of people won’t accuse me of
things later? You mean I have to pretend to be nice?
In that case, obeying the laws to the best of my ability won’t cut it. What
the heck? But I guess my life is in danger unless I act humanely? I’d like to
take it easy on the people, but doing that for no reason and ending up low
on achievements will be problematic…
No, wait. I have a reason. I have a bunch of burdensome new recruits
with me, don’t I? With them slowing me down, the other units will probably
arrive by the time we finish eliminating the enemy mages. At that point, we
can say we have casualties and withdraw.
Then I don’t have to get my hands dirty. At least, if the battle takes some
time to unfold, maybe I can pull my punches without anyone thinking
poorly of my abilities. Ah, if this was going to happen, maybe I should have
been more understanding of the recruits.
Hmm? Ugh, but the commander is the one held liable. What would
happen if one of the new recruits accidentally shot a civilian? It goes
without saying that I, their leader, would either face a tribunal or a kangaroo
court. But I guess if the Empire wins, the tribunal wouldn’t be so bad.
If I’m lucky I can expect to be acquitted. Of course I can. It’s a question
of how much responsibility I can really be expected to take for these
newbies. But if we lose, I’ll probably end up the victim of revenge. That
would suck. I thought this was a good idea, but now it seems like it’s not
going to work.
For a moment, she considers a way to keep it a secret. Should I just
eliminate all the witnesses? But she immediately puts a lid on her
indiscretion, as even massacres have survivor testimonies.
Almost zero is not zero. And with a look at history, you can see that any
number of witnesses can be created. How many countries would hesitate to
create a witness where none existed?
“…I’m so not keen on this,” murmurs Tanya, because that’s all she can
do in this situation. There’s not even much time left until the sortie. And her
talented unit is such a bunch of war nuts that when they heard there was a
sortie they assembled right away.
We can probably already transition into sortie readiness. If this was
going to happen, I shouldn’t have had them get prepped ahead of time.
With eyes like a dead fish’s, her pleasant features distorted, Tanya has
mixed feelings watching her subordinates as they ready themselves with an
irritating briskness. She wonders what she should do.
People might think I’m hard-line imperialist just because I received that
superficial decoration. No, they must. If that’s the case, the life waiting for
me will be pretty unpleasant. Just take a look at Germany. No one who was
a zealous Nazi during the war met a good end. People still give the SS a
rough time. About the only ones who got decent treatment were the ace
pilots. Even so, after the war, albeit for a brief time, many of them were
interned by the communists. Is there no loophole? I can’t get interned like
Hartmann.
…No, wait a minute. There was one guy. There was a soldier named
Rudel21 or something. He was hard-core—we’re talking reinforced concrete
—anticommunist and pro-Nazi. But after the war, he even managed to
enjoy his life pretty well. Him. I’ll emulate him!

To Second Lieutenant Grantz, it sounded the same as usual.

“Okay, battalion, we’re going on a picnic!”
From readiness level two, they were assembled, and he’d run so as not
to be late. When he arrived, he was met with the commander, a displeased
frown painted across her entire face. She wasn’t just irritated, she was
furious, apparently, with nowhere to vent her anger.
This can’t be good.
The other day they’d been made to follow a unit of enemy mages fifty
kilometers past the enemy lines in what was called parallel pursuit.
He had to at least be ready to venture out to the enemy trenches by
night.
“Those idiots in the air let enemy mages slip past, and they’ve invaded
Arene.”
But the words that came out of her mouth would have hit him hard even
if he had been expecting them. He’d heard whispered rumors, but having it
confirmed by a superior officer was demoralizing.
 The disheartening truth was that a major supply relay point had fallen.
Anyone who learns the trains that bring them their food won’t be
functioning after the next day can understand how huge an impact on
logistics that will have. Even a private can comprehend that war without
supplies is a strategic nightmare.
The situation was so tense that even ever-indifferent Major von
Degurechaff couldn’t conceal her bad mood. After all, Grantz himself had
been shocked to hear the rumor that enemy mages had invaded the rear by
airdrop. How could we miss the transport planes gliding into our airspace?
“And apparently they joined up with the militia. Arene has fallen into
the Republican Army’s clutches.”
That was bad news. But honestly, what did it actually mean? For a
moment, Grantz and some of the other mages couldn’t quite grasp the
gravity of the situation. The battlefield paradigm required no thinking past
Eliminate the enemy.
In other words, as far as Grantz and the others knew, the situation would
be resolved if they eliminated the militia and the mages. Defending an
entire city probably wasn’t possible with just mages and militia. With no
infantry arm, occupation was a dream within a dream. The militia could
compensate to some extent with numbers, but he didn’t think they could
hold up in real organized combat.
In contrast, the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion was, for better or worse, a
child of war that had learned to fight on the front lines and made achieving
results their standard.
“Naturally, we’re taking it back.”
As she says it, Tanya herself is convinced that as a legitimate-enough
conclusion, recapture is the only option. It’s a kill-or-be-killed battlefield.
All they’re going to do is change positions on it. Compared to the horror of
supplies being cut off, sortie orders are somewhat familiar. Both Grantz and
Tanya tended toward agitated thought patterns, so they felt attacking was
just what you did on the battlefield.
“Now here’s the tricky part.”
Even though she always conveyed their simple operation objectives
without wasting any time, she took a deliberate breath.
When he looked around, the other officers’ faces were tense, too.
What the heck could it be? Grantz braced himself slightly.
 “Arene…”
Grantz waited in uncertainty for her next words but then realized
something with a shock. She said “Arene” and isn’t sure how to continue.
An officer who would indifferently order a charge on hell was
hesitating.
She was shaking something off and doing something she found difficult
to endure.
Whatever it was was grim and oppressive. The unit had fallen
completely silent, and nothing made a sound. Something was wrong. The
soldiers who had been distracted by the impending sortie began wondering
what was going on.
Then, as if to interrupt their thoughts, she managed to continue.
“Arene is now occupied by the Republican Army. Troops, to take back
the city, we need to eliminate all the Republican soldiers.”
Huh? That sounds totally straightforward. If Republican mages have
joined up with the militia to occupy the city, it’ll be too dangerous if we
don’t eliminate all the mages. Doesn’t that go without saying?
Would it even be hard? Grantz didn’t really understand.
No, actually most of the replacements didn’t see anything different from
normal orders. They would be told to go as always, and then they would.
That’s what they thought.
Hoping to see if anyone knew what was going on, Grantz glanced at
Weiss. The first lieutenant’s face was just slightly stiff. That seemed
strange. He looked clearly nervous and shaken. Then he took a deep breath
as if he was trying to steel himself.
Steel himself against what? What was so horrible that it could rattle a
Rhine front old stager so experienced he could be called a veteran?
“It goes without saying, but firing on noncombatants is strictly
prohibited; however, as we’ve been given permission to cause property
damage, that won’t count.”
She emphasized the rules of engagement. Their ROE was utterly
ordinary. If there was anything of note, it was the exemption from
responsibility for property damage. But even obtaining that exemption was
part of normal procedures.
“Furthermore, before engaging the enemy mages and after eliminating
them, we will issue warnings to surrender.”
 Am I…am I missing something? A vague, confusing anxiety enveloped
him.
“Be sure to temporarily cease combat while the warnings are being
issued.”
She was giving them the same instructions as any sortie. The only
difference was that it would be a city battle.
Of course, a few of the constraints would be different. But even with
those alterations, the primary objective of eliminating the enemy mages
wouldn’t change.
…At least, it shouldn’t.
If he thought harder about it, maybe the warnings? But it’s obvious that
an urban battle will have fewer casualties if you have the enemy surrender
instead of finishing them off. And if they refuse, then you just conduct the
moderately obnoxious battle to mop them up.
“If they accept the warning, that’s great. If they don’t, we transition to
wiping them out. That is all.”
And actually, the tone of his superior’s voice was utterly flat, concealing
her emotions as always. If they surrender, that’s great.
If it didn’t work out, they would transition to taking them out as usual—
totally normal.
If pressed, he had to admit something felt strange. He sensed some kind
of dissonance, something that didn’t sit right. That said, should I really be
getting distracted right before we sortie? Having made that conclusion, he
began performing the final pre-sortie checks on his computation orb and
rifle. Rather than being unable to use his weapons on the battlefield due to
insufficient maintenance, it was better to forget his other thoughts.
The recruits had had it beaten into them that learning was the first step
toward survival, and with each passing day, they were growing more
familiar with war.
The next thing they knew, they were on the battlefield that Major von
Degurechaff had led them to as planned.

“Bravo Leader to Combat Control. It’s a Named! Sending data now.

Please confirm.”
As expected, the Empire’s response was prompt in the strictest sense of
the word. They sent over a battalion of mages in a matter of hours!
Apparently, they’re taking this quite seriously. I guess the pain of air-
dropping in was worth it?
The commander of Mage Second Company of the Republic’s special
ops forces, Lieutenant Colonel Vianto, was somewhat relieved to find some
meaning in the operation he hadn’t been terribly keen on. Though he’d been
nervous, he’d done it. He finally had the wherewithal to glance at his
annoyingly stiff hands.
The Republic was in a fairly tough spot. It had been looking forward to
Dacia’s participation in the war, only to have that backfire. Republicans had
to grit their teeth and watch the Entente Alliance collapse after the fleet
tried to prevent the landing operation but didn’t make it in time. This
nightmare was slowly wearing them out.
The Republic’s below-the-surface contact with the Commonwealth was
an open secret, but the Commonwealth was acting for its own national
welfare. As a condition for its assistance, the Republic was liable to lose all
its overseas interests.
Considering the gravity of endangering its voice as a major power, the
Republic felt a need to resolve things on its own to the extent possible.
We need to push them back as far as we can before the Commonwealth
joins the fight. It was for that political reason that Vianto was carrying out
this crazy (to him) rear invasion.
I can’t believe they pulled the so-called raison d’état card.
“Data confirmed… The Devil of the Rhine? They brought out the big
guns.”
But apparently when it came to raison d’état, counting your chickens
before they hatch worked. They had succeeded in drawing the unidentified
Named known to every soldier on the Rhine front off the main lines.
It was the Named who excelled in high-maneuver warfare and long-
range firing, as did the elite unit she commanded. They were an annoying
bunch who, as a mobile unit in the Imperial Army, defended a sizable
territory; taking them out was high priority.
This unit was even capable of mobile defense. Drawing them away from
the front lines was more significant than drawing away any other mage
battalion.
Diverting this unit with a veteran Named, who could strike at their weak
points, had an important effect on the battlefield that couldn’t be measured
with numbers.
“That said…they won’t be easy. I’m not looking forward to this fight.”
Capturing a city the size of Arene would require several divisions of
ground forces. It was up to the Imperial General Staff whether to scrape
them away from the front lines or mobilize reserves, but apparently, they
had gone all in. If only they would have underestimated us and sent troops
in piecemeal.
In any case, if they could hold this transport terminal, the Empire’s
supply lines would dry up in less than a week, which meant they would
definitely get results if they could hinder enemy reinforcements for just a
few days. They could only hope that the troops on the front could pull off a
major counterattack during that time.
“Charlie Leader to Combat Control. You’re telling us to fight that
battalion at range?”
Even for an elite special ops force, fighting the Devil of the Rhine at a
distance would be tough.
They had anticipated doing little more than chipping away at the enemy.
“No changes to the operation. The long-range fighting was only to
distract them anyhow. Work to delay them.”
If it didn’t work out, that was fine. There hadn’t been terribly high
expectations for the ranged fighting, so it was no problem.
Maybe a line of distracting fire? The point is to force them to evade, tire
them out, and break up their formations. Anyhow, slowing them down is
crucial. Time is on our side.
““Roger.””
They promptly began their maneuvers according to the plan.
Some mages lurking in buildings opened up with harassing fire.
Those shots weren’t very likely to connect in a major way, but on the
other hand, they couldn’t simply forgo it given that their enemy was
Named.
And after all, disciplined fire was the Republican Army’s specialty. If
the enemy flew slowly, they could score direct hits.
“The enemy mages are breaking. They’re evading our sniping.”
 But apparently, they were dodging the attacks. Well, that would be the
natural thing to do, but Vianto had hoped to deal at least a little damage. As
it is…we’ll only do a tiny bit or barely any.
“But huh, they sent in a whole battalion right away. They’re making
snap decisions that ignore the effect on the front sooner than I expected.”
And they responded even quicker than we heard they did, which is a
pain. With his plans upset, Vianto wanted to pull his hair out—even if it
was good that they had managed to weaken the enemy’s frontal attack. If
the Empire was committing a battalion of elite mages with no hesitation, he
and his men had to be ready for the arrival of far more ground troops than
anticipated and much sooner than expected.
They must want to take Arene back as soon as possible. In the worst
case, where they’re prepared to withdraw from the lines, things could get
hairy.
“We’re containing the Devil of the Rhine with two companies. What
else can we do?”
These were mages trained for special missions. Two companies of them
had been sent in. Containing the Devil of the Rhine was really only one of
their objectives, but his adjutant wasn’t talking nonsense.
“So urban warfare is the key? But we won’t even last two weeks!”
If the enemy was really focusing on them more than they had
anticipated, this would be awful.
At first, they thought it would be a simple charge or that maybe there
would be a company of mages at most. If they were up against an
augmented battalion all of a sudden, their enemy was determined.
And Vianto’s biggest headache was their readiness to send in a Named.
“Once the counterattack starts on the front, pressure from the enemy will
decrease. Most importantly, the troops should be able to break through their
defensive positions once the supplies are cut off, don’t you think?”
“That’s just wishful thinking. I hope we succeed, but it’s going to be
rough.”
We have friendly backup and met up with the partisan militia, but what
will happen when real ground troops show up? They would have mage
support, and the Empire had more firepower than the Republic on a
fundamental level. As far as ammunition, all the Republicans had apart
from a small amount of air-dropped supplies were local stockpiles and what
each mage had on them.
They wouldn’t be able to last long, and they would probably take heavy
casualties. Even worse, we’ll probably end up fighting with the civilians as
our shields—something we should be ashamed of as soldiers.
…Some of the believers in raison d’état even thought that in a worst-
case scenario they could run the partisans into the ground to buy time. It
was logical, but it was an ugly side of their nation.
“So in the worst case, we continue delaying and try to cause as much
damage as possible?”
“That’s our only choice. Either way, a soldier is a rotten thing to be.”
Humiliatingly, their duty was, basically, to faithfully carry out this
operation to make civilians their shields. When they were told it would
make winning the war possible, they had no choice.
But there was no operation that put his raison d’être as a soldier more
into question than this one. As Republican soldiers, for the Republic—to
have Republican citizens die was a rotten business.
“The enemy vanguard has entered the Air Defense Identification Zone!
They’re rapidly approaching the city!”
But even he was a soldier. He knew that while thinking could be
meaningful, there was a time and a place for it. If he didn’t, he would have
been dead long ago.
“Commander, then we should—”
“I know. Here they come. Prepare to ambush!”
Once the enemy was closing in, his conflicted thoughts toward his
mission had to be put off until later. He would do everything in his power to
survive—because regret was a privilege reserved for the living.

Have you ever been ordered to eliminate a fearless enemy assaulting an

area in the rear? I haven’t until now, either. Thus, while I’m happy to have
enjoyed such good fortune previously, I want to lament my current situation.
But I want to do a proper job without letting anything stand in my way. I
realized recently that I’m the kind of person who lives to work. I want to be
proud of myself for being a levelheaded person who can think with common
sense.
…is the sort of thing Tanya is thinking, pretending to be upset about
what a sad era it is when one gets intercepted just for flying through the sky
as she deftly evades the long-range disciplined fire the Republican Army is
so proud of.
Even if the beams are no stronger than the lasers shot by some organic
resource recovery unit that’s hostile to the human race, the hit rate is far
lower simply by virtue of the fact that humans are spotting.
Well, I do dodge them fairly seriously, since if one hit me it would be
powerful enough to potentially pierce my protective film and outer shell
and cause me to fall. Maybe if I poured mana into Type 95 with all my
might I could withstand them, but that would be psychological suicide, so I
hesitate to do that. In which case, the best thing to do is evade.
“Engage! They’re fast! They know what they’re doing!”
That said, just as it’s difficult to win a hundred of a hundred battles, it
seems like breaking through unscathed will be impossible. The artillery fire
is so dense Tanya is amazed in spite of herself; their history of beating up
on nothing but second-rate forces in Dacia and Norden has come back to
bite them.
It’s good that everyone could evade a counterattack on a scale they
didn’t anticipate. In the process, though, their strike formation has gotten
pretty disorderly—even though the formation was designed to counter the
Republic’s disciplined fire. She is forced to acknowledge the painful
realization that they won’t be able to get past the enemy firing positions
with speed and spread-out maneuvering alone. The idea that speed is armor
definitely has a few flaws.
We’re still fine for now, but up against big believers in firepower like the
reds, we might be in trouble.
“Lieutenant Serebryakov, sorry, but I’m weirdly tired… Can I get a
tonic?”
As she thinks, the fatigued voice of Lieutenant Weiss comes over the
radio, and Tanya frowns unconsciously. Tired? My vice commander who
was put through the mill on the Rhine and in Norden is tired after just this?
Tanya promptly throws her adjutant some alcohol—soldier fuel—as she
has her go take a look, and her question is cleared up when Serebryakov’s
panicked shriek comes over the radio.
 “Lieutenant Weiss, you’ve been shot! Hurry, stop the bleeding!”
“What?”
“You didn’t notice?! Let’s get this tourniquet on! Hurry!”
From the first aid discussion and Serebryakov urging Weiss on, Tanya
realizes the former was correct and sighs. Instead of subordinates who don’t
have enough fighting spirit, I have berserkers that get hyped up on too
much adrenaline to register that they’re injured; there’s something vaguely
depressing about that.
I didn’t even give him meth and this is what he’s like. It’s hard to know
whether I should rejoice that I have the best soldiers or lament that I’ve
gathered a bunch of war addicts.
“…How’s the numbskull who didn’t even realize he got hit?”
“It’s not life-threatening, but I think it will be difficult for him to
continue fighting.”
“What? Well, there’s no helping it. Weiss, fall back.”
Still, what suddenly filled my mind was apprehension about losing my
capable assistant. Despite being a war nut, he’s one of the ones with
common sense, and more than anything, it’s particularly painful to have the
chain of command affected so greatly in the heat of battle. But Tanya is
already switching gears because she knows she needs to consider not only
current interests but solutions to future issues.
As the most sensible among her men, the good First Lieutenant Weiss
seems to have a few thoughts about this operation. If he’s dropping off the
battlefield, that means that one of her above-average mages nearly got shot
down. Normally, Weiss would be the kind of mage to attain Ace of Aces
level.
…If it wasn’t a fluke, the Republicans are awfully capable interceptors.
“But, Major—”
“It’s fine; fall back. You’re just one person; we’ll be all right. Instead of
slowing us down, round up the others who’ve been hit and RTB.”
It’s great to be serious, but if those serious personnel leave, that’s a
problem. With no other reliable people around, I’m the only one left. I’m
the one sensible person among all these war crazies. Talk about a
nightmare.
It goes without saying that I’ll be exhausted both physically and
mentally. People who can remain sensible during such an abnormality as
war are exceedingly valuable. It’s hard to keep a unit who has lost someone
like that under control.
Sensible people—they generally keep their heads in a crisis. These
modern individuals who can value reason and the market are the ones who
will sustain the capitalist society to come. To squander them on this waste
called war is truly horrible.
What will the Empire’s economy be like after the war if it throws away
its best and brightest like this? I don’t even want to think about it.
Should I convert all my wages into gold and goods while I still can? I
have a feeling that win or lose, the Empire’s future won’t be terribly bright.
“Understood… I wish you luck.”
“You think too much. You hesitated, right? You big idiot. When I get
back, you’re gonna get it.”
But first I have to survive this. It’s annoying and I’m not motivated, but
I have to crush the pro-Republic fellows holed up in Arene.
As a person, it’s not a very nice thing to do. Logically, it’s easier to
eliminate them, but no one will compliment you for violating human rights.
Yes, I’m philanthropic, and as such, I don’t want to get innocent people
mixed up in this.
Even though legally there are no problems, something surely gave good,
conscientious Weiss pause. In other words, reluctance and hesitation
hindered his maneuvers, and as a result, he got hit. Well, it’s not as if I don’t
understand.
But to say one thing, if I were in the same position as him, I would have
wanted to shirk responsibility in the same way. So about that part, I’m
jealous. Geez, you’re that averse to taking part in a massacre?
Well, I don’t like it, she mocked herself, but circumstances call for the
death of the partisans of Arene.
I’m only taking part in a broad sense. I’m just doing nothing, like those
three wise monkeys—see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.
In contemporary law, it’s omission. But I’m not the direct subject of the
act. In other words, the issue is whether I have the duty to report it or not.
Even Rudel bombed tons of Soviet tanks, ships, fighter planes, and
armored trains, and he didn’t have to go to prison. Basically, all he did was
sortie, and that in itself wasn’t a problem.
Good. If I’m just doing my duty as a single soldier, there shouldn’t be
any real issues.
Ohh, laws are wonderful.
“Ma’am. My apologies.”
That said, as long as there are issues at all, I won’t be enthusiastic about
it.
Of course, I’m pretty sure there aren’t any military operations you can
really shout yee-haw and serve in with gusto. I end up wondering why we
have wars.
Even today—why am I conducting this irrational operation?
Tanya is really at wits’ end, but she doesn’t long for death enough to
lose herself in thought in the middle of a battlefield. She switches gears to
focus on dealing with the task at hand.
“It’s fine. You can’t help being you. Okay, Lieutenant König, take over
Lieutenant Weiss’s command.”
“Roger.”
I have no choice, so I reorganize command at my discretion. Either way,
our mission is counter-mage combat with, at most, some containment.
If there are healthy enemy mages out there, we have to beat on them to
some extent.
“All hands, prepare to swoop in for a close-quarters fight. Watch out for
ambushes. These guys are capable. If you take them lightly, you’re liable to
get burned.”
“Commander. The enemy mages are withdrawing! They’re going to shut
themselves up in the city!”
But that plan was designed with the idea in mind that the enemies would
sortie to intercept us.
“Ngh. Never mind. Abort the charge. Just keep the pressure on.”
Put another way, it’s our job to take on the mage ambushes on the
periphery of the city, nothing beyond that.
In other words, if they remove any mages from the attackable areas
around the edges of the city, Tanya’s mission will be mostly accomplished.
In short, if they drive the enemies to positions where they couldn’t reach
the bombers or artillery, their part will be over.
“Commander?”
“All we have to do is drive them off. Once we’ve pushed them away,
we’ll issue the warning to surrender.”
 “…Are you sure?”
It’s precisely because they understand what that means that several
members of the company express hesitation. Of course, these aren’t the
types to hesitate to attack once we’ve transitioned to mopping up, but it
isn’t as if they can’t foresee what’s about to happen.
“It’s not our job. At least, our job is to counter the mages. It doesn’t
include urban warfare.”
But Tanya has already taken a practical attitude. Since she is focused on
how to keep the dirt on her hands to a minimum, nothing is higher priority
than getting out of there after issuing the call for surrender.
This is an easy job. Even if someone ends up dying as a result, it won’t
be by my hand.
In that case…
“…Understood.”
Despite their hesitation, no one continues to object—for better or worse.
In other words, no matter what they might have wanted to say, they’re all
mature enough to swallow it.
Business is basically stoicism. Entertaining, layoffs, or a boss you just
can’t stand—there are so many things that must simply be endured. So if
you can avoid them, there aren’t many reasons to waver. And if you’re a
soldier, orders are a great excuse.
“Contact the artillery and the bomber unit. Tell them we’re issuing the
surrender warning.”
All that’s left is to get them to take over. If the enemy surrenders, that’s
great. If not, the bombardment will put an end to it. That’s all.
Well, I know this isn’t the type of enemy to meekly surrender, so it’s
practically a foregone conclusion, but still.
In other words, we’ll have them become our justification.
“Do you want protection?”
“Second Company, you’re on direct support.”
Still, the best is to issue a warning. If they’re logical, there’s a nonzero
chance that they choose to surrender. If we issue a warning first, it’s also
much easier emotionally, and most importantly, if there is a trial, it can be
used as evidence in my defense.
“Okay, let’s give them a call.”
We don’t lose anything by warning them. In which case, it’d practically
be a betrayal of capitalism not to do it.
We pretty much know they’re going to reject our offer, but I might as
well give it sincerely for my own reasons. It’s definitely worth it. Actually,
I’d really appreciate it if they would surrender at this point. Time and
ammunition are precious.
Well, in reality, a ton of them surrendering would be the bigger burden
on Logistics. And the brass doesn’t expect them to give themselves up, so
they’re already assuming there will be a fight to wipe them out. I think we
should hedge, but since cutting costs is also important, I can’t fault them for
their conclusion.
Sheesh. Well, there’s no reason for us in the thick of it to think that far.
Guess I should get things rolling.
“Release unaffiliated members of the general population immediately.
We can’t allow your slaughter to continue. We demand the release of
imperial citizens according to article 26, paragraph 3 of the Rules of War on
Land.”
A nominal request to release civilians. That said, the only imperial
citizens who would be in Arene, what used to be a Republican city, are
soldiers or civilian army personnel.
They were probably killed or lynched back when the revolt began. Even
if there are survivors, I don’t imagine they’ll obediently let them go. There’s
a greater chance they’ll off any survivors out of spite.
I can’t believe they actually wanted this scenario. It’s like the
monumental difference between talking about a nuclear apocalypse in a sci-
fi novel and actually waging nuclear war.
“You’re watching, right? See anything?”
“…Yeah, they shot someone. Here’s the video.”
And as expected, the militia shoots someone dead and shouts something
obscene. Well, it’s the type of thing an undisciplined militia is likely to do
in any era. That’s why a proper army and a militia are two different things.
Freedom fighters are all well and good, but freedom without order ends up
with major internal strife, a kind of environmental hazard. These guys are
hopeless. They could have done this themselves, but instead they had to
involve citizens engaged in wholesome economic activity.
Yeah, so in that context, they’re probably shouting, “Go to hell, imperial
bastards!” Something like that.
 Well, that’s how people who aren’t used to war tend to behave. They
may believe in some noble principle, but as long as they aren’t trained,
they’re slaves to emotion. So I suppose this is just what’s bound to happen
when an undisciplined organization of civilians has guns.
Just like a functioning member of society, a soldier, even in uniform, is
useless without training, and you obviously can’t expect that much of a
militia. In other words, this underscores the claim of economic theory that
human capital is so important.
“HQ, I’m sending video. Requesting permission to begin immediate
rescue.”
At the same time, this is a big chance. Nominally, we’ve fulfilled our
duty of issuing a warning.
All that’s left is to join the extermination, but if possible, I’d like to
avoid that out of consideration for my future political position. It’s a simple
reason, and anyone would exempt me from responsibility.
This is the perfect chance. The marvelously just cause of protecting my
fellow countrymen is right here in front of me.
What army could reproach a soldier for saving its own civilians? At
least, rescuing captured imperial subjects is a politically clean act. Perhaps
it doesn’t have much meaning from a military point of view, but all that’s
left now is the annihilation phase.
So this is the phase during which your political conduct matters. The
fact that I didn’t participate directly during the battle but was engaged in
rescuing fellow countrymen should work as a get-out-of-jail-free card.
At least, it should be a justification.
“HQ, roger. Get it done.”
“Pixie 01, roger. I’ll proceed immediately.”
Okay, saving people. Let’s do a good deed. For myself. Whoever said,
The good you do to others will always come back to you, had a way with
words.

To Grantz and Visha, it was a massacre painted as mopping up. No,

Visha took it a little better, since she knew the ropes. She at least
understood the danger of hesitating on the battlefield.
For Grantz, it was purgatory or perhaps simply hell.
 “HQ to all participating units. Transition to cleanup. Get rid of the
Republican Army.”
Red flames added color to the black-and-gray world. Then a faint
flashing was all he could see. His distracted consciousness registered a
noise coming from somewhere, orders to the entire theater from HQ. The
voice on the radio was so level he was shocked by how unreal it sounded.
But the significance of it was orders. Yes, orders. The individual Grantz
was in this place on orders.
I came here, I pulled the trigger, I killed the enemy. No, what I killed was
a person.
And he could recognize the strange tingle in his nose that had begun
some time ago. Even though he was used to the smell of the battlefield, a
stench was irritating it. It was the smell of burning human flesh. A freshly
charred corpse whose odor wasn’t masked by the reek of decay. The air,
sticky with protein, stunk horribly.
He was sure he was out of things to throw up, and yet he did everything
in his power to keep any acid from spewing out his mouth. He was getting
used to actual combat, perhaps. The fact that Second Lieutenant Grantz had
the ability to try to understand the situation meant he actually had some
presence of mind.
The surrender warning and the attempt to separate the civilians from the
militia had been only a short while ago. Technically, it was probably a
procedure to allow them to consider the civilians militia. Anyhow, as soon
as the civilians didn’t have to be defined as noncombatants, the Empire had
begun a merciless attack on the city.
Luckily, he was engaged in the Imperial Army’s prisoner rescue
mission. It seemed strange to him that Major von Degurechaff cared for
allies over the enemy, but that feeling was gone in an instant. She was
probably just deciding according to priority.
That is, soldiers are the shields of the nation’s people, so if the question
is whether eliminating the enemy or performing a rescue is higher priority,
it has to be the rescue.
Apparently, it’s a question of value standards. To put it another way, she
honestly doesn’t mind trading the life of an enemy for the life of a fellow
countryman. Thanks to that, even if it was only during the short time before
the bombardment started, they were able to rescue some of the people held
captive in the city.
“We’ve already crushed all hostile organized resistance. Now just take
out the remaining holdouts!”
The Republican civilians were full of fight, and in a conceptual sense,
they certainly meant to do battle with the Empire. They had consciously
stood up to protect the Republic, and the bodies and corpses of recovered
army employees made their intent to do harm very clear.
But that didn’t mean Grantz could enjoy the scene playing out before his
eyes.
Meanwhile, the unit’s superior officer, Tanya, is content to look on as
the cleanup progresses fairly smoothly.
They used high explosives to smash the roofs of stone buildings. Once
the flammable items inside were visible, they dropped incendiary bombs
inside. To prevent the fires from going out, they used more high explosives
to shatter the buildings, creating gusts of wind to help the conflagration
spread.
Then more incendiary bombs. That repetition set all of Arene ablaze in a
few short hours.
The barricade the civilians erected meant nothing.
Not only that, but the Republican mages probably even ended up getting
roasted in the flames. Surely the city already looks more like hell than those
Buddhist paintings that supposedly depict it.
On that point, Tanya’s feelings are simple. God must be so upset about
this—if he exists.
Anyhow, Being X apparently isn’t nice enough to lend a hand in this sort
of disaster. Well, what can you do? Humans are the only ones who can save
humans. Forgetting that and clinging to religion must be our weakness.
That said, Tanya believes that such a weakness has produced massive
changes in the history of mankind. Which is why she’s keeping her hands
clean and going to save the imprisoned military employees.
She takes the action that the collective consciousness of those weak
people would want her to and praises herself for being a realist who doesn’t
neglect to create excuses for the future.
Meanwhile, for Grantz, who didn’t have the wherewithal to guess at his
superior’s inner thoughts, the only thing keeping him sane were his pristine,
pure white hands. He could defend himself by saying that he had made it
through without shooting any noncombatants. He was rescuing people, not
massacring them.
On this battlefield, that was only a type of fiction…but as long as he
could maintain it, it provided consolation.
Unfortunately, Battalion Commander Major von Degurechaff’s
surrender warning and the militia who rejected it sent his fiction crumbling
to bits in no time.
Their battalion was the vanguard in this fight, and if it hadn’t been for
their good cause, the rescue of imperial subjects, they would have been in
there participating in the killing. Now, he and his unit, the 203rd Aerial
Mage Battalion, had to perform their original mission.
“Pixie 01, roger. Requesting target.”
Having swiftly and soundly recovered the imperial prisoners, the
battalion had regrouped and was waiting for its next orders. What everyone
knew without hearing it was that it would be the mission they were meant
to do, an attack. Everyone mentioned it in ambiguous terms, but
unbelievably, Major von Degurechaff apparently intended to participate in
the horrible thing happening in Arene…firsthand.
Whether the people of Arene even had the means to stay alive, much
less fight, was doubtful. But neither the Imperial Army Command,
Battalion Command, nor the individual commanders could be satisfied yet.
As long as those people existed in front of them, they would devote their all
to the task and accept no alternatives.
They knew no other way to resolve the situation. Everyone was reluctant
to say it, but if asked officially, they had to acknowledge that there were
orders for a pursuit battle. And their commander was trading messages with
HQ in her usual tone of voice, telling them they had regrouped, and
pressing them for the unit’s next orders.
“HQ to Pixie Battalion, the remaining enemy mages are acting as a rear
guard as they retreat. Can you eliminate them?”
“I see them… No problem. We can do it.”
As part of his training, he was assigned to the headquarters company.
The notion that the commander thought he had potential made him happy,
but that naïveté had been an awful mistake… It meant he had to hear the
worst news. To think he was meant to learn her style of command!
Following Major von Degurechaff’s gaze, he could indeed see a
somewhat orderly group of people. They were at a visible distance—there
was no mistaking them. And it was true that bringing up the rear were a
bunch of fellows who looked like the Republican Army mages, albeit
covered in wounds.
But the view, unique to mages with a boosted observation formula, told
him the people beyond the beat-up mages were only people. Yes, people
whom he couldn’t imagine were capable of fighting. On their faces were
anger and fear, plus despair and the faintest hope that they might escape. By
the time he realized it, Grantz himself was unexpectedly awash in a feeling
that was difficult to understand. Are we really going to rip away those
people’s last protection?
“After you eliminate the rear guard, the plan is for the artillery to finish
off the remaining enemies. We request that you take no more than ten
minutes.”
…But Command didn’t seem to want to let the group of “enemies” go.
Of course, they were an army. Grantz knew in his head that they were an
army. But his emotions screamed, Are you really—? Are you really going to
let that happen?
But his superior didn’t voice any objections whatsoever. The orders to
mop up the remaining adversaries who were trying to deploy protective
formulas to defend the people from Major von Degurechaff, from the
artillery—they were orders to get rid of the mages trying to help the people
escape.
But Grantz had learned that his commander would give such orders
matter-of-factly, with no trace of emotion… That was the right way for a
soldier to be. She isn’t wrong. She isn’t…wrong…
“HQ to Pixie Battalion. That is all. Over.”
The wishes of the superior who closed out the transmission were no
more and no less than that.
Kill them, they said.
Once they were gone, the protective formulas would disappear
instantaneously. After that, Grantz had no doubt the artillery would
pulverize the people. The artillery wouldn’t know the true identity of the
“enemies,” so they would naturally do a great job. At least we’re only
fighting the mages; we won’t be shooting the people behind them. But he
could still guess what would happen next.
 No, he knew quite well what would happen. We’re destroying their last
shield.
“Pixie Battalion, roger that. We’ll do our best.”
The moment the mages were eliminated, those people would also be
blown away. Concentrated artillery fire. On desolate flat country that hardly
had any rubble, much less trenches. It was stranger to think they would
survive.
Above all…why would artillery open fire on civilians who had no idea
how to live through a bombardment? This is insane.
“…Commander, please reconsider this! If…if we eliminate them—”
Before he realized it—he could hardly believe it himself—he was giving
his opinion to a superior.
He could sense that his face was deathly pale.
He had practically committed insubordination. He had argued against an
order that came down from Command. That wasn’t the type of thing a mere
second lieutenant could say to a battalion commander. Plus, he was
essentially rebelling against the orders.
“Enemies of the Empire will be laid to waste. That’s great.”
“But, that’s—”
Maybe that was why he hesitated, but he had still objected.
Grantz was so confused he hardly understood what was happening
himself, but he spoke up to try to stop Major von Degurechaff.
But she remained unfazed. “Lieutenant Grantz. The enemy you let
escape can take up guns again—to shoot us.”
Yeah, probably. Their expressions were filled with loathing.
Undoubtedly—undoubtedly—the Republic would gain zealous new
soldiers from their ranks. Since they hated the Empire, the army would have
no issues with their will to fight.
So you tell us to kill them? You’re telling us to kill someone who could
be an enemy?
Perhaps she recognized his conflict, or perhaps she said it for no reason,
but Major von Degurechaff added an important point at the end.
“If you don’t shoot the enemy, they’ll shoot you. We have to at least
open fire until someone tells us not to. It’s an order, after all.”
Then before he knew it, he’d been knocked to the ground. He could feel
dirt in his mouth. Well, more like mud.
 His face complained of the pain where he’d been struck, but he was
hazily conscious. Maybe her decision to sweep his feet out from under him
instead of kick him down was born of kindness?
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that. This is an order. Pick up your gun. It’s
time for work.”
Yes, it’s an order. I know I have to do anything I’m ordered to.
Because it’s an order. Fuck. An order…

Hello. Long-distance trains aren’t very comfortable, are they? First

class is a lot better, but sure enough, in wartime it’s really only “better.” On
top of that, since the army’s railway guns and supply trains are prioritized,
the schedules are seriously off.
About all I should be doing in this situation is reviewing documents or
sipping coffee (although it’s cold). For confidentiality purposes, not only
are radios jammed, but I can’t even leave the first-class cars. What is that
about?
Yeah, the food is relatively decent, since it’s provided by the train. That
said, you can’t really relax and enjoy a meal with this mood.
On top of that, the menu’s tone-deaf main dish is beef stew.
Yes, normally I’m quite happy to eat stew, but at the moment, I’d rather
not.
I mean, it’s good and all. It’s tasty, but I just saw an awful lot of things
on the battlefield I just came from, so it’s a bit heavy. I acknowledge that it’s
delicious, though. Yeah, I don’t think a meat doria would have made it down
my throat.
Tanya is grumbling facetiously.
A super-fun legal debate and actually implementing those ideas are two
different things! For instance, what’s the point of ludicrous proposals that
maybe there aren’t any civilians because all your nation’s citizens are
soldiers due to universal conscription, or total war, or whatever?
Normally something like that would never be realized. The problem is
that the plans that logically would never be used and the pressures of
necessity both exist in reality. What an outrageous age we live in.
 People use up their kin and throw them away as if they’re not human. If
they were at least using them in a clever way, they’d have room to debate,
but this is completely random. Unforgivable waste, and on top of that, the
idea of recycling to use resources efficiently hasn’t been developed. No,
they’re practically ignoring it.
Honestly, I want to ask them how much human capital they’re planning
to invest in this. Considering the cost and the time it takes to cultivate a
mage, they really can’t be dropping dead all over the battlefield.
Even worse, a college graduate who continued on to get his PhD—a
scientist—was stationed on the front lines until just the other day. But if we
neglect science, we’ll fall behind the enemy’s new weapons and technology.
Agh, I have no interest in dealing with what would happen if, say, the
enemy had radar and VT fuses and we didn’t.
If they’re implementing the Manhattan Project and our scientists are
dying on the front lines, isn’t that playing for the wrong team? I mean, that
mad scientist should die, but apart from that…
Dr. Einstein may have been no good as a military man, but he
contributed to the nation, which makes him better than a rank-and-file
soldier! Don’t they know that rather than giving guys like Einstein and
Nobel guns, they need to give them pencils and make them do
calculations?! Of course, anybody with a touch of crazy like the mad
scientist is a different story, but still.
Having mad scientists contribute is about as meaningless as standing
Nobel up on the forward-most line. Having Nobel study nitroglycerin
would be much better for society. He was also a wonderful guardian of
human capital who advocated for peace in order to prevent wasting
resources.
In other words, everything is for the future of humanity.
Alfred Nobel had a great reputation as a guy who “became rich by
finding ways to kill more people faster than ever before” (as per Wiki), but
there was no one who valued efficiency as much as he did!
If it were me, I would want to add, “He worked to protect human
capital.”
Ahh, why this extravagant waste of human capital? If there are plenty of
posts and not enough talent, we can just pull them off the front lines. Don’t
you think this is why we’re lacking talent?
 Supposedly they are finally correcting this…
Well, all I can do is rewrite these notes as a formal opinion to turn in.
I’m on a train, but since we’re at war, there isn’t even any good scenery
to look at, so I’m bored.
I’ve been summoned, though, so I guess I have to endure it.
Perhaps we’ll have some breathing room after thoroughly crushing
Arene. The unit was given leave, and the higher-ups will consider where to
station all the troops that were assembled. Well, I expected that much.
But why am I the only one who has to appear at the General Staff Office
in the capital?
I sincerely reviewed my conduct to try to find anything that would
warrant me being called in, but I don’t think I made any mistakes.
Yes, we saved lives and eradicated the enemy mages.
And before that, on the Rhine lines, I even received a decoration for my
daring exploits, albeit in a simple battlefield presentation.
I don’t think any of my behavior has been problematic.
And I don’t recall any slipups in terms of controlling my subordinates,
either. I adhere strictly to regulation in the battalion because there is no way
I’m getting stuck in a military tribunal for mismanaging my reports like Mr.
Yamashita.22
I have zero tolerance for abuse of prisoners. Due to the temperament of
my unit, we rarely have prisoners, but I can say with confidence that we
never torture or abuse our captured information sources. Unlike the
amateurs who take more prisoners than necessary and then tear their hair
out over how to feed everyone, we don’t take on more than forty-eight
people can handle; it does make things somewhat easier.
I have an ideal unit that both adheres extremely close to international
laws and devotes themselves to their missions, which is nice and easy; they
don’t give me much trouble. So why am I being called in?
“Excuse me. Long time no see, Major von Degurechaff.”
I’m nearly lost in my meandering thoughts when they’re interrupted by a
familiar voice. A man wearing a mid-ranking officer’s coat stands in the
entrance to my compartment. Before I wonder who it is, I look at his face
and more or less understand the situation.
“It certainly has been a while, Major Uger. Good to see you’re doing
well.” I stand up, hastily remove my cap, and bow. Well, etiquette might
also require that I let down my tied-back hair. Luckily, there are no rules
enforced so inflexibly near the front lines.
Hmm, but I heard that Major Uger got a post in the rear. I think it was
either with the army’s Railroad Department or Logistics.
Of all the officers in my class at war college, he’ll probably go the
furthest. He had already been promoted to the middle ranks when I got my
captain’s commission. He’ll probably make it to lieutenant colonel rather
quickly for someone not serving on a battlefield.
Ahh, I’m jealous. After you serve in Logistics, you usually end up either
in the General Staff or an instructor position at the war college. It won’t
hurt me to stay on good terms with him.
“Yes, I’m glad to see you in one piece, too. I heard about Arene. Sounds
like it was rough.”
“I’m afraid military secrets are involved, so I can’t give you details…”
And since we were in college together, we’re a bit closer than
acquaintances. Or really, although class reunions and the hierarchy of
commissions operate in the background, they still influence officers to have
ties to one another—connections.
“That’s fine. Today I’m basically on an errand for General von Zettour.
Are you, too?”
Aha, I guess I should say. He must be here as a messenger. The poor guy
is really getting run around.
“Do you know something?”
“…Well, I suppose I can tell you…”
Can he keep a secret or not? Well, Major Uger is fairly sensible, so I’ll
be happy he trusts me.
There’s nothing more handy and essential than connections, influence,
and a network.
“The army’s Railroad Department is being asked to plan urgent
transportation into a war zone. I’m going to report that.”
“…I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t see what that has to do with me.
At most, won’t I be one of the field officers being transported?”
The Railroad Department performs a critical role in the Empire, where
we use interior lines strategy. If the rails can’t move troops smoothly, our
force can’t get where it needs to be in an efficient way, and we can’t
concentrate our fighting power. Then the Great Army is like an elephant
with a body, so big it can’t move.
A department that important probably gets asked to plan urgent
transportation into a war zone fairly often.
That’s fine.
But why does that overlap with the reason I’ve been summoned?
I don’t mean to sound smart-alecky, but I’m a mage. And I’m a battalion
commander—nothing more than a tactical component. At most, I’d be
asked to get on such and such a train to go to such and such a place. Or,
since I can fly, they might tell me to zoom off somewhere under my own
steam.
There shouldn’t be any reason to call me all the way to the capital.
“It’s where they’re going that’s the problem. The higher-ups are
apparently planning to pull the Rhine lines back.”
“The Rhine lines… You mean, we’ll retreat?”
The shock keeps Tanya from understanding what Uger has said for a
moment.
We pushed so hard only to pull back?
“That’s right. I guess they mean to fall back and make them bleed.”
Fall back and make them bleed… So that’s what they’re doing?
Hannibal’s Cannae, on this scale?!
“…That’s unexpected. It’s drastic, but an interesting idea.”
Agh, I guess I’m losing my edge. The Concorde’s failure isn’t funny
anymore. We should adhere to the rule that says not to lament the money
you’ve invested in an unprofitable enterprise but rather lament any further
loss. My time on the front lines has really rusted my economic, rational
sensibilities. It’s horrifying.
Or does Being X mean to destroy this faithful believer in the modern,
practical spirit? I have to stay conscious of the context—that I’m in this
war-torn world he was blabbing about. Terrifyingly, my senses of the
market and what’s rational were on the verge of numbing.
Ahh, war is such a crime. I want to escape this human madness and
wastefulness as fast as I can. We should quit this war with actual bombs
whizzing around and have economic wars instead.
“Still…pulling back?”
But, hmm, General von Zettour has come up with a surprising idea,
thinks Tanya with unstinting admiration.
 It would take time and effort to push the lines forward, that’s for sure. A
retreat isn’t so hard. And actually, even if the enemy pursues us, we can
expect fewer casualties than if we charged at heavily defended trenches. It’s
not a bad idea. If we organize the uneven lines, we should be able to face
them head-on.
And well, striking into Republican territory gives their supply lines the
advantage, but if we retreat, it’ll be easier on ours.
Of course, the plan will only work if they go along with it.
“That’s why the information is so tightly controlled… It seems like
we’re going to be putting on a bit of an act.”
“An act?”
“Listen, Major. That mess in Arene destroyed our supply lines. We can’t
maintain the front anymore.”
…Hold on a minute.
That’s the story we’re telling about our retreat?
No matter how inept we think the Republicans are, surely they’ll at least
send out scouts.
“Isn’t that a bit of a stretch? Whether through a third power or a unit
participating in the battle, I’m sure the truth will leak out.”
“No, just the opposite. We’ll spread propaganda through the other
country. ‘The heroic citizens of Arene resisted and practically destroyed the
Imperial Army’s railroad.’”
Wow. I’m genuinely impressed. I’m no propaganda expert, but I can
imagine how effective this could be. I honestly never expected someone in
this world, and at such an age, would come up with this brand of
information warfare.
I’m struck once again by how wonderful the human race is, so truly
adaptable.
Of course, it’s absurd that they can be this wise and still fight wars…
Well, behavioral economics attempts to explain the human ball of
contradictions from an emotional angle.
I’m sure it makes many interesting points.
The citizens of Arene gave their all and fought so bravely, so fiercely,
that the Imperial Army lines were shaken. The moment someone shouts,
You would waste these gains? levelheaded debate will be overwhelmed by a
torrent of emotion.
 “You mean we’ll take away all their choices?”
Bravo. It’s a reproduction of the dance Bismarck made Napoleon III do.
The Ems Dispatch incident is a truly classic feat of diplomacy. Even a mere
sensible person like me can appreciate it.
This is essentially a provocation.
Well, if Bismarck’s move was a provocation, maybe this is more like
coaxing. Well, I’ll leave the detailed categorizing to the academics, but I
still want to praise this move with a bravo from the bottom of my heart.
“That’s right. Even if they don’t come to help them, all it will take is
someone to whisper, ‘They abandoned them.’ It can’t hurt to send around
that kind of disinformation.”
“It’s a marvelous idea. I’m surprised he thought of it.”
Well.
The Republican administration will probably hate getting a reputation as
the type that watches resisting civilians die in the middle of total war when
they need the unity of their people.
A nation can’t expect its people to accept its logic that a small sacrifice
will benefit the majority.
Really, the only ones who declare something like that are the Soviets or
their ilk, although in Pol Pot’s case his “small sacrifice” was about a third of
the population.
Well, some nations go to war under the pretext of protecting their
citizens, so I guess it balances out.
Deploying troops because of murdered missionaries is a cliché by now.
The Empire has a few past conflicts along the same lines.
Of course, purely as a diplomatic issue, a country shouldn’t be lazy
when it comes to protecting its citizens. Or rather, the people pay taxes to
be protected. Even in a night-watchman state, the people want protection
from their government, so that should be provided.
In that sense, security is the nation’s duty. Well, it probably only goes so
far, but still.
Oh, I’ve gotten quite off track. This is no time to let my thoughts
wander.
“But what does that have to do with me?”
How does a mere field major like me fit into a grand strategy like that?
I honestly have no idea. Really—how?
 In principle, it’s better for confidentiality—there’ll be fewer leaks—if
fewer people know, so I’m sure it’s on a need-to-know basis only, but I have
to ask.
“It’s simple. Apparently, your 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion will be the
rear guard for the retreat.”
“…They think far too much of us.”
Actually, considering what happens to people who know too much…
The civilian method is to give people a large retirement allowance or
pension to keep their mouths shut. Yeah, that gets expensive. Hence, all the
criticism of how much golden parachutes cost.
Conversely, if you want to keep costs down and resolve things in a
practical manner, you can render people incapable of talking. And if you
can accomplish it legally on a battlefield, it’s a no-brainer.
…Is this to threaten us into staying quiet about Arene? The thought
sends a chill up my spine.
Maybe I’m thinking too hard, but it sure seems like my loyalty is being
questioned. It’s true that in a pinch I prioritize my own safety, but…I’ve
still been getting results for them. And I’m pretty sure I’ve been displaying
my allegiance to the organization at every opportunity.
No, maybe they found out I hesitated in Arene? But I don’t recall that
resulting in any failures. Plus, I have the great excuse of protecting our own
people.
Yeah, I want to believe there are no issues. Then why are we getting
stuck as the rear guard?
“Your mission will only be a delaying defense, but it’ll be rough, I’m
sure. You’re probably being summoned to discuss it.”
“A delaying defense when we’re half-enveloped? Losing half of my
troops won’t buy us time.”
We got asked this question all the time in the academy, but I never
thought I would actually be put in this situation.
It’s possible, but I’m not doing it and Let’s try it are very different things.
It’s easy to say pretty words like, I’ll use my subordinates as a shield,
but to actually do it takes a tremendous amount of discipline.
At least, it’s too much to ask of a young officer like me.
“Half…? You’d be basically wiped out…”
“Yes, I’m sure we would be. I never thought I’d end up having to
actually implement a scenario from the academy’s oral exam.”
I want to shout, Surely, you must be joking! but nothing would be more
pointless. I feel like I have at least a little understanding of Major Uger’s
personality.
Basically, I don’t think he’s the type of guy to joke around.
Besides, as long as I have no idea why he would lie to me, it’s safer to
assume it’s the truth. In other words, I’m going to be the tail end of the
army performing delaying action as we retreat? What an elegant way to
indirectly tell me to drop dead.
Am I allowed to say that this is something they should have a family of
warriors like the Shimahdzus23 do and not mere mages? I just barely
manage to control my urge to flee out the window of the car. Running away
now won’t improve my situation one bit. I have to think how I can resolve
this—no, how to survive. I need to find a way out.
Fortunately, my subordinates are all capable shields. I may need to use
the Shimahdzus special, the sutegamari fighting retreat. Maybe I should
apply to license it. Gotta follow the rules at all times.
“You’re overthinking it. It won’t take that long. Won’t you basically be
on lookout?”
“On the perpetual battlefield, you have to be prepared for the worst,
though, you know? Not that I enjoy having that temperament…”
My hope is that they just get the lines moved back in a hurry so we don’t
have to suffer. In other words, it’s only a hope. I can’t risk my life on this
sad, little chance. We have to be an ultra-vigilant rear guard. What the
heck?
If I was going to feel this sick, I shouldn’t have eaten that beef stew. I
wanna throw up. Was the reason Rudel drank milk because his stomach
couldn’t handle anything more than that?
No, I think he was serious about nutrition and just a total battlefield
addict.
But maybe I should take a page from his book and drink some milk; it’d
be good for my health. I’ll take some time to seriously consider this later.
“…We’ll do our best and try not to take too much time.”
“I appreciate it, Major Uger.”
Anyhow, what the heck.
It’ll be fine if I can go to General von Zettour directly and get him to
take back the orders later, but…
If they’re trying to shut us up, he definitely won’t.
No, even if he doesn’t turn down my request, the danger of being
disposed of will never quite leave us.
In that case, I might have to consider surrendering to the Republic in
order to survive. Well, no, I guess that would be dangerous, too… It’s so
unlucky that we accidentally sunk that Commonwealth vessel. At worst, I
would be sacrificed for long-term friendly relations between the
Commonwealth and the Republic or whatever. Actually, that’s definitely
what would happen.
If that’s true, then the first thing I need to do is get out of this jam.
“Either way, as long as we’re soldiers, we do what we must. That’s how
it is, right?”
Damn it. I have to pretend I don’t know anything and survive. Of course,
the ideal would be if this is all a misunderstanding.
It’s better to be pessimistically prepared than think optimistically and
fail. If you’re assuming you’re fine at the cost calculation stage and you put
too much trust in a 5.7-meter standard for sea walls, what happens?
Of course, a corporation has to be conscious of costs. Rather, I think a
nation that wages a war with no sense of cost is far madder. I choose to
firmly support peace. That said, I’m all for intervening in a region in order
to secure limited interests.
The costs of a war waged by a practical economic agent should be
capped within a permissible limit. And how about the escargots’ standards?
Power plants? More like fortresses. Well, the actual fortresses they build
have pretty well-known reputations, in various senses of the word, e.g., the
Maginot Line.
Ahh, this is no good. It appears my intellectual curiosity and purity are
making my mind wander.
“Either way, Major von Degurechaff, for now, we’ve reunited. How
about a toast to mark the occasion?”
“All I have is ersatz coffee, but if that works, I’m happy to.”
Anyhow, next time I’ll make sure to have some milk on hand.
Incidentally, for some reason, the Empire is famous for its milk.
 [chapter] VII Preparation to Move
Forward

MAY 10, UNIFIED YEAR 1925

Magic Major Tanya von Degurechaff is advancing with a dismal look on

her face. No, she’s forced to advance. As an imperial soldier, she should be
relishing an attack deep in enemy territory with a plethora of emotions, but
all that is on Tanya’s mind is the natural human desire to not die.
That is probably the inevitable thought of someone compelled to charge
by circumstances. Tanya, skillfully casting formulas and causing enemies to
burst into gory bloom, is doing her best so that on the surface, at least, she
is an utterly fearless field major leading the charge.
“Break! Break!”
“04, Fox Three, Fox Three!”
“Fucking hell, 13 is hit!”
“01 to 10, 11. Cover him! Then hurry up and get him to the rear!”
It’s her unit’s radio chatter. The troops are less calm than usual. For them
to sound upset during an operation isn’t so rare, but exchanges of
struggling, frantic curses are uncommon for the veteran 203rd Aerial Mage
Battalion.
That said, it’s not exactly surprising. She looks up at the sky and finds
herself fantasizing about punching Being X’s head off with her clenched
fist.
If God exists, he must be some inflexible being like an evil computer.
With that thought, she forces herself to freeze any mental effort that doesn’t
help her survive on the battlefield, and she focuses on combat maneuvers.
The sky is full of shells, and “crowded” doesn’t begin to cover it. Like
pelting rain or hail, iron is being shot up from the ground instead of falling
down. Just a ton of iron. A truly brutal amount of iron is flying toward a
single target. If this unending blaze of gunfire in the darkness represents
human activity, then I can declare that civilization has, in a way, evolved in
the exact opposite of the ideal direction.
Hell exists on the Rhine. The trials of purgatory are taking place here
today.
This is where a human’s life is worth the least. No, the lowest price is
updated each day after hitting limit-down at this nearest station to hell. This
is where the god of the dead and evil spirits make bank. A world where
human lives plunge into dreadful deflation relative to lead bullets. This is a
purgatory where the boundary between life and death is the haziest it ever
gets.
Distinguished mages are no exception to this rule. Mages are feared on
the surface, but the Rhine is also their graveyard.
“Fairy 01 to CP, we’re completely enveloped. We won’t last long.
What’s the situation like?”
Only mages have trouble dealing damage at eight thousand feet. For
fighter planes, that altitude even allows for some comfort.
On top of that, the high explosives fired at these aircraft and the dense
curtain of anti–air shot could slaughter a mage with ease.
Mages deploy magic walls about a meter from their bodies as protective
films.
If that defends them, it’s the same as the mages receiving no damage at
all. But though they’re magic, these walls aren’t so strong.
The biggest ordinary single shot a protective film can defend against in a
direct hit is 12.7 mm.
Of course, every mage is a little different, but in a saturation attack, even
infantry small arms can weaken and penetrate a protective film. If they
concentrate on defense and funnel more resources into it, a film can
withstand up to about 40 mm.
Even assuming that level of protection, taking direct hits from large-
caliber shells is impossible. Plus, if they do get hit, they may be dazed and
unable to rely on their speed to evade.
As a mage’s last line of defense, the defensive shell, armor they build
with their own power right up against their flesh, is as strong as you might
think. But since they can’t bend the laws of physics, they have to be ready
for shocks from impact.
Even dispersed, the shock to the internal organs from a direct hit with a
120 mm would render a mage helpless. Even if they were lucky and only
blacked out, they would still crash. And probably most of them would get
minced where they lie.
For better or worse, my orb, the Elinium Type 95, can repel up to 88 mm
shots with its protective film. Theoretically, it can also create a defensive
shell that can stand up to 120 mm grade shots. I’m not anxious to test that.
Only researchers want to test bulletproof vests in actual combat. The
people who have to use them would never do that.
Plus, when my orb blocks a shot, high-density-interference factors get
scattered around and obstruct magic use over a wide area. It’s possible to
take advantage of that effect to make yourself nearly undetectable. A simple
way to think of it is that it’s like putting an ECM24 on full blast.
It’s probably exceedingly difficult to spot flying objects with optical
apparatuses at night.
Of course, since it’s so similar to an ECM, the interference in itself is a
frank indicator.
If your radar whites out, it’s self-evident that something is there.
As such, the situation is not suitable for stealth maneuvers.
If we’re detected but they can’t lock on, however, guided missiles or
disciplined fire won’t be a threat, so breaking through at high speed and
harassing them a bit makes a great invisibility cloak.
The huge, critical side effect of that is my psychological suffering, but
there’s nothing I can do about it.
“Phase two will be finished momentarily. Until phase three orders are
given, each unit should continue designated operational maneuvers.”
A noise-filled radio message.
Not only is it encoded, it’s a transmission between mages that uses a
special format with directional waves via orbs. You can just barely have a
conversation using this system, so it only really works for practical
communications.
 The high density of magic remaining in the air creates ear-piercing
noise.
I hate that we’re supposed to throw off the Republican Army observers
when we don’t even know the positions of our fellow soldiers. After all,
we’re a rear guard that is jutting—or rather, charging—into enemy territory.
Once the entire theater gets involved and large-scale maneuvers begin,
concealing ourselves will become important. Although we’re withdrawing
under cover of night, regardless of how it would go with a division, doing it
with an army group is a different story.
As highly mobile and responsive as my group of excellent mages is,
we’re not a big enough force to cover the entire Rhine area.
And with one somewhat undermanned augmented battalion, the normal
methods would be impossible.
Which is why we have this deceptive plan to convince the enemy that
we’re planning an offensive using a reconnaissance-in-force mission. The
General Staff concluded that it wouldn’t be possible to hide the activation
of the rail network that would accompany the large-scale maneuver in the
theater, so instead they deliberately spread false information about it: “The
Empire is moving supplies and troops in preparation for a major offensive.”
If I hadn’t heard about it when I met with General von Zettour in the
capital, I would have believed it myself, they put so much effort into the
story.
In the capital, a public relations officer made reference to a “large-scale
operation,” albeit in unofficial settings.
There were rumors of “a major operation on the Rhine lines.”
And there were the supplies bustling back and forth by rail. It’s a huge,
tricky retreat designed to draw the enemy out and destroy them. We’ll need
a ton of matériel. And reports on Arene are being thoroughly censored.
Thanks to that, we’ve convinced even most of the informed people that
the movement on the imperial side is reinforcements for the suppression of
the revolt in Arene. The Empire admits, blushing, that it has failed to quell
the situation. The parts of the story that couldn’t be blocked with a strict
gag order have been turned into rumors that control had been achieved to
keep up appearances. The tight plan tricks people into believing the
opposite of what’s true.
We don’t have enough data to guess how the Republic is taking it, but
people have a tendency to believe what they want to believe, so I think we
can expect some results.
Even so, they’re probably suspicious that the Empire, which supposedly
has supply line issues, is launching a desperate all-out offensive. But I can’t
believe we actually fooled them, even if they are suspicious.
The trick worked brilliantly, and it seems the Republic was even on
guard against our desperate offensive. The Imperial Army’s most elite
mages have performed a recon-in-force on an unprecedentedly deep level
and met with formidable Republican Army interception, just like the
Empire wanted.
Thus, Tanya and her battalion, reflecting the desperate Imperial Army’s
impatience, must pull off this deceptive recon-in-force mission with no
regard for casualties.
And the report that the Republican Army is on guard against deep
penetration by a recon-in-force unit was music to the Imperial Army
General Staffers’ ears. They bought it, they all think, relieved by the good
news. Now the retreating units don’t have to worry about getting their butts
kicked.
But though she may be a staff officer, Tanya is in a fight for her life on
the battlefield and thinking about awful things like a smile on Being X’s
face.
In order to keep the enemy from finding out it’s a ruse, the battalion is
forced to carry out this recon-in-force mission without regard for sacrifices.
The 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion is spread out along the front acting as
a decoy and rear guard so the enemy doesn’t realize the army is retreating.
Behind us, they’re probably doing their best to move the clunky field
guns to the rear. Once that phase is over, the infantry will withdraw. The
field engineers have already laid traps. We can expect the move to be
finished within the next few hours. Hence, my unit is stuck getting shot up
like this while we buy that time.
The object of the recon-in-force fishing so frequently performed on this
front is to find out about the enemy’s defensive preparations and positions
of their forces. Since both sides see recon as a sign of a major impending
offensive, the receiving end would prioritize concealing their troops and not
move their reserve forces around in an aggressive way.
If that would buy the retreating Imperial Army the time they needed,
then Tanya and her battalion had to go in. That’s what the orders told them
to do.
Of course, in order to prevent us from gathering intelligence, the
Republican Army gives us an enthusiastic welcome with dense anti–air fire.
Plus, since we’re facing an interception from a base so far back, our rate of
safe returns isn’t going to be very high. In fact, the yardstick for whether it’s
actually recon-in-force or not is how many casualties the attacking team
suffers.
“Fairy 08 to 01. I’m hit. Going to fall back.”
It isn’t uncommon for the guy flying next to me to be put out of
commission. As for the efficiency of their interception alone, though, as
long we have their radar whited out, there’s no way they can use disciplined
fire.
Conversely, with skilled radar observers guiding the fire, they probably
would have been able to intercept more effectively.
But the Republican Army, which tends to rely on radar observer fire and
mages’ disciplined fire, is horrible at visual combat.
The main reason we’re still taking damage is the sheer amount of iron
they’re throwing at us.
You can connect even with lousily aimed shots if you fire enough of
them. It’s just terrible.
…Seeing this extravagance, I realize I should have bought stocks in
ammunition companies. I can’t regret this oversight enough.
While they are consumables that cost little individually and therefore
aren’t very profitable, if they’re getting squandered like this, the
manufacturers must be doing gangbusters. I had been putting my salary into
natural resources, thinking the profits on munitions would tend to be kept
low, but maybe that was a mistake.
“01, roger. 06, 09, cover him. I’m gonna take two shots, so fall back
during that time.”
What is done cannot be undone. As I reconsider the conclusion I reached
back then, I need to apply what I learn to the future.
Here it is, my constructive orientation toward the future. It’s important
to always have a positive attitude.
Anyhow, right now I need to fill in the hole left by my injured man.
That’s only a matter of course, but it’s better if I can avoid danger. Then is
not covering him because I fear danger the right thing to do? The answer,
unfortunately, is no.
Amateurs tend to be scared of any danger they can see. They worry that
if they do anything, something terrifying will happen, so they freeze up.
So an amateur frets that they’ll give their position away if they shoot.
Certainly, they may be right to perceive some danger there. But it’s still
only an amateur’s thinking.
Doing nothing means losing an opportunity to do something.
What humans should fear the most is forfeiting profit. If I offer the
retreating man an escort in this situation, I attach two of my subordinates to
him as support. So we have a cluster of three people. If I fire two supporting
shots, the sky is still full of smoke from bursting shells and searchlights. I
doubt anyone will notice a couple of shots in the middle of all that.
If anything, I can expect that the two supporters will get a great reaction
as decoys. In other words, while they’re withdrawing, they’ll monopolize
the enemy’s attention. If by taking a slight risk I can steer clear of danger,
then naturally, that is the rational choice. And they do have the chance of
falling back to a safe area, so in game theory terms, it’s not too bad. It’s not
zero-sum, after all.
Best of all, if I send out decoys under the pretext of providing support
for a retreating soldier, I can pursue my personal profit while caring about
my subordinates. The chances that the idiot who got hit will be saved
increase. This is it: a win-win scenario.
“Commander, it’s too dangerous.”
Of course, my men are pros, so they recognize the danger. They don’t
want to be decoys. That’s dangerous. I understand very well why they want
to protest.
“We have no choice. There’s no time. Do it.”
But oh, how sad. No, for me, I should probably say it’s happy. This is
the army, and I’m the superior officer leading my troops.
Of course, when she remembers that the whole reason she’s stuck here
suffering in the first place is because this is the army, she’s sorry. In the
capital, her superior officer, General von Zettour, gave her strict orders in
writing to operate under the direct command of General von Rudersdorf.
The orders had come down the official route in the proper format. In
other words, since I have orders from General von Rudersdorf, I have no
choice but to accept them and be the rear guard here. This world is quite
easy to understand.
“It’s an intense mission, but I know you can handle it”?
“The higher-ups have extremely high expectations of you”?
I’m sure no one can euphemize forcibly sealing lips so well as him.
Since I couldn’t get him to listen to my objections, it must be that. It could
be a misunderstanding, but it’s best to be a pessimist and prepare for the
worst.
So once I’m prepared like a pessimist, I’ll be an optimist. Ideally, I’d
like to build a win-win relationship with the General Staff. I don’t think I
have a bad reputation as a staff officer in the first place.
Then there’s a fairly good chance that I’ve been sent here out of military
necessity. Thinking that, a slight grin appears on Tanya’s face. Yeah, maybe
I’ve been worrying too much.
Surely it must just be that my superiors want to break out of this war
situation. I want to work with both major generals again as soon as the
opportunity presents itself. If possible, I’d like a chance to chat with them.
Of course, first I have to get out of this. The future is important, but right
now, surviving is even more crucial.
I quickly load an interference formula from my computation orb into a
rifle bullet. I deploy a defensive shell in front of my troops to shield them
from the disproportionate shots flying up at us.
By interrupting the line of fire, I give them temporary safety. Put another
way, even the Republican numbskulls can tell I’ve used an interference
formula to manifest some sort of wall that is blocking their shots. Naturally,
they’ll realize there is something behind it.
At that point, most of the hail of bullets will be aimed that way.
“01 to 06 and 09. Get a move on. That won’t hold for long.”
Anyhow, if the decoys move too slowly, they won’t last very long,
either, but I need to keep the enemy’s eyes on something besides me.
Hurry, hurry, hurry!
“Roger, good luck.”
“Yeah…may the Lord protect you.”
Irritatingly, instead of “may your luck be everlasting” or something like
that, I say some incomprehensible nonsense about the Lord’s protection. I
want to cry, but without the Elinium Type 95, my protective film would be
blown away in an instant, and I’d be destroyed, defensive shell and all.
In a way, Being X is like consumer finance. I don’t want to borrow, and
I shouldn’t, but I have to. Ahh, eat shit.
The only weapons that can intercept us at eight thousand feet are anti–
air cannons, but if I get hit with one of those, it won’t end well.
“CP to Fairy. Report on casualties and status.”
“Fairy 01 to CP. Half of us have already dropped out. So far, we’ve
achieved half of our scheduled numbers. Been looking for that Republican
Army ammo dump but can’t find it.”
Thanks to that, even my battalion of tough mages is losing lots of men.
No one has died, but there are probably more than a few who will never
return to the lines. I’m glad I was honest about the “constant danger” when
I was recruiting.
If I was accused of false advertising, I would have betrayed the first
principle of sales born of the modern era: honesty. I’m not such a halfwit
that I think I can fool the market by shouting about “mislabeling.” A lack of
faith in a trust economy is terrifying, just terrifying.
Sheesh, I guess I should be breathing a sigh of relief. Or should I lament
that just because we blew up the factory in Dacia everyone’s gone off and
convinced themselves that if anyone can blow up an enemy ammo dump,
the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion can?
“CP, roger. 01, got some bad news for you.”
It’s not as if I believe in luck, but I recall that my forerunners
emphasized it as a factor. Apparently, when the great Matsusheeta25 hired
people, he asked whether they were lucky or not. Before I was inhumanely
sent to this insane world, I didn’t understand it.
But now I do. It may only be a question of probability theory, but luck is
worth researching.
“What is it?”
“A battalion-sized group of mages is rapidly approaching the Rhine
lines from the edge of our radar range. Hold them off until the end of phase
three.”
“…Fairy 01, roger. Transitioning to interdiction combat. Anything
else?” Suppressing the rage welling up inside me, I just barely maintain a
businesslike tone. They say it so simply.
I may say interdiction combat, but we’re essentially the strength of two
companies performing recon-in-force. We’re not in close formation. On top
of that, just passing through defended positions takes a lot out of us.
In contrast, the intercepting side is full of energy. The air we’re flying
above the firing positions is their home turf, so as long as they don’t get hit
accidentally, they don’t have to worry about that.
It has to be much easier on their nerves.
We may be a band of elites, but I doubt our opponents are the type to
unthinkingly say “yes, sir” when ordered to intercept us.
After all, they’re a battalion scrambled from the surface to obstruct our
recon mission.
It goes without saying that they’re a select team. I don’t want to kill
myself by wishfully hoping the enemies are numbskulls. The only way to
survive is to prepare like a pessimist.
“You have permission to immediately abort your recon-in-force
mission.”
And then, hmm, that’s an interesting thing to have permission to do.
It’s a fact that permission to abort a mission like this isn’t given very
often. Certainly, now that we have interdiction combat orders, if the retreat
is going according to schedule, aborting this mission would be one way to
limit further losses.
So it seems rational for the brass to allow it. But think about it. I
definitely won’t fall back. Or rather, a little thinking tells me military
practicality is a trap.
If someone offers you a paved road straight to hell, even with good
intentions, it’s much safer to veer off and drive across the wasteland.
“…I hope that won’t be necessary.”
I’m not an amateur. As an economically minded person who values
rational thought, I didn’t go through training for no reason. I wasn’t built to
the specifications of some impractical entity like Being X. I can swear it on
the honor of the intelligent winners of evolution who survived as the fittest,
Homo sapiens.
“What? What do you mean?”
“The point of recon-in-force is a survey of the enemy’s interception
capabilities. If we abort now, we risk revealing the deceptive purpose of the
mission.”
If the recon-in-force ruse to mask the withdrawal fails, the rear guard
will have to hold out and buy time till the very end. If we fail to buy time,
that’s it. What is now an orderly retreat of ground troops will descend into
chaos, and they could be trampled.
For that reason, we should hesitate to even transmit this sort of
conversation, even if it is encoded.
Tanya’s only choice is to have them move the retreat along as quickly as
possible. The side giving the orders will probably order the rear guard to
buy time even if they have to get literally wiped out doing it. If I were on
the side giving the orders, I wouldn’t hesitate to do it that way, either. It’s
logical. If there’s a problem with this plan, it’s that I’m on the receiving
side. Fucking hell.
Either way, evading this battalion only to be pursued by every
Republican unit on the Rhine front would be way stupider.
In other words, considering the risk, staying here is all we can do. I’m
not the kind of person who doesn’t know the folly of not investing because
you’re scared of a tiny risk. What matters most is the returns.
“Since we can’t have them finding out until phase three is over, the only
choice we have is to take out this intercepting unit and continue our
mission.”
“…Understood. I’ll have them move as fast as they can.”
“Thanks. May the Lord protect you.”
In the end, I’m relieved that CP is cooperating. Honestly, this is so
rough. Now then, in order to survive, I’ve got to be brave and do my best
not to lose to this abnormal world.
I have no intention of sacrificing myself to an order to keep flying after I
can no longer focus and my will is nearly broken. I’m fighting for my life,
and that’s it.
“Okay, attention, all hands. We’re headed into a counter-mage fight.
Let’s teach the fools challenging us a lesson.”
Geez. You could have been enjoying a nice break in the rear, but you
came to challenge us? Personally, it’s hard for me to praise that attitude
because I know that unpaid overtime doesn’t contribute much to labor
productivity. Why would you proactively enter such a pain-in-the-ass
battle?
I’m a peace-loving person, so this pains me. Surely there is no one who
loves human beings more than I do. And yet. It’s rare to be ordered to kill
them so often as I am. As a rational, thinking person, it would be
embarrassing to curse my fate. Still, I sense some absurdity.
It’s almost as if the conceited face of Being X is about to appear in the
back of my mind with all the narcissism of a transcendent existence. Oh
God, if you exist, you are surely a rotten bastard.
Things really don’t go how you’d like. I just want to live a quiet life.

Nothing seemed particularly different about that day. Anyone would say
so: It was a normal day. No, it was a normal battlefield.
If anything was out of the ordinary, it was that there were a few military
observers visiting from the Commonwealth to foster friendly relations. But
that wasn’t enough to register as a blip when everyone’s emotions were so
exhausted.
After chatting with the bigwigs over dinner, the visitors were guided by
one of our officers to begin their inspection. For better or worse, it wasn’t of
interest to the troops. They were so tired they didn’t care, so they banished
it from their consciousness and went to sleep.
At that point, the Third Mage Battalion belonging to the Republican
Army’s Twenty-Second Division was already on its ascent. Whether
sleeping on the ground or heading into the sky, the soldiers were faithful to
their duties… To the mages who took off upon receiving the scramble
order, protecting the sound sleep of our fellow soldiers was part of our job.
The mission was to eliminate the battalion daring to try recon-in-force,
and we anticipated a secondary objective of assisting ground troops. Our
biggest problem was troops not being able to sleep due to harassing sneak
attacks, so the importance of the mission to restore tranquility might be
difficult for someone who hasn’t been on the front lines to understand.
“Control to all hands. Our guests today are pretty serious. You’re going
to have your hands full.”
And the words from the combat controller, though somewhat grave,
were overflowing with the confidence that things would work out somehow.
If a division or regiment of mages had forced their way through or
infiltrated to attack, it might have been different, but repelling a battalion
doing reconnaissance-in-force wouldn’t be so hard.
After all, despite the “in-force” tacked on, it’s essentially
“reconnaissance.” They would probably withdraw upon making contact.
Well, I genuinely had to hand it to the guys charging in that day, though—
they were really going for it. It takes a lot of determination to get as far as
they did. And judging from the size of the unit, they’d make quite a racket
with harassing attacks, so we had to stay vigilant… Numbers is a problem
in any era.
“Control, who are the invaders?”
“An augmented battalion. They’re already past the third defensive line.
It’s only a matter of time till they break through the fourth.”
Usually a recon-in-force mission would sniff around the first or second
defensive line positions and fall back. At an attack position, they could
expect support, and from the second defensive line, it was still fairly easy to
get back to their base. If that was how it went, it would have a limited effect
on the front lines, since they were prepared. More than anything, it wasn’t
something that warranted waking up the officers sleeping in the rear.
If we woke up the whole army for every little scuffle with these frequent
recon missions done expressly as a feint or to distract us, that would be
playing right into their hands.
Everyone just hoped we could get enemy engagements done quietly. The
little fights between recon-in-force units and our interceptors happened so
often they were facetiously treated as part of the nighttime scenery.
“They’re too fast. What are the guys on the defensive lines doing?”
Maybe that’s why we hesitated at this enemy coming in so rapidly. It
went without saying that they had to be a pretty enthusiastic unit if they
were already past the third defensive line. There was a good chance they
had located our shelters and frontline command.
There were rumors of a desperate imperial offensive.
I was suspicious, but…unless the enemy was awfully determined, they
wouldn’t usually be able to get past the third defensive lines. What’s more,
usually once the second line is passed, the standby unit is scrambled. We
only received sortie orders after the third line was breached, and it was fair
to call that an unbelievably slow response.
“Widespread magic jamming has paralyzed our scouting network, so our
response is pretty delayed.”
And of course, the controller’s voice reflected the frustrating state of
affairs—how could it not? The situation was unclear; we were a bit miffed
at the urgent order to intercept after being told repeatedly to stand by.
I can’t believe we’re stuck having to stop them before they pass the last
defensive line. We risk damage from harassing attacks as well as them
taking home intelligence. Inevitably, this state of affairs had everyone
feeling ashamed.
A battalion of mages may have breached the lines, but the Rhine general
headquarters should have been able to crush them easily. Considering the
intelligence they had, though, this was liable to end in disaster.
I was sure a few high-ranking officers’ heads would roll because the
response to the widespread magic jamming was delayed. The radio
operators would surely be crawling around unrolling cable to strengthen our
communications. And I bet it would be our job to cover them.
“And apparently the anti–air fire is stuck relying on optical instruments,
so watch out—the enemy force might be doing just fine.”
“Roger. Don’t want to underestimate an injured beast. Do you have
more information about them? Whatever you know is fine. Got anything?”
Anyhow, the future is the future. Today is today’s mission. And it was
going to be more intense than the usual missions. Everyone realized for the
first time how worrisome the situation was.
And we were shocked. Unlike when we repel exhausted enemy mages,
this time it was possible we’d be up against a force that had been able to
conserve their energy to a relative degree. The irritating veil of night made
the situation we were facing even more difficult.
Since our anti–air gunners were relying on optical instruments, we
would have to worry about friendly fire, too. Considering how confusing it
could be to tell friend from foe, it wasn’t unthinkable.
“Due to the awful jamming, we haven’t managed to identify them, but
our superior says they seem like elites. There’s also the rumors of a large-
scale imperial offensive. Stay on your guard!”
“I appreciate the advice. Troops, game faces on and let’s go!”
Our commander’s encouraging voice tells us to prepare for the
challenge. The determination and spirit we could hear indicated the
appropriate amount of nervousness for a vigilant warrior.
But that’s only in hindsight.
They were wrong. We didn’t need game faces. What we needed was to
be crazy enough about death to find a way to live through it.
 “All hands, this is your battalion commander. We’ve located the enemy.
Prepare to engage.”
Both sides’ fields of vision were narrower due to the dark, which gave
us trouble.
We discovered each other nearly simultaneously. The battalion
commanders engaged at about the same time, too. It was simple.
Republican mage doctrine is to work as a group and overwhelm the
individual strength of imperial mages using organized combat and
disciplined fire.
It was basically an unexpected encounter battle in an area approached by
the enemy. Plus, the powerful jamming caused by high mana density.
Even a conservative estimate would say this battle would be something
we’re not used to. And our opponents were a unit composed of veteran
mages with a wealth of experience and a talent for close-quarters fighting.
There was no way a normal unit could take the brunt of this assault
honed in Dacia and Norden.
If the vanguard had held out just a little longer, maybe the rear guard
could have gotten away. Or if there had been just a few more mages in the
rear guard, the unexpected shots could have stopped the enemy’s approach
so the vanguard could get away.
But everything fell just a bit short. The results were disastrous. The
shock caused confusion. A storm of formula bullets from a submachine gun
heightened it.
Things deteriorated—we’d been had, and there was no way to stop the
blood or the damage.
The explosion formula, loosed by the imperial mage commander at the
helm, opened a huge hole in the vanguard. At the same time the breach
appeared, multiple optical shot formulas were aimed to crush commanders
of each company, and just like that, the Republican command chain’s head
was lopped off.
But Republican troops could still, if only barely, resist in an organized
way. The rear guard began using suppressive fire; they knew they had to
cover the gap in the vanguard.
For a short time, the rear guard managed to cover for the vanguard to
plug up that hole. They had enough energy to attempt to reorganize their
force. Their vigorous resistance succeeded in keeping the attack at bay, but
as a result, they couldn’t give the vanguard covering fire. They used their
full strength preventing the enemy approach, but then had no energy left to
protect the vanguard.
When furious resistance interrupted the imperial charge, the mages
suddenly switched targets to the isolated Republicans out front.
It was around two companies of imperial mages versus the two
companies of the Republican vanguard. But the latter had been completely
stripped of its leadership, so it didn’t even have support; in that cut-off
state, the Republican mages were isolated sitting ducks.
As a result, the numerical balance between the two sides flipped. The
rear guard had its hands full defending itself when the vanguard’s fate was
decided with a swift incision. Normally, the imperial mages were prevented
from approaching by the Republican Army’s obnoxious disciplined fire.
Meanwhile, after their supporting volley, the Republicans would be able to
stop the remnants of the enemy from breaking through. This time, when the
two sides met, however, the imperial mages got to release their pent-up
anger and cut the Republicans down.
“Attention, Fairy Battalion. Engage in pursuit.”
The rest happened too easily. By the time the rear guard suddenly tried
to retreat after losing its shield, it was too late.
The Republicans didn’t have enough distance or speed to shake off the
imperial mages, who had accelerated for the attack.
Their race to escape the theater wasn’t to be. Ultimately, the Third Mage
Battalion of the Republican Army’s Twenty-Second Division was
pronounced annihilated.
Ironically, the only survivors were a few downed in the initial explosion
formula who narrowly escaped death.
The Republican Army ended up mobilizing the Rhine general
headquarters’ select mage battalion, but they failed to locate the invaders.
On the contrary, they let them burn several supply depots. At that point, the
Republican Army Command shifted its full attention entirely onto the
invading battalion.
Rumors of a major offensive. Whispers of the fate of Arene.
They fought bravely to the last man.
The stirring echoes of propaganda convinced the Republic that the
people had sacrificed themselves and met a tragic end. We can’t let their
deaths be in vain.
The distress of the Imperial Army and the cornered supply lines were
simple enough for the Empire to fix, but the blow still stung. So it didn’t
hesitate to choose military maneuvers as the way to break out of that
horrible situation.
To secure the front, to secure the Empire.
But that’s exactly why people of both nations thought…We’re so sick of
this. So the Empire was at wits’ end over its unreliable supply lines, and the
Republic saw them as hope.
Little birds were twittering about the movements of the Imperial Army,
and the same thing was on everyone’s minds: The Empire is not okay with
the current situation. And it was the absolute truth. The Imperial Army
General Staff had realized that if they focused on beating the bothersome
partisans while relying on a limping rail system for supplies, maintaining an
aimless front wasn’t worth it.
That objective reality fueled the Republic’s misunderstanding. Everyone
firmly believed that the Empire’s powerful military organization solved
problems through major offensives, like it did in Dacia, like it did in
Norden.
And apart from the delaying at the beginning of the war, the Empire had
always defended its territory to the end. Yes, its territory.
Nobody would withdraw from their own territory. That was the one-
sided belief the Republicans had. But to the officers of the Republican
Army who paid for a sliver of land with blood, it was self-evident truth.
They were proud of defending their home with mountains of dead, so they
wondered, Who would part with their fatherland?
And that was why they ended up misreading the Imperial Army General
Staff war machine’s intentions so completely it was ridiculous. Perhaps you
could say the Republican soldiers got trapped in their own emotions.
That day, as a result, the Imperial Army succeeded in abandoning the
front without the Republican Army noticing.

Now then, it’s about time to talk about the seed of the Empire’s victory.
 It all started with the reality of conducting recon-in-force of heavily
guarded positions. The dilemma was serious: high casualties versus tactical
necessity.
The fact that estimates said even the Devil of the Rhine and her elite
troops would lose at least half their numbers should speak to the danger of
it.
Command and staff officers all understood and struggled with the
dilemma that despite that premise, there was an urgent military need for
recon-in-force.
An augmented battalion performing recon-in-force created too many
casualties, but any fewer soldiers and they wouldn’t be able to achieve their
objective.
Facing this dilemma, the Imperial Army requested its Technical Arsenal
to research a new weapon that would enable penetration into heavily
guarded enemy positions and for some degree of reconnaissance. The
engineers tentatively suggested a few technical solutions to the problem,
and the one that seemed promising was from Aerial Technical Arsenal.
They proposed developing a high-altitude recon unit to fly outside the range
of anti–air fire. The aerial units that had teams for special recon missions
were superior to begin with.
To the other departments, however, regardless of the latent potential in
aerial reconnaissance, there was one cause for concern: Was it actually
possible to achieve with their current level of technology? It may have been
easy enough to talk about increasing the altitude, but the technical demands
of an aircraft that could fly at high altitude presented a lot of hurdles, and
they weren’t sure they could handle it.
That was the moment Chief Engineer Adelheid von Schugel suggested a
methodology and approach from the magic point of view.
“…What about a special apparatus for additional acceleration during
recon-in-force?”
What the heck is that?
The answer to the question that came into everyone’s minds when they
saw the outline of the problem was simple, in a way.
Reconnaissance-in-force requires penetrating the enemy’s interception
lines. So if one assumes an assault to perform a quick strike and pull out,
sending a fast, heavily armed unit would be best.
 So all they needed to do was rapidly accelerate past the enemy positions
before they could intercept. According to Schugel, putting the mages in
additional acceleration apparatuses would solve everything.
By doing that, they would be able to measure the enemy defenses and
interception ability, so everything would work out for the recon-in-force
mission as well.
The argument that they would be able to achieve their aims to some
degree using mages for recon-in-force was correct. That was why foot
soldiers or mages were used more often than aircraft.
But casualties had exceeded the permissible limit. That’s why the army
had asked the Technical Arsenal for its opinion. This was the conclusion.
“All right. Have the mages charge at high speed.”
Aha, certainly if you change your point of view, all you need to do is
increase the breakthrough success rate of the mages. So it was true that
having them do it at high speed would get the job done. The only problem
was that there weren’t any mages who could operate at such speeds and
altitudes.
The one who offered this solution and wondered how to make it possible
was one genius, Adelheid von Schugel.
His answer? Add speed and altitude with an external apparatus.
The criticism that his idea wasn’t much different from the Aerial
Technical Arsenal’s only went so far. After all, altitude was a by-product in
his plan, which essentially focused only on speed.
Hence, “additional acceleration apparatus.”
But rather than speak of his genius, it’s probably easier to take a look at
his plan.
The apparatus would be equipped with an abundance of extra-large
hydrazine fuel boosters. Of all the ways to secure stable flight, he used
multiple single-use boosters. And once empty, they would detach along
with their external fuel tank, resulting in an even higher speed near the end
of the journey.
On top of that, he gave up on the biggest technical obstacle, regulating
the boosters. With great decisiveness, he conquered the hurdle by deciding
the thing would simply continue on accelerating. Yes, they would just
launch it on a straight path. To put it another way, while it was operating,
the mage wouldn’t be able to adjust the speed at all.
 The apparatus would come with a tank of boron additive for accelerating
in enemy sky, but that was different. The boron additive, estimated to be ten
times as poisonous as potassium cyanide, was for emergency evasion.
To address the feared shock waves and sudden increase in wave drag, all
aeroelasticity issues would be left up to the mage’s protective film and
defensive shell.
(The plan was judged to be possible only with unrestrained booster
consumption; aircraft definitely wouldn’t work.)
With an unbelievable supersonic target speed, Mach 1.5, they would be
able to leave anything in the dust.
And from a purely engineering perspective, it would be easier to realize
than a new reconnaissance aircraft. More importantly, it was expected to be
ready for actual combat soon.
To add one final comment, however: Due to the single-use nature of its
boosters, the additional acceleration apparatus could fly only in a straight
line.
After breaking through the enemy position, mages were required to
return to base under their own steam. No matter how you looked at it, the
thing was a one-way ticket to hell. There’s no point in reconnaissance if you
can’t get back after you go and see.
Even if it’s technically practical, a thing isn’t fit for practical use unless
it can be used, right? In a way, you would expect people to voice that
concern, but when the whispers started…
An officer from an airborne unit murmured an idea that sounded like it
came from another dimension.
“Then what about sending a ‘unit’ to the rear of an enemy position?” he
asked.
Certainly, it was incredibly dangerous to individuals. It would be nearly
impossible to return. Aha, an additional acceleration apparatus that couldn’t
return to base was defective as a reconnaissance vehicle. But why limit its
use to reconnaissance? It would be a more reliable way of delivering mages
behind enemy lines than paradropping.
And it would get them past any intercepting enemies. After all, simply
launching the thing would send it way higher than a practical altitude for
anti–air fire. Depending on how it was used, the army could even anticipate
sending a company of mages directly to the enemy headquarters to
decapitate their operation.
At that point, Major General von Zettour from General Staff Service
Corps went to visit. The research itself continued under Chief Engineer
Schugel, but the General Staff requested fairly detailed progress reports.
And when they understood the value of it, they were overjoyed. The
guerrilla warfare proponents were especially ecstatic supporters, and they
took steps to prioritize proceeding with the plan. The project received literal
leverage from the General Staff.
With that assistance, a prototype was completed just before the partisans
temporarily took over Arene.
And it just so happened that the Elinium Arms Type 97 Assault
Computation Orb was able to make the critical defense shell and protective
film.
According to the test personnel who participated in the experiments, the
assault orb functioned exactly as they had hoped.
Since a measure of reliability had been guaranteed, a first run of twenty
mass production models was rolled out in a hurry.
With that success, the General Staff made a slight but significant
amendment to their decisive battle plan. It was great news for Major
General von Rudersdorf’s strategy to lure the Republican Army in and
destroy them. The apparatus Zettour had spotted while it was in
development in Tech Research was written into the plan. They were both
thrilled. They would achieve what was, in a way, the dream of all General
Staff officers.
Schrecken und Ehrfurcht.
The first phase of the operation named “Shock and Awe” was simple.
“Attack the enemy headquarters directly to cause the collapse of their
line.”
That was it.

MAY 18, UNIFIED YEAR 1925, THE SECOND

DEFENSIVE LINE ON THE RHINE
It was a clear, cold night. In the Imperial Army’s 203rd Aerial Mage
Battalion, Second Lieutenant Warren Grantz was on guard in a wool-lined
field overcoat. It was a quieter night than they’d had in quite a while. Yes, a
quiet night. A peaceful time during which he could sit in a chair on standby
sipping the coffee provided as part of his field rations.
The dark hour was rather tranquil. No shells exploding nearby, no
warnings to be on guard against raids. He couldn’t even remember the last
time they had gone to sleep without hearing so much as rifle fire. It must
have been so long ago.
This calm had come about because the brass carried line consolidation
with extraordinary resolve.
As a result of the successful retreat and reorganization, the Republican
Army had hastily launched an advance into the wide-open vacuum the
Imperial Army had left; apparently, they were too busy with that to bother
with the 203rd. Thanks to that, there was a brief lull on the battlefield. The
battalion commander held off any sorties and told everyone to take a break
before she went back to bed, giving the exhausted soldiers a much-needed
rest.
And so fortunately, perhaps it could be said, the troops were able to
spend a night free of the anxiety induced by the presence of the powerful
Commander Degurechaff. When was the last time that had happened?
Even though these were usually prime hours for nighttime interception
missions or for conducting anti-raid patrols, everything was safe and sound.
Despite knowing they were secure in a rear base, maybe they should
have been a little more nervous about surprise attacks under cover of
darkness. Of course, it wasn’t as if the unit had grown lax.
Even if they were so worn out they could sleep anywhere, including the
mud, they could still respond to urgent orders at the drop of a hat.
Still, they relaxed a mite.
The reason was clear.
The majority of the Republican Army had advanced into the void and
basically forgot about the 203rd’s defensive position.
The moment the Republican Army emerged from its heavily fortified
lines, their soldiers zealously devoted themselves to expanding the army’s
gains.
At this point, they would surely rather move into an abandoned area and
advance the front rather than expend blood and iron fighting over a well-
defended trench line.
Which explained the rare peaceful night.
Naturally, there wasn’t zero concern about pulling the front back. But
their commander had made a confident declaration. “Tomorrow, we’ll be
the tip of the spear that will end this war.” It could have only meant the unit
was gearing up for a serious attack.
Still, though, the thought that they could end the war made things easier.
If our commander has so much faith in the plan, then even if we don’t
completely destroy the Republican Army, it should still be enough to ensure
the Empire’s safety.
And after that, we can focus on rebuilding the territories ravaged by the
war.
…As Grantz reflected fighting so fierce that thoughts of the future were
impossible, he received some concerned looks from his comrades-in-arms.
Once he thought about it more closely, it felt like he hadn’t paid
attention to his surroundings in quite some time. Not that it had actually
been that long, but still. He couldn’t believe he had so much quiet time; it
was more than enough to reflect on the harsher fighting he’d been through.
To calm his nerves, he picked up his cup of now slightly tepid coffee.
Up until that moment, he’d just been drinking it without paying attention,
but the beans were actually pretty good. He’d been told it was ration, but
the presence of beans at all was rare. Considering the scarcity of boiled
water on the battlefield, coffee was quite a luxury.
Since he was on duty, alcohol was obviously prohibited. He was
thankful that they had a good supply of the coffee their commander liked.
It seemed they had requisitioned a ton of it. It was great that when he
wanted to have a good think over a cup, he could do it without resorting to
ersatz coffee. Yes, now that he considered them, Grantz noticed even the
smallest details.
I must really be calm, he mused behind a wry smile… The battalion had
been reorganized due to the wear and tear from repeated battles. Though
their losses were low, it was impossible to get away without a few at least,
so even the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion had taken on replacements and
absorbed part of another unit. And in fact, Grantz and others like him were
originally incorporated as provisional replacements.
 They’d basically been added upon completion of their training. Surely
that was better than being transferred from the familiar unit they’d trained
with to struggle in a new one. Anyhow, the unit based on the 203rd was
now known as the Imperial Army’s 203rd Provisional Composite Battalion
on paper.
Their call sign was Fairy. Pixies, fairies, not much difference really.
Basically, this was just a formality. Eventually, the personnel would be
transferred on paper to the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion and the
“provisional” part of the name would go away.
Thinking along those lines, Grantz could work out the implications of a
temporary reorganization for himself. The higher-ups would do the real
transformation after the upcoming operation.
Mulling over all this, he quietly sipped his coffee. It was an unbelievably
calm night for a battlefield. The view from the trench showed him the same
sky he gazed at every night, but for some reason during these quiet
moments, it looked surprisingly starry.
For someone used to the battlefield, the distinct lack of machine guns
and nighttime harassing fire was actually so out of place that it was nerve-
racking.
“…Relax, Lieutenant. You’re acting strange.”
But he if he got too worked up, others were bound to notice. Agh. I was
just thinking how I can finally get some sleep even on the Rhine lines with
its storms of steel. I still have a ways to go. Do I seem like a chick with
eggshell on its head to everyone else?
“Sorry, Lieutenant Weiss.”
It was First Lieutenant Weiss, who had been hit and injured in Arene.
The whole battalion was glad to hear news of his smooth recovery and
finally welcomed him back the other day. Lieutenant Weiss was the sort of
guy who looked out for the whole unit in one way or another—everyone
felt more shored up when he was around.
And even though Grantz was the only officer who really needed to be on
duty, Weiss was helping out in an effort to regain his combat instincts after
some time away. It helped relieve a lot of the tension.
The main enemies of a sentry are boredom and nerves. Grantz couldn’t
have been more grateful that a senior officer kept them at bay.
“Well, it’s not like I don’t understand how you feel. I can’t calm down,
either.”
The first lieutenant shrugged. From the casual gesture, Grantz gathered
that his wound was no longer causing him any problems.
The other day, to celebrate his release from the hospital and hone his
rusty skills, Lieutenant Weiss had a mock battle with the commander. Even
if that’s all he can do right now…I’m relieved he recovered.
Then Grantz suddenly seized upon one thing Weiss had said. He can’t
relax, either?
“…So you feel like something is off, too?”
“Of course. This battalion has been on the front lines ever since we
mustered.” Weiss smiled bitterly and drained his coffee.
He had been through hard fighting, but the smile on his face was one of
amusement.
Why, though?
That question came into his mind for the first time in a while. Compared
with everyone else, Grantz’s time on the battlefield had been so short, but it
already felt like he’d been living like this for half his life. Honestly, when
he thought about it, the days had been jam-packed.
“Oh, you don’t know, huh?”
Upon seeing Grantz’s questioning look, Weiss suddenly seemed to
remember. He’d been thinking that the youngster knew what he was talking
about, but it hit him that he and the other new recruits had only recently
reported for duty. He wasn’t one of the grognards from the early days of the
battalion.
New arrivals learned the stories of the unit from the senior members.
These guys had been incorporated so hastily that no one had been able to
take the time for these basics. After their baptism in combat and surviving
calamitous artillery fire, the members of the battalion finally had some time
to talk to one another.
Actually, this is more or less what we were told during the recruitment
process, Weiss realized and cracked a smile in spite of himself.
“This is a good opportunity. Let’s talk about the old days.”
We have the time. It’s a perfect chance for us to get to know how the
other thinks.
Weiss had an orderly bring them more coffee and sat on the desk,
looking up as if he were reminiscing. I didn’t realize the first lieutenant
could make expressions like that, Grantz thought suddenly, looking at his
senior from the side.
…The Weiss I know is always wearing his first lieutenant mask.
It hit him again that although he had grown used to life in the battalion,
his time there hadn’t been very long at all.
“Did you know I was originally in the eastern army?”
“No, I never heard that before.”
Grantz and the other recruits had come straight out of their accelerated
schooling. In fact, they graduated early and were hurled onto the front lines
that very minute. He remembered again how little time there had been.
Under normal circumstances, he would have heard stories about the
service of his seniors as part of getting to know the unit, but this was his
first time. Up until this moment, they’d been gripping their guns so tightly
that neither Grantz nor any of the old guard had noticed.
“Oh right.” Weiss nodded and began to recite something with a smile.
“We guide him always, abandon him never, go where there is no path, never
yielding, forever on the battlefield. Everything we do, we do for victory. We
seek mages for the worst battlefields, the smallest rewards; days darkened
by a forest of swords and hails of bullets, and constant danger with no
guarantee of survival. To those who return go the glory and the honor.”
Sound familiar? Weiss asked with his eyes. But he could tell without an
answer that Grantz didn’t understand.
I don’t even need to ask, Weiss thought and continued his story. “That’s
what we were told when we volunteered for the 203rd. ‘Don’t expect to
come back alive!’” His wry smile contained a multitude of emotions. There
was regret, a little self-mockery. A flood of nostalgia. Sentiments that
probably all the senior members of the battalion shared.
“I was younger. I overestimated my ability and stupidly thought I could
be a hero. Mages always overestimate themselves.”
“No, Lieutenant. I don’t think you—”
“Nah, it’s fine. I’m just telling the truth. That’s when the major knocked
me flat. Our training was really like being born again.”
Kicked around on a snowy mountain where complaints were futile,
targeted by artillery, and as if to finish them off, forced to fly so high they
could barely breathe.
“I really can’t believe I made it through that,” he murmured, shuddering
at the horrors of his past.
If the commander called something that nearly gave him two heart
attacks “training,” then training it was. If she called a drill with the artillery
that included some live rounds “practice,” all they could do was resign
themselves to the truth. Their schooling was so rigorous that it may very
well have been more terrifying than actual combat.
In his position as second-in-command, Weiss was more painfully aware
than he wanted to be that training cost money. Their battalion had already
gone through a scraggly regiment’s worth of annual exercise budget. The
amount generously spent on exercises—a rare exception under Major von
Degurechaff’s command given her hatred of waste—was considerable.
He had never once wondered what sort of battle she was anticipating.
Still, after his mistake in Dacia and redeeming himself in Norden—all the
different combat experiences he’d had—he finally understood to some
extent. What Major von Degurechaff’s vice commander had learned was a
simple principle.
By thoroughly training them and then accumulating further instruction
in the form of combat experience, Major von Degurechaff was hardening
her battalion into a battle-worthy unit step-by-step, attempting to educate
them while carrying out missions and racking up achievements.
In a way, you could say she was trying to whip her hastily formed
battalion into elite shape.
That’s why he’d heard her (and wondered at the time if he’d heard
wrong) rail against the idea of allowing a lower standard of discipline due
to the addition of new recruits.
In fact, he probably should have been surprised she even took on the
assignment of rearing Grantz and the other newbies. As a result, however, it
was fair to say that there was a reason the commander’s philosophy
changed from handpicking elites to forcing cultivation.
Or you could say she had her own form of trust in her superior officer’s
nose. Something had invited a change.
Some reason that she needed mages “even just for head count.”
That was why Weiss had been looking out for the group newcomers. To
his happy surprise, he got the impression Lieutenant Grantz would make a
fine officer.
That was why, even if Major von Degurechaff wasn’t grumbling, he
wanted to tell the new recruits how things really were. That was his way of
showing kindness.

MAY 21, UNIFIED YEAR 1925, IMPERIAL ARMY

GENERAL STAFF OFFICE, DINING ROOM 1 (ARMY)

Major General von Rudersdorf had heard that General Staff Office meals
were prepared with the same budget and ingredients as on the front lines,
for the extremely persuasive reason that it wouldn’t do for soldiers back
from the battlefield to be jealous of the food in the rear.
That’s what he’d heard, but he wondered, as he washed down a bite of
bone-dry K-Brot with some water, whether frontline food was perhaps
better than what he had been served. I doubt the food committee that came
up with this even tried any for themselves was his calm impression, dripping
with the brand of cynicism particular to those with plenty of combat
experience.
Knowing them, they came at it purely from a nutritional point of view,
debated at length, considered all the details of securing production costs
and ingredients. During all that time, I’m sure not a single person paid any
attention to the crucial element of flavor. That has to be it. He aired his
complaint as a sigh, cleansing the lingering crumbs and awful flavor from
his mouth with another drink. Who would think to mass-produce this stuff?
That said, across from him, Zettour had resigned himself to accepting
the bread and ate it with a straight face. Perhaps resignation is the best
spice for this, thought Rudersdorf as he decided to set aside his myriad
grievances with the bread.
Their plan was proceeding almost exactly according to schedule. They
were perfectly prepared for their escape forward.
Operation Schrecken und Ehrfurcht (“Shock and Awe”) was mere
seconds away from launch.
Ever onward. We have no choice but to advance.
“Are we going to eat in silence? I must be more nervous than I thought.”
 “Aha, hmm. I can’t believe you said that. Nervous? I always thought
you, at least, were a stranger to nerves, Zettour.”
“I could say the same. I’m surprised you’re nervous.”
The pair bantered as they had since their college days.
But…Rudersdorf wasn’t averse to admitting he was anxious.
The fate of their fatherland hung on this operation. If the revolving door
didn’t work as planned, if they failed to cut off the enemy’s head…they
would be forced back to square one.
Still, he thought.
The only way out of this for the Empire is to keep moving ahead.
We must advance.
The only thing they could do was escape forward.
Onward. Onward still.
We’ll blaze a trail for the fatherland. We’ll smash everything that stands
in its way. Oh, we swear to forge the future of our fatherland.
““Comrades, lead the Empire to victory!””

THE SAME DAY, THE RHINE LINES

“Major von Degurechaff to all hands. It is now 1700 hours.”

At the appointed time of their sealed orders, having synced watches with
her adjutant, Tanya solemnly reports the hour.
“I agree, First Lieutenant Weiss,” Tanya’s second-in-command attests.
After making sure all the officers present are prepared to log the
contents with no room for misunderstanding, Tanya nods and draws the
knife at her hip.
“All right. Let’s open it.”
She casually slices into the secure package with the dagger and pulls out
a sheaf of documents. Judging from the texture, it’s probably the extra-
flammable oil paper with the General Staff’s watermark. I can tell from the
blurring of the letters that they were thoughtful enough to use water-based
ink. It’s fairly exciting.
 After flipping through the documents with a practiced eye, I’ve gotten
the gist of it.
…Ultimately, the only move we have is to pierce straight through the
front. In this situation, if we can’t force a path to open up, the only
alternative is to gather even more strength and find a way to break through.
Which must have been why the Imperial Army General Staff Service
Corps and Operations Division arrived at such a rather unusual solution.
Even I think escaping forward is our only way out of this.
So…
If there is nothing to do but advance, we have to press forward like crazy
with no thought to stopping.
“Lieutenant Serebryakov, gather the troops. Lieutenant Weiss, give this a
look.”
Routine exchanges. Tanya sends her adjutant to assemble the battalion,
fills her vice commander in, and prepares for the attack.
Afterward, the brief comment she has for her officers is the same as
always.
“Attention, officers. There is only the unflinching advance. Go forward,
then press on.”
No, stopping won’t be allowed.
“This will be an indomitable advance. Anyone who falters won’t be
permitted to live.”
It’s our first and last chance. That’s why we must get through.
Only onward.
Onward still.

(The Saga of Tanya the Evil, Volume 2: Plus Ultra, Fin)

 Side Story: A Borrowed Cat

It was a cold, cloudy day.

Magic Second Lieutenant Tanya Degurechaff felt more alone than ever.
She’d been putting up a hopeless solo resistance for seventy-two hours with
no end in sight.
In a corner of the imperial capital, Berun, where the core of the Imperial
Army gathered, she was alone and friendless.
The wave attack was conducted by terrifyingly unyielding opponents
who had never learned how to hold back. Her mental processing was
saturated almost immediately, and the situation rapidly deteriorated into one
she couldn’t manage.
She was supposed to be the outstanding field officer who returned from
Norden, received the Silver Wings Assault Badge despite being alive, and
was so graceful she was given the alias “White Silver.” But in this extreme
circumstance, Lieutenant Degurechaff could only defend herself in a daze
like she was newly commissioned and didn’t know how to fight.
This is indeed the shame of being trampled after a lone battle, your
resistance proving futile. The helplessness assailing her brain gave way to
an empty feeling, like her mind was being ground down to nothing.
But even then, she couldn’t run away.
Running away would be a major breach of trust as an imperial soldier;
as a soldier, period; and, when it came down to it, as a modern civilized
person with contractual obligations. As much as she might like to take
emergency evacuation measures, fleeing before the enemy meant death by
firing squad.
Continuing was hell, but fleeing meant ruin.
In that case… Tanya roused her timid heart, reviving her determination
to resist until the very end.
In Norden when I faced an entire company, wasn’t I prepared to die?
Didn’t that mad scientist force me to go along with all sorts of
dangerous experiments?
But here I am, still alive. Yes, alive. I didn’t break.
Unyielding spirit. Free will and an even obstinate devotion to her
dignity.
Using all those things, she—Magic Second Lieutenant Tanya
Degurechaff—took a firm stance with indomitable resolve, bracing herself.
“Tanya, sweetie, are you here?”
Sadly.
“Hey, today we’re finally gonna get your makeup done!”
Her indomitable resolve.
“It’s a special occasion, so why not, right? We got a cute outfit for you!
C’mon, let’s try it on!”
Her oath to resist.
“Change into this, okay?”
Her sense of dignity.
“And this is a new corset. You said the other one was too hard to move
in, so I brought the most flexible one. C’mon, c’mon.”
Today, under these circumstances, they would all be crushed underfoot.
…It all started with orders she received three days previously.
It was supposed to be a mission to help out with some minor business in
the rear as part of her receiving the Silver Wings Assault Badge and being
transferred back there. Of course, this was the “minor” of not only the
military’s but any organization’s upper echelons. It had to be taken with a
grain of salt.
But she wasn’t going to become the guinea pig of a mad scientist and get
blown up by his invention; she wasn’t going to have to perform delaying
action in isolation on the front lines; this time it was supposed to be simply
supplying a word or two on some topics for a little propaganda piece.
Nothing had seemed problematic when she received the orders, but the
moment she knocked on the door of the Culture and Promotion Division in
her type I dress uniform, things started to go haywire.
Her hair was tucked under her well-starched cap, and her Silver Wings
Assault Badge gleamed on her chest according to regulation. She could
move briskly after her injuries in Norden thanks to advanced magic
treatment for mages, and she thought she had made a model salute. Her
boots were polished to such mirror perfection that even her sergeant at the
academy wouldn’t have been able to pick on her.
“Be mindful that as a magic officer, you are a model member of the
Reich.” She thought she had followed her orders to the letter. Like past
heroes who had left behind any number of propaganda photos, she would
say beautiful things and look sharp like an officer should.
First impressions stick in people’s minds, so she had given her
appearance extra attention.
And yet. She was forced to realize she had made a huge mistake.
The moment she walked into the room and everyone’s eyes gathered on
her, there were sighs.
She was then dragged before similarly disappointed military women,
who grumbled at her so furiously she didn’t know what they were talking
about.
Before she knew it, she was stripped of her new riding breeches, the
boots she’d spent half a day polishing were thrown away, and although she
just managed to keep her underwear, she lost her cap.
Her resistance futile, she was forced into an outfit so mortifying she
could hardly take it.
A floor-length frilly skirt, incomprehensibly designed, and a pair of
strappy women’s shoes that would be impossible to march in.
But all that was still tolerable compared with the smiling murmurs.
Before that, she still had room to debate.
“It’s great that your skin is so clear! We heard you were hurt, so we were
worried…but I guess the surgeon did a great job! And your legs are so slim.
Try this one for just a second.”
It was another frilly skirt, but for some reason, this one left her legs
exposed when she sat down. And to top it off, the corset’s restraints were
pulled impossibly tight until she could hardly breathe.
Hurry, hurry, please just be over. Tanya could only hope, but even that
was in vain; it went on for half a day. And when both her body and mind
were flagging, finally the hands of the woman in charge stopped moving.
It’s finally over. She had nearly sighed it aloud when she suddenly heard
something that made her heart freeze.
 “Well, this simple outfit is good enough for the first day. Let’s try some
makeup!”
The first day? …The first day?!
“Oh my gosh, your hair! Are you taking care of it properly?!”
“Huh? Umm, according to hygiene regulations—”
Her hair was cut to regulation length. In some ways, the Imperial Army
was quite traditional, and this was a vestige of a rule created mainly with
nobles in mind. The bizarre regulation stated that “in order to distinguish
the sexes of young members of the service” or whatnot, girls who went
through the academy before they had reached conscription age were to
maintain shoulder-length hair. When she had looked into it, the imperative
turned out to have been included mainly for the sake of noblewomen.
Sadly, the Imperial Army stuck fast to the rules, so she had to grow her
hair that long, too. But Tanya could boast that her duty was performed in
full. It was the perfect length—she measured it.
“Stop right there. Do you brush it?”
“Sorry, uh…”
“What kind of comb do you normally use?!”
“The standard-issue…”
There was nothing she could do. Every time she opened her mouth, the
lady’s expression grew more severe, and she couldn’t fix it.
“Hold on. By the standard-issue, do you mean this…celluloid one?”
“Yes, that’s right…”
“That’s insane! We’ve got to teach you from square one!”
With that, she took out several combs and began to speak voluminously
about each one, while Tanya stood there and felt like her mind was being
physically scraped away.
…O Being X, I don’t even care if it’s thee this time…
If you call yourself God, then you should be able to at least fix this issue
with my hair. No, I know it’s impossible. I know it’s impossible, but…
In her thoughts, she began bandying about absurdities that would affect
her life’s mission. But as her mind was about to escape reality, she was
suddenly jolted back by something that looked like a branding iron.
“Umm, excuse me, what might that be…?”
“Oh? So you are interested in some of this, huh? I do think you would
look charming with a perm. Hmm, wanna try it?”
 “No, uh, er, with that iron rod?”
“Yeah, you use it to make waves, you know?”
She smiled and said she was confident in her wave-making techniques.
But honestly, at the point Tanya heard that the rod would be used, all she
could think about was formulating some plan of escape.
“Uhh, no thanks, er, I think it would interfere with my duties…”
“Yeah. It’s too bad, but I guess we’ll have to hold off on that. Then I’ll at
least do your makeup really nice.”
“…I can’t just look the way I always do?”
She knew it was a bit late to say that. She was ashamed to admit she had
been overpowered, but if she wasn’t able to speak up, then it would have
been the undeniable truth. So she mustered her courage and asked. Would
her type I dress uniform really not work?
“You look too dangerous like that. And you can talk in a gentler, more
girlie way, you know. Just because you’re in the army doesn’t mean you
have to act like a man.”
“Oh, this is easier for me…”
“Oh boy, well, let’s at least try this, okay? We have four days until the
event, so let’s do our best here, all right?”
Thus, she was shot down.
If this is how it’s going to be, I’ll take the battlefield. I want to go back…
How many times did she murmur that deep inside?
It went on for three days. She withstood the weirdness of the foundation
brushed onto her face, the stickiness of the lipstick, the constricting corset,
all of it.
…If public relations wants a dear little patriot and if that is recognized
as an order by the army…then I have no choice…

Suppress yourself.
This is work. Smile, c’mon, smile.
“Hello, everyone! I’m White Silver, also known as Tanya Degurechaff!”

(Fin)
Appendixes: Mapped Outline of
History
 Afterword

Before I greet you, I, Carlo Zen, declare:

The publisher known as Enterbrain actually has only one screw that’s
tight. On top of the title, The Saga of Tanya the Evil, this revised manuscript
with no concern for political correctness… When they were working on my
revised manuscript for Volume 1, they didn’t say a word. I seriously
wondered what level hero they are.

Now then, they’re a bit belated, but greetings.

To those of you who bought books one and two at the same time: Nice
to meet you. I appreciate you buying these two thick books. I have the
feeling it’s probably already too late, but…you might want to read the
afterword from Volume 1 first and then come back here.
Next, to the readers of book one who picked up this book: My apologies
for keeping you waiting. I personally regret it very much. I wrote in the
back of the first book that the next one would be out “next spring,” but I
totally meant spring in the southern hemisphere (huge lie). To speak in
extremes, I guess we could say the problem was Clausewitz’s internal
friction. And I was busy with moving and whatnot. I won’t mention the
name of the company, but a certain major communications infrastructure
something or other had me nearly crying at the standard of their east side
service. That’s what they call “external friction.”
In other words, Clausewitz wrote about why my book was late in On
War. Ahh, the fog of war is scary. In conclusion, it wasn’t Carlo Zen’s fault.
 …Uhh, I’m going to make the next volume more compact and get it to
you sooner. This one is so thick I’m getting scolded to make the afterword
short.

Okay, I’ve fulfilled my duty of accountability (I’ve decided), so on to a

few gripes. To be blunt, it seems that you all like Grantz, or Weiss, or the
middle-aged Ze-Ru duo better than Degu-san.
Please take another look at the cover. This is a light novel called The
Saga of Tanya the Evil. It’s popular among authors I know, as well as
children—a light novel with a favorable reception. In other words, it’s a
story you can enjoy as a family.
Strangely, my editor is like, “I like when the older guys get a turn. I feel
closer to them than Degu-san, so I can relax, lol,” explicitly telling me to
boost their presence. But I won’t yield to this pressure.

So as not to turn my title, The Saga of Tanya the Evil, into a scam and
earn society’s harsh criticism, I will do my duty, even if I must resist
pressure from my editor and some readers telling me, “Give us more of the
cool old dudes.”
Rest easy as you wait for Volume 3.

P.S. Last time I forgot to put this in. I’m peaceably extolling the virtues
of peace, love, and democracy on Twitter: @sonzaix

May 2014 Carlo Zen

1
sealed orders Securely sealed orders. May only be opened in a certain place at a certain time or
in a certain war situation. Delivered by an officer.
2
doctrine In a military sense, pertains to beliefs about combat. In other words, the thinking behind
employing each army’s fighting force and the strategy, operations, and tactics involved. Of these
levels, the concept of operations has been nearly forgotten, so be aware of the terrible tendency to
discuss war as strategy and tactics. Also, even if you know the difference between strategy,
operations, and tactics; the different hierarchy terms; and hierarchy-like terms, it’s still so easy to mix
them up.
3
paradigm shift When phenomena unexplainable by the current paradigm, the current way of
understanding things, pile up and we switch to a new way of understanding. Example: geocentric
theory → heliocentric theory
4
Molotov A Soviet diplomat. Stalin’s minister of foreign affairs. He once proclaimed that even in
wartime, noncombatants should be protected and that they had the right to be free of starvation. In
retaliation for dropping “bread” from heavy bombers on Finns in war against Finland, Soviet soldiers
got to taste special Molotov “cocktails.” Now that is a friendly, well-mannered relationship between
two civilized nations.
5
Animals are not your food! From an NPO’s sign.
6
1800 hours Six PM in military time.
7
CP Command Post. It’s one step down the hierarchy from HQ.
8
harassing attacks In a nutshell, attacks with the intent to cause disturbance and confusion—e.g.,
the Doolittle Raid or saying hello to Berlin with Mosquitoes on January 31, 1943, during Göering’s
speech celebrating the tenth anniversary of the Nazis gaining power.
9
phony war The France-Germany border during the beginning of World War II was the very
picture of peace. This phrase describes a strange state of conflict in which parties are at war but not
fighting.
10
Koskenkorva An alcoholic drink.
11
aal Pet name for German torpedoes. In German, aal means “eel.”
12
pretty hands for a sophisticated game of cricket A typical English thing to do. When a
British pilot taken prisoner by the Germans was missing a prosthetic leg and asked to be sent one, I
guess the British dropped one with a parachute in addition to some bombs or something. When the
Germans said it was bad manners, the British were like, “This isn’t a game of cricket!”
13
RTB Return to base.
14
VT fuse A proximity, aka “magic,” fuse. A revolutionary gadget that makes shells explode when
they are near the enemy.
15
two British ladies Ships are female, and British women are ladies. You all need to play Paradox
Interactive’s game Victoria (aka Vic)! Or maybe take a look at Britannia (the goddess).
16
mole A spy, or a double agent. Usually the kind who infiltrates a nation’s domestic organizations.
17
flight leader The one in front who guides the others. They mark bombing objectives, guide
aviation units, and so on, so it’s a job for veterans. Leaders are important.
18
produce silence with a shovel To shut someone up by hitting them. Doesn’t really distinguish
between knocking someone down, knocking them out, and killing them.
19
QED “It has been proven.”
20
WTO Warsaw Treaty Organization
21
Rudel A great pioneer of enlightenment who turned a certain lying encyclopedia honest. Or the
king of destroying tanks.
22
Mr. Yamashita Thought to be the precedent for International Criminal Court Statute, Article 8,
also known as the “Yamashita Standard.” In a nutshell, that’s what we call General Tomoyuki
Yamashita, who was tried in the pickiest way in an American military tribunal for bad things his
subordinates did—command responsibility.
23
Shimahdzus The Shimazu clan.
24
ECM Electronic countermeasure. Can jam transmissions, among other things.
25
Matsusheeta Kōnosuke Matsushita.
 Thank you for buying this ebook, published by Yen On.

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